fs-test
by Hankton
Summary: just a test of app playback
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 15: Stannis Visits

If the Mountain's ambush had taught me anything, it was that I needed to improve my capacity to block archers. Developing a new shield spell and better survivability enchantments moved up in importance. But those were difficult; something easy was going around King's Landing and bonding every source of Red Mana I could find.

Rhaenys' Hill, Visenya's Hill, and two from the Dragonpit gave me a total of eight Red bonds, double what I had started the week with. Then I took a few days to visit the Alchemists Guild. They were more than happy to have me visit; Robert was not a fan, and they needed every bit of help they could get at court.

Although they weren't willing to teach me how to make what the called the substance, known to the rest of Westeros as wildfire, they did let me use a small amount of it. I even got them to show me a comparison, one teaspoon of recently created substance versus one of the older, aged stuff. I used Blue to accelerate my thoughts and activated Mage-sight to look deeply into the structure of the wildfire. It was more than just chemical; the rites and spells they used to make it gave it a subtly woven pattern of Red. That pattern was weak in the newer liquid, but grew thicker and stronger with age as it slowly fed on available ambient mana.

It was clear that the Alchemists had some knowledge of true magic, and I wanted it. Just that small glimpse, a few minutes of flame, had taught me how to create a much more efficient and deadly evocation, a wildfire bolt that only needed a single Red mana and a Colorless to kill. I could even pump more colorless mana into it, turning into a massive fireball. Or, with a slight twist, I could make a wildfire flamethrower, again with only a single Red needed to spark the flames then make them hotter, larger, with more Colorless mana to back it up. In short, a teaspoon of their knowledge was enough to make me a dangerous if crude pyromancer.

I had no idea what gains my spellcraft would make if I could get more of their knowledge, but I wanted to find out. Unfortunately, while they were happy to share the lesser mysteries, really just antiquated but quite clever methods of chemistry, especially after I proved my own reasonably advanced knowledge on the subject, they kept the knowledge of their magic locked up tight. I bonded their Guildhall while I was there, gaining another Red and a Blue mana source, and began to plan how to gain access to their knowledge.

And then it came to me. It seemed that as soon as I was properly free, rather than taking a vacation, that I'd be starting to make paper and print books after all. And the Alchemists, with their ability to make small industrial scale amounts of acids, alkalis, and other chemical substances, were just the people to help me.

I continued to do the tourist thing though as printing and paper were for the future, paying a visit to the Great Sept. I visited and bound the library there, for a Blue mana, and the Sept itself was enough of an object of veneration to grant me a pair of Whites.

I was preparing for my trip to the Kingswood, where I planned to pick up some more Green mana before performing another series of personal cultivation upgrades and experiment with my magic, when I was given some worrying news by Arya.

Her first recounting of events was hurried, confused, even a little panicked. But I got her some water, hit her with a bit of White for calm, some Blue for memory, and went through everything with her until I had all the details.

During one of her escapades, something involving searching for a cat, but then running from the prince and princess, then being lost in the tunnels, she heard a pair of people speaking. She didn't recognize them, not even when I helped her recollection with a bit of Blue, but one of them was somewhat familiar, likely from within the Keep. The other sounded foreign, though Arya was too young and inexperienced to tell from where.

The fat foreigner was trying to get the familiar one who at the very least looked like a guard to delay Lord Stark's investigation of Lord Arryn's death, preferably by killing Ned. Apparently he was getting close to some truth, something that they hoped to use but that might be lost if Ned uncovered the secret. The bastard boy and a book, both within Ned's knowledge, were defined as essential clues.

They talked about a princess and a khal, and how they would not move until their child was born; from that I understood they meant Daenerys, who had recently married or was about to marry Khal Drogo. They were worried about Renly bringing Margaery Tyrell to court and helping her seduce Robert. I could see why; this would firmly bind the Tyrells to the Crown, and leave the Targaryen pretender with only Dorne's support in the event of an invasion.

What Arya had heard about this plot was both good and bad news. The existence of the plot, the reach of it; that was bad. But the fact that apparently the conspirators were looking at an ever-more precariously balanced tower of cards, that they feared being defeated by the actions we were already taking; that was good. Until the conspiracy was vanquished though we needed to take certain measures.

Arya and I spoke to Ned, and we improved the security again. All laundry was done only by Winterfell servants, food prepared and served by Winterfell servants. All non-Winterfell servants were forbidden from the Hand's Tower, and Togo and I went along looking for and locking off any secret passages. At all times outside of the Hand's Tower either Togo or I escorted Ned, and Arya and Sansa were only allowed out in the presence of their direwolves and at least a pair of armed guards. Similar measures were taken for the king, but with Baratheon loyalists substituted for Starks.

Then two days later, Stannis Baratheon decided to finally come back to King's Landing. Though he had a seat on the small council as the Master of Ships, I hadn't yet met the man, not in the three or so months that we'd been in King's Landing. His ship was sighted in the morning, and he was on time to make the afternoon meeting of the council.

It was mostly business as usual except for three things.

First, Robert was present. After I cured him of his poison and restored some of his vitality, he had been spending less time drinking. After seeing the tournament his martial spirit had been kindled and he spent much more time in the yard training. Far less unfit and more energetic, he had started to attend the small council meetings at least semi-regularly. I think that the fact that things were going well with the realm, and that his terrible fucking shrew of a wife wasn't there to bother him helped.

Second, Varys smelled of fear to Togo's senses.

Third, Stannis asked Lord Stark, Renly and Robert for a talk afterwards.

I looked to Ned, to see whether I should come inside a smaller study with them or guard the door.

Robert rolled his eyes at me. "You may as well come, Odysseus," he said. "I think that if you weren't loyal I'd be fucked anyways, and I know how you worry these days when Ned's out of your sight!" He laughed a bit, to show that there were no hard feelings with the mockery.

Stannis gave me a considering look, then nodded himself. "Yes. And it was his actions more than any's which gave me the freedom to broach this subject," he stated.

Stannis was a bit of an odd duck. He was tall and strong, the sort of man that might be seen as handsome in the Seven Kingdoms if it weren't for the fact that his face was locked into a permanently dour and grim visage. He was obviously uncomfortable in social situations, even more so if they involved women. Honestly, I thought he might be a bit Asperger's. That or he had a negative charisma score.

Robert had the Lord Commander as his kingsguard for the day, so he joined us too.

The six of us went to a room that the king was relatively sure was secure. Togo and I checked to make sure, then I left him outside to ensure there weren't any eavesdroppers.

Stannis looked somewhat faltering, as if he wasn't quite sure how to say what he wanted to. "There's no easy way to say this. I know why Lord Arryn was killed, what secret he died to protect," Stannis stated.

Robert was suddenly immensely serious. Arryn had been like a father to him. "Well, speak then," he ordered.

"It was Cersei Lannister," Stannis spat out finally. "She was unfaithful, Robert. None of the children are yours."

And suddenly it all clicked. Genetics. I hadn't been thinking of fucking genetics, too happy trundling along through this fantasy land to stop and analyze the way I should. What were the odds that the children of a blonde woman and a man with black hair are blonde? Not just once but three times?

Robert's face was white with rage.

"This is the secret," I said as everyone turned to me. "Arya overhead someone talking in the tunnels beneath the dungeon the other day. About how Lord Stark had the book and the bastard, and would soon figure things out. That it would have things falling apart much too soon, too soon for Daenerys or some future child with her husband Khal Drogo to press a Targaryen claim. If this had come out at just the wrong time, if Joffrey and Tommen had already been married into great houses, allied with them, if the king was too old to have more children… the realm would have burned in the fires of war."

"Who," Robert growled. "Which traitor slept with my slattern of a wife!"

Stannis looked him straight in the eye. "Her brother. Jaime Lannister."

I dodged out of the way as Robert stood up, heaved and flipped the massive solid oak table over in his rage. The thing must have weighed four hundred pounds. He stood there panting for a moment.

"Incest," he snarled. "That fucking bitch was going to put the product of incest on my throne! Ned, draw up a proclamation. I want her here with all haste to stand trial for her crimes."

Renly decided that then was a good time to stoke the flames a bit. "And what of the children?" he asked slyly. I interrupted. I may have been a cruel bastard sometimes, and put more blood on my hands since coming to this land than I had ever expected, but I wanted no part of sentencing children to die.

"Joffrey's a little shit, but the other two are pleasant enough," I said. "As Your Grace may recall, I have some small achievements in medicine. I could make it so that your future heirs need never fear a pretender from those three, and we could announce that fact; unlike one of the surgeons they wouldn't even need to feel any pain. Joffrey should take the Black, while Tommen may join either the Citadel or the Faith. Myrcella might join the Faith as well, or retire to Lannister lands if Lord Tyrion will have her."

Ned nodded. "That would be an honorable solution, Your Grace."

Robert had sunk back into his chair, exhausted. "Very well. Make it so. Was there anything else? Because I find myself in a sudden need to get drunk and fuck a whore who doesn't claim to be my wife."

Renly and I both nodded, so I gestured at him. "Please, my lord, proceed," I offered.

"Thank you. I don't know if it's too soon, but we might want to consider who you might take next to wife. Margaery Tyrell is young, beautiful, pleasant, and likely able to have a number of children. Furthermore, she would weld Highgarden close to the throne which can only help our cause against any future Targaryen pretenders."

Robert looked at his brother as if Renly were mad. "I haven't even executed the last one yet, and you're already trying to marry me off again, brother?" he asked incredulously.

Ser Barristan interjected. "I've heard the same of her, and it's worth at least bearing in mind. Still, there's no need to make such a decision today, and in fact any agreement should have the wedding at least five or six months after Cersei's execution for propriety."

Robert turned to me. "Odysseus. Please, tell me you're not trying to get me married off too."

I grinned. "No, Your Grace. I'll leave that in the capable hands of your brother," I joked. "I was more worried about the identity of the conspirator within our walls."

Robert nodded. "I had forgotten about that. Do you have a suspect?"

I grimaced. "I do, but little evidence."

Robert's eyebrows raised. "Well, out with it."

"Varys, Your Grace. He isn't far enough off of the physical description of the guard that Arya gave to remove him from suspicion, and there are precious few who are well placed enough and have enough contacts to know so much about what is going on. He has numerous foreign contacts, and supported the Targaryens despite Aerys' madness. We have only his own word that he is true now. Either he is a leader in this conspiracy, or he has turned a blind eye to it, or his whisperers have no word of it. Of those possibilities, I do not believe in his ignorance."

Robert mulled it over for a bit. "I find I agree with your arguments. Does anyone disagree?" he asked. No one spoke up. "Very well. Then, Ser Odysseus, I charge you to hunt him down. Bring him in alive if you can, but better dead than supporting the fucking madmen who believe themselves dragons."

I nodded, and with that our meeting ended.

Immediately after, Togo and I left to track down Varys. His scent trail didn't leave in the direction of his quarters. It seemed that he had decided the game was up, or at least that he would absent himself on "important business" until he knew which way the wind blew. He was good; he switched clothing, added different layers of scent, moved through secret passages and tunnels. It might have worked against a normal hunting hound.

It was totally ineffective against Togo.

Togo trotted after Varys, and I jogged after Togo, and soon enough we came to him. He had taken a secret passage out of the Keep, and was on a narrow path that went by the water.

He heard me, and looked up in resignation. "Ah, Ser Odysseus. You know, I thought that if anyone would catch me it would be you."

"Surrender, Varys," I offered. "Don't make this harder on yourself than it has to be."

He smiled bitterly at me. "Really? That's the best you can do? You and I both know how this ends, Odysseus. With me screaming and screaming as my secrets are torn from me one-by-one."

I shook my head. "I know better ways of questioning a man than that, Varys. It needn't hurt."

His face was full of hatred then. "What, you'll use your magics on me? I'd rather the torture." I was surprised, and he could tell. "Did you really think that your magic was a secret? With that animal of yours at your side? I am not such a fool, and I know well the dark acts practiced by your sort," he spat.

I shook my head. "I very much doubt you have ever met anyone who practices magic the way I do, Varys. But you have my word, on my honor and my lord Stark's, I will not use magics on you to question, compel, or torture."

He looked conflicted for a moment, then resolved. "I wish I could believe you. Everything I did, I did for the realm." And then he jumped, head first, and dashed his skull against the rocks.

Chapter 16: Kingswood Vacation

After I brought back Varys' body as proof of his death, I took care of Tommen and Myrcella that night. It was a cruel thing to do to a child who's only sin was having the wrong father, but civil war would have been crueler. Tommen was sent off to the Citadel under guard, while Myrcella went to the Faith, both in tears, their worlds shattered.

I couldn't stand to watch.

The next two weeks passed with me taut with stress as I waited for Joffrey to arrive. Security was extremely high as groups of Baratheon and Stark guards explored through the tunnels and masons were brought in to seal them up. There was the fear that Varys had passed on his knowledge to the other conspirators and that a band of assassins or infiltrators could enter from below.

Finally Joffrey arrived, swearing and fighting his fate. Another application of Red mana and he was sterile, a bit of Green to make sure it healed in a way to be permanent. And then he was off for the Wall.

A week after that Cersei arrived and was executed, and I finally breathed easier.

Robert had two strong brothers, and Stannis a child of his own. There was no possibility that a civil war would break out on his death, and so less incentive to kill him. Varys, likely the leader of the Westeros side of the Targaryen conspiracy, was also dead. If someone were to just bring in Baelish's head I would be perfectly content.

Robert wanted to make me the new Master of Whisperers, which I adamantly refused. Fuck that. I didn't want an unending, thankless job, and I sure as shit didn't want to become the Seven Kingdoms' Spymaster. That just sounded miserable.

No, I needed to get away for a bit. So I absconded with a young raven from the Rookery, and fucked off to the Kingswood for a proper break. It was time to work on my magic.

I named my new raven Nevermore because I was a massive nerd and found it funny. I had decided that I wanted an aerial scout, messenger and spy, and Nevermore was going to be it – after I modified him, of course. At first I was going to go for a bird of prey, the kill-iest I could find, because what red-blooded man-child doesn't want to have a massive golden eagle or gyrfalcon swoop down on his enemies?

But then I thought about practicality, about how if I ended up in another world and got to bring my pets with me that I probably should have a peregrine falcon. Golden Eagles were for emperors, after all, and gyrfalcons for kings, whereas peregrines could be for anyone from a knight to a duke.

But practicality is like quicksand; after you get stuck in it, you can't get out. I quickly realized that people might put together the peregrine I had as a pet, and the bird spying on them from the trees. So I settled on a raven. Of course, it was a Citadel raven, which meant it had been part of a centuries long breeding program for intelligence, loyalty, sense of direction, and flight speed. But it was still a pretty common looking black bird that you could find in just about every environment on earth.

Before I boosted Nevermore, I needed to get into the right frame of mind. I settled into the Kingswood, meditated for a day while bonding a couple Green mana, and then I was ready.

I was trying something new with Nevermore. I had had a decent idea of how to boost myself, worked out over several months, and then applied similar principles to Togo. In other words, slow, careful, controlled and purposeful improvements. For Nevermore, I was going to go with more power, a bit of intent, and some prayer to lady luck. Hopefully he'd have some beneficial magical mutations which I could then reverse-engineer and apply to myself and my other furry friends.

First, I gave Nevermore as much strengthening as I could without making him unusually large. He was a very glossy, powerful example of a raven when I was done, and his frame hid magically powered muscles that should have made him stronger than pretty much anything within his weight class and faster than anything relying on natural biology to fly.

As a side note, I really wanted to get my hands on a live dragon. No way were those things natural flyers, and I wanted that magic. The bones and scales I'd collected were impressive and useful, but I wanted to fly like a real wizard, under my own power, unlike that eagle-riding has-been Gandalf.

After that, I tried out a new enchantment I thought should work, called the Projectile Shield. I wasn't willing to test it on Togo, of course, but I wasn't attached enough yet to Nevermore. If it failed, there could always be a Nevermore II, III, IV, and so on, after all.

This enchantment was an improved and permanent shield, much like the Arrow-Ward in effect. Unlike the Arrow-Ward though, it was permanent. Though it could be overwhelmed, it would siphon from ambient energies and the user's excess energy to recharge over time. I got the inspiration for that part from the wildfire.

I couldn't quite manage to fully optimize it yet, but in the future I wanted the shield to be able to share energy with other nearby Projectile Shields. Really, I just liked the image of a group of my enchanted animals charging through a concentrated hail of arrows or bullets to rip apart the enemy.

The Projectile Shield was also a move towards a more finely defined conceptual application of the White ideal protection. The earlier Arrow-Ward was a clunky thing of White to protect, directed by Blue to detect incoming energies, and Red to push them away. It worked almost entirely on my physical understanding of the world, and though it used magical energies to do so, was really no different from a modern counter-rocket system you might find. It had that same sort of detect-analyze-react procedure.

The new Projectile Shield in contrast didn't use the Blue and Red parts. Instead, it was more of a imposition of the concept of being defended from incoming projectiles. I'd decided to focus on projectiles because by doing so I could push the outer boundary of the shield further from the body. That was good in case I ran into explosives in the future, but even dealing with arrows, stones, bullets or other simpler threats it allowed for a longer time to decelerate the projectile and bleed off the kinetic energy. That made it more than twice as efficient against projectiles compared to a tighter body-hugging shield, and I figured that with my growing strength and speed I had less and less to fear from someone in close quarters.

I wove the structure of the enchantment, and began tying it to Nevermore's essence. It was easily the most complicated enchantment I had to date, mostly because all my previous ones were more in line with enhancing things that were already there or working within the crudest form of that color of Mana. But eventually I managed it, and Nevermore was arrowproof.

Well, at least for one arrow, even if it was a ballista bolt or something, though a heavy trebuchet rock or cannon shell might break through. After that, depending on how much it strained the spell, the shield could go down. For normal arrows, it would take three to five at the same time to totally take down the shield, or half a dozen within about five to ten seconds. I wasn't able to test it that easily, and the spell was designed to work on living creatures so it was somewhat cruel to experiment with.

I realized after putting the first Projectile Shield on Nevermore that I could, at least in theory, add a second, even a third. Unfortunately, that took more skill than I could manage for such a small creature. I decided to leave Nevermore for a day or two in case there was an adverse reaction, and continue to ride east towards the Wendwater River, bonding another three Green Mana as I went.

Once I felt confident Nevermore wasn't going to spontaneously explode or catch cancer or something, I applied the same Projectile shield to Togo and Aethon. Being much larger, and with my growing familiarity with the spell, I managed to stack it onto them three times each. Basically, as one shield went down, the next would cycle in making it much, much harder to take my precious pets down with ranged weapons. I even managed to get it on myself twice.

Next I wanted to see if I could induce beneficial magical mutations or adaptations.

I started pushing Blue into Nevermore, filling him up with it. I was trying to meditate on the concept of air, of flight, while I did so. I wanted something that would at least allow him to fly further, faster, longer. Optimally, it would give him some controlled air magic, but I wasn't holding my breath.

Eventually, as I somewhat predicted, he developed something, even if it wasn't the full-blown air magic that I'd hoped for. By careful observation, Nevermore always seemed to have favorable winds. Whether an updraft when climbing or a tailwind when flying, it was just that little bit of assistance, but it made a big difference in speed and aerial agility.

It wasn't amazing, but I applied it to Togo, Aethon and myself as well. It helped our ground speed a bit, and if nothing else when we were hot a nice breeze would blow.

With the Blue evolution completed, I added in the final enchantments. These were linked, allowing me to see out of Nevermore's eyes, and for him to hear my voice. They were based on the sympathetic research I had been doing to try and kill all the Lannisters via the Kingslayer's blood. That research hadn't succeeded, but I did manage to figure out how to cast a link between two creatures which I was touching, in this case myself and Nevermore.

Then it was pretty easy to set that link to be specifically one way for visual or auditory information. I put in a weak White ward which could be deactivated to activate the sending/receiving aspect of the link. Nevermore got a Visual send only, and we both got audio send/receive. That way I could close my eyes and see what he saw, and I could speak and relay new orders to him while he was in the field. Similarly, if he was listening in on some conversation, he could relay it to me.

I also boosted his memory and intelligence. Ravens were actually already capable of speech, and that way he could remember conversations and relay them to me later. I gave him an everclean feathers enchantment, and loaded his mind with a bit of extra White so he'd be calm and patient when flying and spying.

With Nevermore to fly backup, I wouldn't walk into another ambush like the Mountain's again.

Since I managed to achieve the main pet upgrade of the trip, I had a bit of spare time to gather more Mana and practice some other spells.

I had been avoiding evocation, or combat magic, for a few reasons. First, I was originally pretty weak. I didn't want to be burned as a witch. Second, they were flashy as fuck, and I was avoiding being a really obvious, scary mage. I much preferred being seen as a fairly obvious, scary warg-knight loyal to the Starks. I fit in to Westeros' understandings of magic that way. Third, I used to have only the smallest reserves of Red which introduced a limit to my ability to cast proper battle magics.

But I was no longer so weak, and I had three times more Red mana than I did just after I arrived at the Red Keep. It was enough to be a pretty respectable battlemage. And while I didn't want to be too scary, I was soon approaching the point where I would be needlessly hampering myself not to develop truly effective combat magic. My best spell before entering the Kingswood in that regard was a variable strength wildfire bolt, and I learned that almost by accident.

I'd done some reading on myths and legends. Westeros had, apparently a long time in the past, been under assault by zombies and their ice-demon overlords in the North. Those dudes hadn't been active in millennia, but I figured that extra-magically-destructive fire was just the thing to fuck them up if they decided to make trouble.

On the other hand, dragons had been around as recently as a few centuries ago. I figured the odds were higher of my getting into a fight with one of them. Mostly because I intended to track down a dragon and get every single bit of magical knowledge out of its body I could. Then I wanted to get a dragon for a pet. Aethon was awesome, but Smaug was going to be even better.

Unfortunately, wildfire was known to be ineffective against dragons. It didn't always even work against the dragon-riders, since apparently some of those Targaryens were naturally fire-proof. I should probably add tracking down Valyrians and seeing if I could find a fire-proof one to my projects, come to think of it.

And no, not by setting them on fire and seeing if they lived. I'd have to develop good enough scanning magics to be able to detect the active or inactive magic in their body, blood, or whatever else it was attached to.

Anyways, I decided that I wanted a different combat spell option than just killing it with (wild) fire. Not that that was bad, I was as fire-loving as the next mage, but I felt it lacked a certain breadth.

Also, I just couldn't call myself a proper battlemage until I could cast chain-lightning. So obviously, I had to develop that.

First I figured out a basic Lightning bolt spell. It was a very fast spell, and it automatically hit the target since I was effectively designating them as a ground and then using magic to make a conductive path between my finger (where the bolt started) and their face/chest (which then exploded). Better yet, it was efficient and scalable. It cost a full Red and two Colorless to cast, and I could add as much Colorless as I wanted. That was pretty expensive, but the damage was well worth it, capable of splitting fat oaks in half even at minimum charge.

Then I was playing about with having the starting point be somewhere other than my hand. This led me to develop what I jokingly termed Tribulation Lightning (because it came from the heavens on a clear day). Unlike the previous Lightning bolt spell, this one called a lightning bolt down from the sky to strike the target.

It was a little more subtle, and I figured I could easily use it on those perceived as wicked, liars, etc. to simulate heavenly wrath. It did need a bit more energy than a standard bolt though, consuming an extra Red mana per casting without all that much extra power for the added cost.

Then after a couple days of experimentation and wanting it really, really hard I figured out how to do Chain Lightning. While I could make it look like Sith Lightning, that was really far less effective than having the Lightning bolt fly out and pinball between different targets. It was as expensive as Tribulation Lightning, and easily the most effective targeted anti-personnel spell.

As opposed to a big wildfire fireball, which basically just burnt the fuck out of everything, I could even have the chain lightning avoidjumping to specific targets in an area, perfect if I ever ended up in a hostage situation. Well, I could do that about half the time if I concentrated hard; suffice to say, it was a proof of principle but needed more practice.

After a few days of playing with Lightning, doubtless scaring the shit out of the local wildlife and any poachers or bandits, I decided to get a move on and finish up my Mana collection. By the time I was back where I entered, I'd picked up a total of seven Green Mana, doubling my supply of that resource, and three Blue mana, two from the Wendwater and the last from where it fed into Blackwater bay.

I still had a couple days left before I had told Ned to expect me back, so I settled in to meditate a bit. I was going to try something pretty risky, first on Nevermore, then on the rest of us if it worked. I'd taken a bit of dragon bone from the wings and skull of one of the skeletons hidden away inside the Red Keep. The magic of it was dead, mostly, but I could sort of sense what it used to be, and even without magic the bones were a miracle of biological materials.

Obviously, I wanted to use the bones to replace our own. Dragon bones were a lot stronger, and I suspected that they'd allow for greater saturation and conductivity of magic within the body. If I could make my bones effectively indestructible while making them lighter it would be an advantage, making me tougher and faster at the same time.

First I tried the most basic way of doing it that I could think of. I took a bunch of Green and suffused it into both Nevermore and the bone. The bone needed a bit of Red, probably because dragons connected to destructiveness, freedom (for the dragon) and fire, so I added some Red to the Green. Then I basically thought really hard at the Green that if Nevermore's bones were like that it would be a better animal; faster, stronger, swifter, more attractive to mates.

To my surprise, it actually worked. When I scanned Nevermore's bones, they were distinctly Draconic.

Then I started to think. If that worked for regular dragon bones, what would happen if I improved them first? Made them stronger, better, with Green and Red. Gave them better arcane properties with Blue. Infused them with White, adding to the bone structure's order so that they are stronger and can resist even conceptual damage, reinforce the dragon's conceptual protection against magic so that a small amount of that carries over to the person using the bones.

I decided to try it out; I had a couple pieces of bone anyways, so if I accidentally destroyed one it was fine.

Nevermore's transformation from dragon bone to improved dragon bone, or dragon bone mk. II, took a lot more energy than the original, as I had to supply the extra White, Blue, Red and Green, but it worked.

Of course Togo, Aethon and myself were a different story. The transformation was magically expensive, so I had to go slow, meditating for hours while I balanced out the transformation with my mana supply. Luckily, despite my utter failure to repeat my dimensional transportation while meditating, I had kept up my practice in the art of sitting still and focusing, and was able to manage it.

With my bones upgraded I went in for a whole new series of improvements in my body cultivation. My bones had previously been a limiting factor in my strength, the Green taking to the muscles and tendons more efficiently than the supporting skeletal structure. I also had a lot more mana available, and better control of it, so when I infused myself with those energies it was far more effective than before.

In the process, I naturally upgraded the oakflesh enchantment. Using a familiar fantasy naming convention, I wanted to call the new version "ironwoodflesh," but that sounded fucking awkward, so I decided to call it "oakflesh II" until it was good enough to qualify as stoneflesh.

I massively strengthened my body, gaining at least twice the bonus from the permanent magical effects than I had had before. Previously, I might have been able to match the Mountain in a contest of physical strength; now, I could easily best him. The excess of Green further developed my muscles, pushing my baseline closer to the limit of what I could achieve. There was still room to improve, but I was at least on the level of a top physical athlete.

The bones also served as a good conductor for Red, which meant that I was not just reacting faster, but able to move faster in general. It was almost like a freedom from the restrictions of physics that limited my motion, a kind of conceptual speed and freedom of movement, rather than the simple improved physical performance that Green could achieve. Likewise, with more Blue mana available, I could push my inherent precognition further, had a finer sense for mana, and gained even faster, clearer thoughts.

The effects of the White also improved. I gone from a mild, to moderate, to significant store of healing energy, ready to recover wounds automatically. The skin-tight conceptual defense had improved with my finer understanding of the concepts of White's protection as well, providing a back-stop of resistance for anything that managed to penetrate the Projectile Shield.

Even my Black's aggressive protection against foreign toxins and diseases seemed to be operating slightly more efficiently.

I passed similar upgrades on to Togo, Aethon and Nevermore. Then, with my time up, I decided to return to stinky, smelly, civilization.

Another thing to add to the list. Have Robert spend extra income on a proper sewage system.

I hadn't managed to get everything I wanted to done. The last item on the agenda was to try and figure out how to generate and implant graphene or carbon nanotube subdermal body armor. I had high hopes for it, and believed that the absolutely ordered structure would make it easily reinforced by White. Still, I didn't have time for it, so I was forced to leave it be until later.

Honestly, I was pretty happy with the progress I had made.

Then I got back to King's Landing and found out Robert had been poisoned. Again.

Chapter 17: Marriages

"Your Grace, we really must stop meeting this way," I drawled as I entered Robert's room.

He laughed before wincing in pain. "Odysseus, you cruel bastard," he gasped. "Everything hurts. Don't make me laugh, I beg."

I sighed, shook my head. "Really, Your Grace. What happened this time?" I asked as I began to treat him, once again pretending to use Chinese massage. It went much faster with my improved reserves and greater finesse, but he had been in quite poor shape. If it weren't for some upgrades I had made to his kidneys and liver the last time, he would likely have died before I made it back.

"Ah, one of the servants. Had some debts. Was told he could either put something in my food, or die. The fool. I would have paid him twice that to have a chance at these fucking traitors," Robert grumbled.

I hummed. "And there was no one found? The man behind the servant escaped?"

Robert nodded. "Aye. And a fucking shame it is too," he said darkly. "I swear, when I catch whoever's behind this, I'll shove my hammer up their throat."

"Up their throat, Your Grace?"

He smiled viciously. "That's right. Up their throat. Starting a good bit lower, of course, through a different hole entirely."

I chuckled at the imagery.

"I think it's clear, Your Grace, that we need to get a new Master of Whisperers sooner rather than later," I suggested. "And perhaps have new servants brought in from men loyal to you and your brothers."

He grunted as I worked on a particularly tight spot. "You're not the first to suggest it. Going to tell me who I should marry too?"

"Well, as you mention it, I still think Lady Margaery might make a good choice," I said, pretending that his question had been serious.

His eyes flashed. "They sided with the Mad King and Rhaegar," he complained.

I nodded. "They did. But that was the previous generation. Loras was but a babe then, and is a good friend of your brother's now. Margaery wasn't even born. And it's a good move politically. If Dorne were to rise up, and Highgarden were to join them, it might even convince the Westerlands that they should cause some trouble in Tywin's memory.

"But if the Reach is loyal, then Dorne is surrounded on them on the one side and the Stormlands on the other. Likewise, the Lannisters are flanked by the Reach and the Riverlands. Of the remaining territories, you know that the North is loyal, and the Vale still remembers you. The Riverlands will side with family, which means the North and the Vale, which means you, Your Grace. The Ironborn are a bunch of opportunistic curs; they'll stay bottled up if there's no weakness."

Robert sighed. "I had thought of waiting a few years and wedding Sansa," he admitted. "To be Ned's family in truth. I feel like I have poorly rewarded the Starks for all they have done for me."

Pervy old man; you can have Margaery, but not Sansa. No matter how annoying she can be, she was still partially my responsibility to protect. I would have suggested having Sansa marry Renly, if I didn't think he was gay and entirely too content and able to manipulate her to his own ends. That wouldn't make for a happy marriage either.

I shook my head. "Perhaps one of your children with your next wife, Your Grace, and one of Ned's. Rickon and Bran are both young enough that if you have a daughter in the next few years they might make a good match. Or one of his grandchildren, come to think of it; Robb's of an age to marry soon. My lord will love you as a brother regardless, and needs no further honors to do so. But the realm would do better if you were wed, and had some heirs, and the Reach has the best candidate for that."

Robert lay back with a sigh. "I suppose you are right," he finally accepted. "Did you have thoughts for the Master of Whisperers?"

In fact, I had. Both Tyrion Lannister and Oberyn Martell were decent candidates, if it weren't for the fact that they're politically unreliable. The Blackfish likely still wouldn't leave his niece, and was thus stuck in the Vale. The North, Vale and Stormlands were generally less political, while the Riverlands used less subterfuge. Or at least, I didn't know of anyone from there who was both suitable and wouldn't misuse the office.

But I did have an idea. Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns. She was meant to be quite the character, and extremely cunning. Granted she was pushing seventy, but I could make sure she had a few more good years in her, and it would be a way to give the Tyrell's influence at Court to match Margaery's new station without letting that bumbling oaf Lord Mace Tyrell get involved.

I just wasn't sure how Robert would react to the suggestion.

"I have some ideas, Your Grace, but they are not firm ones. I'd prefer to raise them in the small council. Anyways, I've finished the treatment. Same as last time; take a piss, drink some clean, unpoisoned water, and don't drink for a couple of days."

He nodded vigorously, springing out of bed. "By the Gods, Odysseus! You are truly a miracle worker," he boomed, then picked me up in a bear hug before putting me down. "I swear, a day or two after your treatments and I feel even better than before!"

Well, that's because you are better than before, you great lummox.

I grinned. "It's the contrast, Your Grace. Your body is simply overjoyed not to be poisoned. And the lower amounts of alcohol in your system helps too."

He frowned. "Bah, now you sound like Erreck. Always going on about the benefits of boiled water strained through charcoal."

I raised my eyebrows. "The Grand Maester is entirely correct, Your Grace. Pure, clean water is quite healthy, and using boiling filtered water to make healthy teas can be beneficial as well."

He just looked at me and sighed. "But what's the pointing in living, if it's not to live well? And who lives well if they don't drink? I tell you truly, Odysseus, being dead inside your heart is just as terrible a fate as being dead in truth. I'll help you with that; you'll sit alongside me at dinner, and we will be drunk and merry!" he announced with a wide grin.

I laughed, shaking my head at his antics. "Very well, Your Grace. But not tonight. Two days from now, remember?"

"Bah. I'll have to be more careful not to be poisoned again, if this is the sort of care I get," he complained sarcastically as he opened the door to his room.

Ser Barristan, who had been standing by the door and obviously heard everything spoke up. "If it will make you more careful, Your Grace, perhaps you should forebear from wine for three days."

We all laughed.

Later, I reported back to Lord Stark about my return and the king's renewed good health. I also introduced him to Nevermore.

"Say hello to Lord Stark," I said, sounding like one of those idiot pet owner that think their animal is really no different from a young child. Ned looked at me with a bit of confusion.

Then Nevermore turned his too clever eyes to point at Ned. " 'Ello, Lord Stark," he cawed. "I am Nevermore!"

Ned's eyes were wide. "It talks," he muttered in disbelief.

Nevermore cawed in disagreement. "He talks! I'm a he, not an it," he complained.

Ned blinked a couple of times, still not quite believing his senses. "My apologies, Master Raven," he said on autopilot. But that was Ned; unfailingly honorable and proper.

"Of course, of course," Nevermore replied. "We can't all have them fluffy dresses, or massive mounds of tender fat to tell apart girl from boy like you humans."

I facepalmed. I should never have made the raven conversational. And how he ended up with the local equivalent of a cockney accent was utterly beyond me.

"Ser Odysseus, why does the raven talk?" Ned asked, begging for the world to make sense.

"Because I've got things to say!" chirped Nevermore / "It seemed like a good idea at the time," I replied.

I still couldn't tell if the bird was always taking the piss, or the universe had decided I needed some insightful yet clueless comic relief. Either way, I got a headache anytime the bird spoke for more than a minute. At least Togo seemed to share my pain. Then again, he seemed to be blaming me for the situation, so maybe that wasn't such a good thing…

"Ok, ok, enough for now, Nevermore," I ordered. "Why don't you go for a fly." And in a flutter of wings Nevermore was off.

Ned drew a deep breath, then another before he spoke. "You know, Odysseus," he said with an artificial calm. "I really am not sure I was ready for a talking raven."

I nodded. "As it turns out, neither was I."

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. "What were you thinking? I mean, do you just go off into the woods, and get bored, and think I know, I'll make a raven able to speak?"

I laughed. That was actually pretty damned accurate, though the talking bit was more of a fortuitous accident.

When I was doing the auditory link something must have interacted with the memory improvement and suddenly Nevermore could speak. Come to think of it, I needed to fix that auditory link enchantment at some point, make it more of a telephone and less of a station-to-station telegraph so that I could add Togo and Aethon onto it without building up some tangled mess of enchantments right next to my brain. Yet another thing for the list.

And while I'm thinking of the list, maybe I should add a Togo-like dog for Ned and Robert; it would certainly cut down on the poisonings.

I shook my head and drew my focus back to the matter at hand, namely, why Nevermore speaks. "That's not entirely incorrect," I admitted. "Really, Nevermore is meant to be a scout and carry messages. I can see through his eyes and hear through his ears. But I also made him able to remember conversations. And then he just started speaking."

Ned sighed. "Of course," he said, somewhat used to my antics. Then again, I'd never created a whole new obviously (semi) intelligent species before.

"So, not to change the topic or anything, but I'm changing the topic. I was speaking to Robert earlier; I think he'll go for marrying Margaery Tyrell."

Ned brightened up. "That's good to hear," he said. "It would help the Realm's stability if the Reach were to brought in closer with the Crown."

I nodded. "I was thinking about that. Given that Sansa isn't going to be marrying Joffrey," I said, watching as Ned winced at that reminder, "I was thinking that it might be a good idea for her to marry Willas Tyrell."

Ned looked a little shocked. "I hadn't really thought about it. Willas Tyrell?" he questioned.

"Yes," I answered. "It strengthens both the Stark and the Crown. A second marriage alliance, to the heir of Highgarden especially, would even more firmly bring the Reach into the fold. Beyond that, Sansa is the daughter to the Lord Paramount of the North, cousin to the Lord Paramount of the Vale, and the granddaughter to the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. If she marries Willas that would make four of the great houses with close familial ties to the Starks, and the Reach has a lot of food that could help during Winter."

"And why not Renly?" Ned asked, wanting to hear my reasoning.

"Renly is firmly wedded to the Crown as is, he can hardly rebel against his brother," I joked. "Beyond that, he has less to offer the North. But perhaps most importantly, I believe Sansa will be happy with Willas. He is by all accounts a good lord, a kind man, gentle with animals; the fact that he is like that after being crippled speaks to a strong character. Sansa believes too strongly in storybook tales, in pious, true knights, dastardly villains, and the eventual and relatively painless triumph of good. She lacks the teeth, physical or political, to truly protect herself. I don't know that Renly, who is relatively untested, is the right man for her. I think Willas might be."

I wasn't sure whether to say my suspicions of Renly and Loras, but decided that doing so was better than not, and so continued. "Beyond that… I have seen the way that Loras looks at Renly, and Renly Loras. I do not judge them for it if it is the case, and I am sure that each will do their respective duties with regards to fathering heirs either way, but I cannot help but suspect that there is more than simple friendship between them."

It took him a moment to catch on. "Ah. Ah! I see. Yes, that could make for an unhappy marriage," he mused, grimacing a bit at the thought. "I'll think on what you've said, Odysseus, and speak to Sansa as well."

I nodded my head in an approximation of a bow. "Very good, my Lord."

Two days later, I allowed myself to get roaringly drunk with Robert. We had a grand time.

The next day in the small council he announced that he would be asking the Tyrells for Margaery's hand. Renly seemed pleased.

In the ensuing discussion about the Master of Whisperers, Stannis proposed Ser Davos Seaworth. The man had extensive contacts among Braavos and the Free Cities, but was relatively weak on internal affairs, especially among the nobility. I had initially proposed Olenna Tyrell. She might have been female, a mark against her in that society, but she was wickedly intelligent and had a powerful grasp of the political movements within the Seven Kingdoms. That said, she was far less connected outside of Westeros, and had few connections to the lower classes.

I actually preferred the solution we came up with; a new position was added, the Director of Foreign Intelligence, who would serve to manage spying activities outside of the Seven Kingdoms, working closely with the Master of Ships, Master of Coins and Master of Whisperers as their interests intersected. Ser Davos was made the first Director of Foreign Intelligence, and it was agreed that Lady Olenna would be offered the position of Mistress of Whisperers.

The next morning, the ravens went out, and by the end of the week we had received their agreement. In some five to seven weeks the Tyrells would be at court. Three months after that Robert would wed Margaery.

Meanwhile Davos, at Stannis' order, had already prepared the first foreign intelligence briefing for the small council. The results of which meant another adventure for yours truly.

Chapter 18: Over the Sea and Far Away pt. 1

Ser Davos brought much news. The movement of pirates in the Stepstones. Shifts in prices of goods and political changes in the Free Cities. What certain large and dangerously competent mercenary companies were up to.

And then he had to move the news onto Daenerys Targaryen. She had married Khal Drogo, or was about to last we heard. Robert might have sent assassins after her then, but the mess with Cersei's infidelity and Varys' treason distracted him and he allowed Ned to wait and see whether she would survive among the horse-lords, or even be capable of getting with child.

Now word had trickled in from Ser Jorah Mormont, a former slaver and exile who was trying to spy his way to a pardon, that Daenerys was likely with child. And Robert, still full of hatred for the Targaryens wanted her dead. He didn't care that she was still truly a child, being about to turn sixteen. That she might die in childbirth. That the odds of the child surviving to adulthood were so low. That the Dothraki, for all that they were excellent cavalry, would never come across the sea.

No, Robert wanted Daenerys dead along with her brother. And to be fair, I could understand where he was coming from. On a national politics level, both Viserys and she and any of her future blood were a risk. Whether a rallying point for a civil war that could kill tens of thousands, or a foreign invader with a nice justification, she was just too potent a symbol and too great a risk.

On the other hand, Ned fucking hated the idea. He fought the Targaryens to restore justice and honor to the realm, not to send poisoners after girls and unborn babes. At least Viserys, an adult and known anti-Baratheon agitator, was seen as acceptable target (even if Ned generally disliked assassins). But with Daenerys it was the exact same argument from sixteen years ago, when Robert refused to condemn the men responsible for killing the Targaryen children during the sack of King's Landing. And much like that argument, both sides were sticking to their guns, getting louder and louder as they shouted at each other.

"I'll handle it," I volunteered before they could say anything unforgivable. Plus, maybe one of the Targaryens had that whole fireproof Valerian thing going on. Either way, I'd get to see a whole new continent and avoid any real work for a couple months. Visit exciting places, kill the people trying to kill you, get some mana, what's not to love?

Ned was looking at me suspiciously while Robert was happily assuming I was agreeing with him.

"See, Ned, Odysseus gets it!" he boomed.

"What exactly do you mean by "handle it," Odysseus?" Ned asked, a deep tone of warning in his voice. For all I had done for him and his family, he would never truly forgive me if I were to go out intending to murder this troublesome girl. That sort of honor was all too rare, sadly.

"You're both working under an incorrect assumption," I stated, confusing both of them. "It's not Daenerys we need to worry about, it's Drogo. Correct me if I'm wrong, but when a Dothraki Khal dies doesn't his wife get sent to join the, what were they called? The Dothraki crones who live in Vaes Dothrak?" I asked.

"The dosh khaleen, I believe," answered Ser Davos.

"That's right. The dosh khaleen. I'll give Daenerys and any child she has, born or not, the same treatment I gave Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella, and see to it they aren't in a position to cause any trouble. And I'll either treat with Drogo, get him to give up Daenerys and bring her back here as a prisoner for Your Grace's disposition, or I'll kill him. The Dothraki may fancy themselves horse-lords, but I bet any sum of money you care to name that Aethon can outrun the lot the them."

I looked at Ned and continued. "I believe my lord Stark that that satisfies honor. Viserys is a man grown and outspoken about his desire to seize the throne, and deserves no special protections. Drogo, a man that leads a slaving warband forty thousand strong, is hardly an innocent, nor an illegitimate target. And Your Grace will be able to rest easy that there won't be any white-haired claimants to the throne coming from those quarters."

Robert pursed his lips then nodded slowly. "That works for me. Ned?"

"Sir Odysseus' suggestion is honorable. You're sure you can do it, and get away safely?" he asked, worried for my safety.

"I can and will," I answered with a grin.

Robert drew himself up. "Very well then. Ser Odysseus, I charge you to go forth and end the threat of Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen. Do you accept?"

"I do, Your Grace."

He smiled at me. "Good man. Do you need any money, supplies or assistance?"

I thought about it for a minute. "I'll use my own money, and provide an accounting afterwards. I do need about five days to prepare," I stated. "Other than that, if Ser Davos could find me a good ship headed to Pentos, that would be grand."

"It may be faster to sail all the way to Volantis, or Meereen," Davos suggested.

I shook my head. "We'll make better time overland."

He raised his eyebrows at that but didn't say anything. Ships could make a hundred miles a day; it was crazy to think of a horse making more than that, let alone the three or four hundred that Aethon could achieve fairly comfortably. Plus I wanted to visit a number of the so called "Free" Cities, and see if there was any truth to their rumored magics.

"Well, Your Grace, my lords, if there's nothing else that needs my attention, I have much to prepare," I said.

"No, that was everything, go on Odysseus. We'll have a feast for you before you go," Robert said, still happy that the nuisance of Daenerys would be dealt with even if not how he'd initially envisioned. As far as Robert was concerned, feasts were awesome and thus he gifted them to people when he was particularly pleased with them.

At least he wasn't throwing me a tourney.

The next five days were spent memorizing maps and the customs from a travelogue of a man who had stayed with a Dothraki khalasar. I acquired two more ravens, Mu and Hue, and transformed them into the same pattern as Nevermore. I named them partially after Muninn and Huginn, Odin's ravens, but thought better of actually calling them Huginn and Muninn, just in case Odin was real, could tell, and might be upset.

But their names were also a bit of a joke; Mu means nothing, and Hue means color. So Mu Hue is no color, and their feathers were black. It wasn't very funny, but it amused me a bit. I spent a few days reworking the visual/auditory links, adding in a variable connection selector on the send side, and a link database on the receive side. It still wasn't a phone, but it meant that I could have up to a dozen links before I needed a redesign. That was more than enough for three ravens, Togo and Aethon.

The reason I needed the extra ravens was because Nevermore was going to stay behind in King's landing. If Aethon and I reallypushed, and I used all my available Green Mana to reduce the physical strains of running quickly, we could make as many as a thousand miles in a day. That meant that in the case of an emergency, we could be back within a fortnight even once I found Drogo's khalasar. Nevermore would be able to keep an eye on things for me.

Jon had insisted that he would come with me. He argued that as my squire, it was his duty and I'd be shaming him if I left him behind. He could tell I still sort of wanted him to guard the girls, which he had gotten pretty sick of, so he used the ultimatum; if I left him behind, he'd follow anyways.

So he, Ghost and Shadowfax were going to be joining us. I planned to upgrade him as much as I could on the ship to Pentos so he shouldn't slow me down much. He was a good enough swordsman that he could be a real help if things went pear shaped and we had to fight our way out, keeping the enemy off of me while I shot them with arrows or blasted them with spells.

Taking Jon and Ghost did however mean that Ned and Robert were less guarded than I would have liked, so I took two juvenile hunting dogs and gave them an upgrade package. I didn't give them Togo's gigantism, but the rest of the upgrade package was put into place. Then I gave them to Robert and Ned and told them I expected that the dogs would check all the food and people coming into their presence while I was gone. I also spent some time with Lady and Nymeria making sure that they were fully up to date with their enchantments and upgrades. Arya was desperately jealous I was getting to go on such an adventure.

Lastly I spent a day in the godswood, stocking up on arrows. I had this terrible suspicion that we'd end up in a running fight with forty thousand dothraki screamers, and I felt nervous about running out. By day's end I'd filled five bags, with six dozen arrows to a bag for a grand total of three-hundred sixty arrows. It seemed an auspicious number, at least.

Then the five days were up. We feasted until late in the evening, and the morning found Jon and I on the ship to Pentos.

The ship's journey was pretty boring, to be honest. No pirates, no storms, just a regular crossing. I did have time to give Jon as close of an approximation of my own upgrades as I could manage.

They didn't quite connect as well. He didn't get quite as large of a boost in his physical abilities, had more of a minor danger sense than true combat precognition, and so on. I had suspected it when improving Togo and Aethon, and later the ravens, but there was something fundamentally different between their bodies and my own.

Still, he was significantly stronger than when he started, his natural body streamlined and enhanced as if he'd been working out hard for a year or two. That was then further boosted by the magic in his system; he was easily among the strongest men in the world, more similar to the Mountain than the youth Jon appeared to be. It didn't really matter that I was stronger and faster still; Jon was strong enough, and easily skilled enough with a sword, to cause some real damage.

I added him to the communications link as well, so we'd be able to coordinate if separated. I had been careful upgrading Jon, doing it in small bursts so as to ensure I didn't do anything to harm him, but that did mean that the upgrades took up the rest of the journey.

The impression I got of Pentos was a beautiful city full of shitty people. The houses had tiled roofs, and were somewhat reminiscent of Spanish architecture. The city itself was at least half again larger in population and footprint than King's Landing, and cleaner too. Bazaars and marketplaces abounded, goods from the further parts of Essos available that you could rarely find in Westeros. The powerful, ruling merchants, called magisters, kept gorgeous walled manses. In the center of the city was the Great Marketplace, sort of like a miniature but permanent version of the fair that took place in the middle of the Hand's Tourney. The faith of R'hllor was practiced in that city, shrines dotting the neighborhoods while a large red temple served as the center of worship.

But despite the fact that Pentos had lost a war against Braavos, and languished under a treaty that forbid them more than twenty warships, sellswords, contracts with free companies, a true army or to possess slaves, I passed many people who were collared, their faces branded. "Free bond servants," they called them. Debt slaves in all but name, their food, clothing and shelter counted more expensive than their service. Considering their debts passed onto their children… I saw no difference between it and true slavery whatever the legal definitions.

That was not the only part of the treaty that the Pentoshi bent or broke. Their ships were often easily converted between raiders and merchantmen, and would fly the flags of Lys or Myr when carrying slaves. The city may not keep an army, but it had a strong watch and each of the magisters their own force of private guards, many of them Unsullied. And in general the city had found it cheaper to buy off the Dothraki than to fight them.

No, it was a pretty city, but a rotten one. We stayed just long enough for me to bond with the temple, gaining a White and a Red before we were once again on the road. I had been disappointed watching the service; it was clear that there was something to it, some spark of mystery, but it never caught fire and blossomed into true magic. Perhaps a more senior priest, or a different temple would be able to aid me in my search for power.

The road from Pentos went through Ghoyan Drohe to Norvos. Along the way I picked up a pair of Red mana in the Velvet Hills. Ghoyan Drohe itself was a ruin, a dead city cast down by dragonriders to rot. The canals had filled in, the city turned to swamp. It provided a pair of Black mana, and might have given more but it was unpleasant enough there that Jon asked we continue on.

I picked up a pair of Blue mana when passing the Little and Upper branches of the river Rhoyne, then another at the Noyne. Norvos was located in a valley in a hilly, somewhat mountainous area. I managed two Red mana at our rest stops before we arrived at the city.

Ruled by a theocracy of fanatic, flagellant bearded priests, I had no desire to stay in the city of Norvos and so we rode through. I picked up a pair of Greens in the nearby forest as we rested a bit and hunted to increase our supplies, then another two Red mana as we left the Hills of Norvos on our way to Qohor. I picked up a Blue crossing the Darkwash, and a Green from the forest just before entering Qohor.

Chapter 19: Over the Sea and Far Away pt. 2

Qohor, a city of about a half a million, was surrounded by strong, stone walls. The furthest east of the northern Free Cities, and along one of the main routes into that area, it was often visited by Dothraki khalasars. Though it paid them tribute rather than fight, the city maintained their walls and a strong core of Unsullied to deter attacks and reduce the cost of tribute.

The Unsullied were hard to describe. Basically, the same principle of being an unflinching warrior that you'd see from the Spartans, but rather than being trained for initiative the Unsullied slave-soldiers were trained to be ridiculously, suicidally obedient. They were skilled yet disturbing to contemplate.

Apart from being the gateway between western and eastern Essos, Qohor had one more claim to fame. It was known as a city of sorcerers. The greatest of Qohorik smiths could rework Valyrian steel, even if they couldn't make more of that fabled metal. Divination, blood magic and necromancy were rumored practices.

I was nervous of pursuing their magics without caution though. They worshipped a dark god there, the Black Goat, and gave it daily sacrifices of blood and animals with condemned criminals for holy feast days. And that was in good years. In times of true crisis, the Qohorik nobles might sacrifice their own children. Truly, their "god" was more of a demon. They guarded the secrets of their magic jealously, and I had no desire for a city of half a million to chase me as a sacrifice. But Valyrian steel… that was a secret I wanted.

Jon and I entered the city cautiously, my senses straining to catch any active magic, my eyes channeling an overlay of mage-sight. I was disappointed. None of the street wizards, or their more expensive kin available for consultation seemed to have true power. But then I found it; a forge that glowed with true magic. It was weak, yes, and old, but there were signs of more recent power as well. The smell of the sacrifices they used to power their spells was distinct, the blood seeped into the earth.

I found a master smith, and asked him about whether he could reforge Valyrian steel.

He looked me up and down, the quality of my armor making him raise an eyebrow. "I can, but I doubt you have any," he replied.

I laughed, shaking my head. "I wish, I wish. But no, I was hoping to see it done. It is the greatest magic of the modern age, and I wanted to be able to bring the tale of watching a true master smith at work back to my home in Westeros."

His face became grim, his body posture aggressive. "You speak our language without accent, outsider, so you should know. The secrets of the smiths are for Qohor alone."

Damn. I was going to have to try it. "Of course, of course," I said, deescalating the situation. "I would never dream of anything different. But surely it would do no harm to just watch, just the once, and pay a hundred dragons for the privelege?" I argued, loosing the Blue spell that I hoped would act as a Jedi Mind Trick and help convince him.

It seemed to work as he blinked, then nodded with slightly glazed eyes. "Yes, yes, it would do no harm to just watch. I will show you."

I had seen Ice before, of course, Ned's Valyrian greatsword, but the enchantment on it was like the edge of a fractal snowflake. I just couldn't get enough resolution on it to properly understand it, and it was obvious that the application of the enchantment was as much part of the casting as the final shape. I was hoping this would let me bridge the gap.

The smith gathered his apprentices and journeymen, then began the task of re-forging the single small Valyrian dagger he kept for practice. They were looking at Jon and I askance. Poor Jon, of course, was following little of this. His Valyrian was not conversational yet, and the local dialect had drifted far from what the classical Valyrian he had been taught by Luwin as a boy.

Hours of heating, sacrifices, chanting, and working the blade followed. I was engrossed, as were the smiths. Too much so to notice one of the younger apprentices slipping out near the end. I did notice when he returned, however, with a handful of officers, a priest, twenty Unsullied and forty common soldiers besides. Or rather, Hue and Mu noticed while flying over-watch for just such an occasion, and they warned me.

Jon and I fled, our horses turning off the street just as the band sent to arrest us turned onto it. Ghost and Togo were outside the city; I knew that the odds of my getting into trouble there were high, and there were only a handful of people in the world who had canine companions like ours. The Starks had enough enemies and assassins as it was.

Aethon and Shadowfax pushed their way through the crowds and we had disappeared out the far gate before the alarm spread and sent the city into lockdown.

But it had worked; I had the secret of Valyrian steel. Oh, I'd need to work with a smith to make the true version; the folded and refolded layers of a damascene blade were a necessary part of the enchanting process. But that was the third level of the Valyrian enchanted blade.

The first level, the basic enchantment to never dull or break, to be a fraction as heavy, and to cut slightly better because the edge was harder was easily in my grasp. The only issue was that the lack of weight to the sword could make the blows have less momentum.

The second level was for the edge to be extremely sharp. That required being cast on the blade at forging as it had a naturally self-sharpening effect on the blade, or for me to figure out how to magically sharpen a blade's edge at the same time that I cast the enchantment.

The third level was by far the best. It included a sort of conceptual ideal of cutting, as well as what I thought might be a kind of guided strike effect to help the swordsman. It had a higher level of the base enchantments too, and made it so that each strike carried the impact of what the sword should have weighed.

Unfortunately, it would still need a conventional master blade smith to manage. The conceptual effects in particular were partially a distillation of the concept of a fighting blade, and depended on the smith's ability to resonate with that ideal, their ability to push that purpose into the weapon. It was really interesting from a magical point of view, and gave me insights into how I'd be able to get enchantments to "stick" for lack of a better term to inanimate objects.

Suffice to say, learning how to smith was put on the list of things to do when I had time. As a proper mage, I'd likely find it much easier to impose the concepts, and wouldn't need to be a true master to manage the third level of the enchantment. Though if I did become that good, I'd likely be able to make something amazing.

A vorpal sword. That sounded like a lot of fun, and really damned unfair for anyone we went up against.

Until then, Jon and I would have to content ourselves with our +1 blades, the metal shimmering slightly when caught in the light.

After leaving Qohor we decided to cut through the forest rather than take the road south that passed through Ar Noy. Unfortunately the river Qhoyne was too close to Qohor and any potential pursuit for my liking, so I had to forgo its Blue.

The forest was old, ancient even, and the mana was dense and potent because of it. I picked up another eight Green mana on the way, taking my time since I knew that after we entered the Dothraki Sea and its thousands of miles of plains and grasslands that I wouldn't have another easy source of Green Mana for a while.

It was a heady thing, so much wild, natural magic. Playing around with it I learned some more on how to manipulate plants, a bit of Green and colorless for growing food or shelter from roots and bushes, or how I could use some more power and cover an animal in entangling roots, trapping it. I doubted I'd use the spells much, but they were fun to play around with, even if the magic made Jon a bit nervous at first.

Then we left the forest and entered the plains. It was some fifteen or sixteen hundred miles from where we left the forest to Vaes Dothrak, the only Dothraki city, which sat in the middle of their grasslands. I knew that Drogo and Daenerys had been headed there a few months ago, and hoped to find them, or at least news of where they were headed last, at Vaes Dothrak. We would ride half the day, then stop to rest and for me to bond the plains. They gave White mana, and over the journey from the forest of Qohor I bonded ten times.

The journey was uneventful. Hue and Mu would scout in turns, keeping an eye out for the Dothraki barbarians. And they were truly barbarians; horse-riders and raiders one and all, they believed that farming, cutting the earth to till it was a sin. They thought that the gods could not see unless the actions took place under an open sky, and so they eschewed cities. They depended on their horses for transportation and sustenance, eating and drinking the milk, blood and flesh from their steeds.

A man who did not ride was not a man; literally. Only the crippled, very young, very old, very pregnant, eunuchs or more valuable slaves rode carts, while being forced to walk was an act of shame, fit only for slaves. All others rode, which made the Dothraki amazinglight cavalry. But for all their similarities, in any comparison with the Mongols, the Mongols came out on top.

The Mongols of Earth conquered and forged empires; bloody as their acts may have been, they adapted and assimilated the civilizations they ruled. The Dothraki merely destroyed. They were a scourge as far as I was concerned, hordes of man sized destructive cunning beasts rather than possessing any of the finer traits of humanity.

I contented myself with the fact that someday, eventually, the civilized forces would grow and gain in population, technology, strength. And then those fucking horse-lords would face the fangs of civilization: rifles and cannon. And they would become a footnote of history.

Until that day the Dothraki would continue as a human plague.

A couple days ride away from Vaes Dothrak we stopped. I had grown greatly in power during the journey: eleven Green, eleven White, four Blue, two Black, and seven Red extra compared to when I had started out from Westeros. I'd had a lot of nights to spend time thinking and tinkering with how to improve the spells, the upgrades and cultivated power I had gathered.

The Green based Supernatural Physique, Oakflesh, and Regeneration had all improved. Blue had been streamlined a bit, but hadn't had more than minor incremental gains. In Red, the improved reactions, increased power when hitting, and the straight up conceptual bonus to speed that I called Haste had all improved significantly.

With White, I had managed to get the stored healing energy to be denser and more efficient, while the skin-tight conceptual defense was actually getting useful, more like an inch of heavy padding in its effect against physical attacks with a similar performance against magical ones. I also figured out how to not just improve the Projectile Shield, making it stronger and adding another layer, but also how to link them together with other, nearby Projectile Shields so that they could share power.

The disadvantage to that was that if one person's shields went down, everyone's went down. But the advantage was that to bring one shield down the attackers had to bring everyone's down. For example, it was impossible to target the horse and ignore the rider, or vice versa.

The linkage wasn't perfectly designed yet; optimally, I'd have the shields being partially linked so if a heavier attack like a ballista bolt hit one person's shield, that shield would just pop, stopping the projectile but not over-drawing on the shield network. Then their second shield layer would activate and cycle into the networked shield defense. But the Dothraki didn't use ballista, so I figured it was a moot point at that moment.

I even figured out how to us Black mana to get more nutrition from food. It was a bit strange, but when I shifted my point of view I realized that digestion is really killing the food and taking its qualities for myself. Black's death and greed fit well enough into that image. It was minor, but I did notice my health slightly improving. That was by far and away the most interesting Black-oriented effect I had managed to date; if properly developed, it might even let me steal more abstract powers and traits by eating them, sort of like the protagonist of Re:Monster.

I took the time to clean up the upgrades, engineer them into more generally applicable enchantments, and give them to Jon, Togo, Ghost, Aethon, Shadowfax, Hue and Mu.

Then with a bit of time to spare I reverse engineered the Valyrian steel spell enough that I could improve our armor. The links of the chain shone and shimmered when exposed, would never suffer from rust, and would be far harder to penetrate. It was only equivalent to the first level of the Valyrian steel, but it was already a great improvement.

Honestly, given the stone-like oakflesh and all of the other upgrades I doubted we had much to worry about, but better safe than sorry. Plus it was far subtler for an arrow or sword to fail to penetrate our armor than for it to merely cause a pin-prick in our skin.

And I'll admit; my inner fantasy nerd was much happier to have bright, shiny mail compared to the slightly rusty, discolored mail I had had previously. Plus enchanted gear is always better, right?

Fully prepared, we set off for Vaes Dothrak.

Chapter 20: Over the Seas and Far Away, pt. 3

Vaes Dothrak was a city without walls or gates, defended by a thousand miles of grassland and the millions of Dothraki riders that would fall onto any army that thought to invade. It was a city inhabited by slaves and ruled by the dosh khaleen, former khaleesis whose khal husbands had died. The city was sacred to the Dothraki, and it was forbidden to draw a blade or shed a free man's blood within its borders.

The city itself was massive, ten times the size of Pentos, supposedly with enough space in its halls to fit every Dothraki from every khalasar at the same time. This had not been tested in centuries, however, not since the last time that the Dothraki had a great khal, a khal of khals, to command them in their destructive ways.

Merchants were welcomed in the city and afforded safe passage by the khalasars so long they kept to the laws and gave gifts of salt, grain and silver to the dosh khaleen. After all, the savages needed some way to trade loot they didn't want or need for things they did, and valued some of the fruits of the civilizations that they so disdained.

We had heard of this, and passed over the tribute without issue. Jon and I peace-tied our swords and spears into their holsters. Our horses and canines drew admiring glances and comments as rode in, passing under two massive horse statues that framed the road. After a bit over a month of travelling, we had arrived.

The first thing to do was to find out if Drogo's khalasar had arrived yet or not, and so we made our way to the Western Market to enquire. The Western Market was the great bazaar used by traders from the Free Cities to the west of the Dothraki Sea. The Eastern Market which I planned to visit later was where traders from traders from the East came, even those as far away as Asshai, Yi Ti and the Shadow Lands.

The books in Westeros were dismissive of claims of magic from the east, but it was rumored that in Yi Ti sorcerer-kings ruled provinces, that in Asshai shadowbinders, aeromancers, and fire mages conducted fell and powerful rites. It was a known fact that Asshai was truly ancient, that the animals in the city died within days, that the river there was full of deformed fish and phosphorescent at night while a glistening black during the day.

Even if only one part in ten of its reputation were true I would hesitate to go there. The Shadowlands that it bordered, said to be the birthplace of dragons and demons alike, sounded like it might legitimately be inhabited by Sauron. I was by no means prepared to venture into the magical equivalent of a nuclear fallout zone to gain magical knowledge, not yet. One does not simply walk into Mordor, after all.

But one day, when I was stronger, my magics more powerful and sophisticated, I would venture into that place. I would even brave the Shadowlands if it was the only way getting a dragon as a pet. But until then, I was happy to be able to talk to people with first-hand accounts of the place. It was even possible that the Eastern Market would have some magical types present, though unlikely that anyone of true power would come to the Dothraki Sea.

When Jon and I went to the Western Market we found that we had beaten Drogo to the city, so we settled in to wait. We visited the Eastern Market, saw Zorses and Elephants; there was even a tiger that I thought about buying, but I didn't want to risk making Togo jealous. Similarly, the Zorses looked fucking awesome.

The Jogos Nhai were this race of horse nomads, smaller in stature than the Dothraki and with weirdly conical heads. They lived east of the Dothraki Sea past the Bone Mountains in the plains north of Yi Ti and plagued that country with their raids. Unlike the Dothraki, who were content to be bought off and spent as much effort fighting each other as they did the more civilized cities, the Jogos Nhai believed that to spill the blood of their brethren was a crime and so only made war on their civilized neighbors.

They were a true blight, but their Zorses were amazing. They had bred horses with zebras, then somehow instead of a race of sterile zebra-horse hybrids managed to make a true-breeding species, the Zorse. Zorses could live on a bit of weeds and some completely non-nutritional devil grass for months, travel long distances without food or water, and were slightly larger, stronger, faster and more ferocious than any horse or horse-zebra hybrid had a right to be.

I strongly suspected magic had been used sometime in the breed's past when I heard about their characteristics. They were just too obviously engineered. I scanned one of them, and found a particular structure that would allow them to drain a type of energy out of something; I suspected that was the ghost-grass eating adaptation. There was another adaptation that let them substitute ambient mana for food. Other than that, they weren't particularly interesting. I did crib the adaptations though.

If they'd been available in Westeros I might have ridden one instead of a horse, but Aethon wasn't just a mount. He was my friend, and I wasn't replacing him with some fancy black and white striped model no matter how cool they looked.

Nor, sadly, was Aethon amenable to a cosmetic makeover, no matter how many apples I promised or how awesome he'd look afterwards.

Also sadly, I didn't find any magical practitioners in the Eastern Market, or any texts on magic. I did bond both markets, getting a White and a Red from each, so it wasn't a total loss magically.

Drogo still wasn't there, so Jon and I went on a trip around the Womb of the World, a large-ish lake next to Vaes Dothrak, and the Mother of Mountains, the nearby glorified hill range. Neither really deserved their names, but the belief in those places had made the mana dense and powerful. We weren't allowed to actually set foot on them as they were considered holy locations, but could get close enough for me to connect to them. The lake was bound for two Blue mana. The mountain, slightly larger, was bound two times for a total of four Red.

Then Hue who was on patrol at the time saw in the distance a great dustcloud. Drogo's khalasar approached, and it was ridiculously massive. He had forty thousand riders, men capable of fighting. But he also had at least sixty thousand women, children and slaves; I put the number at closer to eighty thousand extra at a guess. And they had more than one horse per rider as well. All in all it was truly worthy of the word horde.

And it was up to me (and to a lesser extent Jon) to ensure that this group never managed to plunder Westeros.

When Drogo and his party rode up to the Horse Gates they found Jon and I waiting for them atop our horses, fully armed and armored, Togo and Ghost on our flanks.

"I think this is the maddest thing I've ever even heard of," Jon muttered.

Jon wasn't very happy about this plan.

I snorted in amusement. "Quiet Jon, you're ruining the moment," I said softly.

He turned to me, mouth agape. "The moment? What moment? Two against twenty thousand isn't a moment, Odysseus, it's suicide!" he hissed quietly. "Even your magic can't win against these odds!"

I smiled. "I told you, Jon. I won't need any magic."

"Yes, because why would you blast Drogo from a nice, safe distance? That wouldn't make for a good enough story!" he practically growled.

"It wouldn't!" I defended, my voice soft but insistent. "Now shut up, it's almost time for everything to start."

"Fine. Fine. But when this goes wrong, I'll be telling you I told you so until we're back safe in King's Landing." He was practically exuding an affronted aura. I hadn't realized that was possible.

"If that makes you feel better. Seriously though, hush," I said. The riders were about three hundred meters distant, and had sent out a small band of a half-dozen at a canter to find out what we were doing as the main party approached. The smaller band stopped about forty meters away and called out.

"Who are you, to block the way of the mighty khal Drogo!" their leader shouted in the harsh Dothraki tongue. Seriously, all-speech was definitely the way to go when travelling in foreign climes. 10/10, would be given by mystical accident again. I mean, could you imagine having to give a challenge through an interpreter? That just loses all the impact.

"I am Ser Odysseus, Knight of Winterfell of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros!" I called back. "I am here to tell Drogo – give up Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen, the enemies of my king, or face me in combat, or be known to all here as a coward!"

That pissed them off. One of the younger riders had to be restrained from charging us. "You are brave, Andal, but foolish," their leader called. "Make your peace with your gods, for you will soon be dead." He turned and gave an order to one of his riders who then turned his horse about and raced back to the khal.

For some reason, Dothraki believed that all Westerosi were Andals; I wasn't even from Westeros, but whatever.

After the messenger reported to Drogo, their party continued forward at the same speed. Jon was tense and nervous at my side, the standoff between us and the other riders uncomfortable. Finally they came up and joined the original scouts who were only slightly distant. I could see a silver-haired girl, Daenerys, and a large, armored figure who I guessed to be the disgraced knight and spy, Ser Jorah Mormont. I couldn't see Viserys though. Drogo was obviously the leader, mounted on a red horse at the front.

Drogo asked Mormont a question. Mormont shook his head then turned to face me.

"You claim to be a knight of Winterfell, but I know of few knights that serve the Starks, none of them with your sigil," Jorah called out in Westerosi common.

"I was knighted half a year or so ago," I replied easily with a wolfish smile. "I suppose I'll be taking your disgraced head back with me as well, Mormont. It's truly a good day."

His fist tightened on his lance. "What deeds have you done then, that would make you worthy to face khal Drogo?"

"I crippled the Hound, Sandor Clegane, while I was unarmed and he with sword and shield," I called out in Dothraki. "My dog, Togo, killed Jaime Lannister in a trial by combat. The Mountain that Rode, Ser Gregor Clegane and forty of his men ambushed me, alone. I killed them and took their heads to show to their Lord who had sent them while he feasted. I killed Tywin Lannister in single combat the following morning. I won the Hand's Tourney in archery, am a horse archer, and have both the most powerful bow ever made and the fastest horse; had I wanted to, I would have simply killed you and Drogo and whoever else I wanted to and left. But I am a warrior, and as a warrior I challenge you, khal Drogo, who has made himself an enemy of my king by his choice of wife."

I could see the look of shock on Mormont's face. It seemed that at least some of this news had not caught up with him yet, and unlike the Dothraki he knew how incredible those achievements were. Drogo turned to him, and asked him what all of that meant. Jorah didn't look like he wanted to answer, but he couldn't refuse either.

"You claim to have the fastest horse, and the best bow," Drogo called out. "Prove it. If it is true, then you will fight Jorah the Andal. If you can beat him, you will be worth killing. But we will not fight hidden behind iron like cowards; no, you will be allowed your horse, your saddle, your lower clothes, and your sword. Nothing else."

"Against Jorah as well?" I asked.

Drogo shook his head, the bells in his braids faintly tinkling. "No, against him you may fight as an Andal." Again with the Andal thing, I would be feeling very microaggressed if I bought into that BS.

I nodded, smiled. The conditions weren't outside of expectations. "Very well. We are in agreement, Khal Drogo." Then I turned to Jon. "Jon, I'll ride off a few hundred paces, then signal for you to throw the shield into the air. Do remember to give it a decent bit of height." We had bought an extra shield just for demonstration purposes if that proved necessary. I wasn't damaging one of ours, after all, especially after I enchanted it. That was just profligate.

Aethon turned to the side so they could see just how fast he really was, then I bent down and grabbed hold of the special handle-straps I'd had added to the saddle. "Show them what you can really do, Aethon!"

And like a shot he was off. I couldn't measure it with a great deal of accuracy, but I knew that Aethon could manage a top speed of over a hundred miles an hour. Even he couldn't keep that sort of speed up for long, or on anything but good terrain, but it was damnedimpressive. Six or seven seconds later, when we were a few hundred yards away from Jon, Aethon slowed and stopped. I drew my bow and three arrows, and used all the temporary spell buffs to make myself even faster and more accurate, then burned Blue to warp destiny. I would not, could not, miss.

Literally. With that much destiny manipulation, missing was quite literally impossible.

I told Jon through the communication link to throw it. The round shield went flying up into the sky, it's face towards me. And then with a thwack, thwack, thwack the arrows were away. A moment later they landed on the target, a crack, crack, crack audible all the way from where I'd shot.

It was an impossible target and they all knew it. The first arrow had slammed into the shield, moving it and giving it spin. Then the second hit where the shield moved to, as did the third. I moved back to Jon at an easy canter that was still faster than their horses could gallop. I could see how impressed the Dothraki were by my stunt.

When I rejoined Jon, I called out to Drogo again. "Was that proof enough, khal Drogo?" I asked.

He nodded. "It was. Rather than have such a man die, I would offer that you join my khalasar. I will give you horses, women and riches."

I shook my head. "My apologies, khal, but I have a lord and king already." Plus, I don't want to be some slaving, looting, barbarian nomad, but I was diplomatic enough not to tell him that.

"Very well. Jorah will face you, and if you beat him, I will," he announced. I took off the saddlebags for my arrows and the holster for my bow and passed them over to Jon on Shadowfax.

The difference between Mormont and I was striking. I was in a relatively open helmet designed not to obscure my vision, and wore chain mail over a leather and cloth gambeson. My gauntlets were only half-plate. Mormont, while not in full plate, did have a breastplate, a heavier helmet, and was in general equipped more like a proper knight than a rich man-at-arms.

He took up his lance, got his shield in position. I did the same. Unlike in a joust, where there is a divider, and each party passes with their shield facing their opponent, in a true battle it wasn't unusual to charge straight at each other, playing a game of chicken where whoever balks first loses position. Or, of course, the knights crash together and – assuming no one's horse goes down in the impact and both riders stay in their seats – try and smash the enemy apart as quickly as possible before he returns the favor.

I was a good rider, good with a spear, and with all the practice I'd gotten with Jon, actually good at fighting on a horse now too. Skills wise, I was around the level of a veteran but not renowned knight, the kind of warrior that formed the backbone of Westeros' armies. Jorah was a champion, the sort of man who could match and beat the best knights in Westeros in a fair competition.

Unluckily for him, it wouldn't be fair. I was far stronger, faster and tougher than Jorah, and Aethon was far stronger, faster and tougher than Jorah's horse. Beyond that, Aethon was smart enough to learn how to fight, to overcome his instincts as a herbivore (though I hadcheated a bit with magic for that part) and become absolutely lethal in a brawl. Meanwhile I could, even one-handed, pull off tricks to parry his lance with my own that I shouldn't have had the leverage or strength or speed or timing to manage. But I wasn't limited to human strength or senses, and could.

Jorah began to trot then canter at me. I did the same in return with Aethon on a collision course.

We got closer and closer, faster and faster.

I could see it in the other horse's eyes, the moment it decided to veer off slightly.

"Now, Aethon!" I shouted. Aethon exploded forwards, his head lowered to ram into the other horse. Jorah tried to hit me with his lance but I parried it to the right-side of my body. Then Aethon hit and sent the other horse tumbling away, its stance and speed nothing against Aethon's power. Jorah went tumbling, clattering along the dirt.

Aethon came around and I hopped out of the saddle, drawing my sword.

I kicked the groaning body over onto its back. He had lost his helmet sometime in the fall and was too stunned to recover fast enough.

In a bout of theatricality, I decided to go all into the absurd local chivalry. "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and the Protector of the Realm, by the sentence passed by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I carry out the sentence of death to the slaver and traitor Ser Jorah Mormont."

Then my sword swung down, and off came Jorah's head.

Chapter 21: Over the Sea and Far Away, pt. 4

I picked up Jorah's head by the hair and holding it away from Aethon rode back to Jon. He helped me strip off my armor and upper clothing, and I left it with him when I turned to face Drogo.

"Are you ready, khal Drogo?" I asked.

Daenerys reached towards him, begging him not to do this, and to his credit Drogo seemed conflicted. Then he came to a resolution.

"Come then, blood of my blood. As we are one, let us fight this Andal as one," he called out. Three other riders moved forwards with him.

Oh, that fucking cheat.

I shook my head. "Jon, it's fine!" I called out. "I've got this."

Jon just looked at me. "I wasn't going to move in the first place," he said dryly. "After all, I wouldn't want to ruin your grand story."

"Gods, Jon, with that much saltiness are you sure you aren't Ironborn?" I replied. Then, to make sure I got the last word, I urged Aethon forwards.

The four dothraki had spread out in a tight arc, their horses moving at a steady walk. They had seen what I had done to Jorah, and weren't going to risk closing so quickly. One stayed at the back and drew a bow. Seriously. These guys really went all in when it came to stacking the deck. Unluckily for them, there was no way a single archer was going to break through my shields. But I didn't want to show that off unless necessary, so I urged Aethon to move faster.

"I thought you said we would fight with swords, khal Drogo?" I called out as I closed with them.

"And we are," he replied. "But I said nothing of my bloodriders. Of course, you could always join my khalasar instead."

I shook my head. "There won't be a khalasar when you're dead." And with that, we clashed. Or rather, Aethon did, rearing up and dancing forwards while balanced on his hind legs, his front hooves lashing out and downing the two bloodriders' horses that were part of front line. It was a thing of terrible beauty, watching Aethon fight. The bloodriders were good, and didn't go out of the fight with their horses, but it gave Aethon the chance to charge the archer before he was ready. We passed to the archer's side, and my blade flicked out in a wicked horizontal blow, taking off the archer's upraised hand.

We wheeled around, then charged back at khal Drogo who was now far less good-tempered. I heard Daenerys scream in the background as we clashed one, twice, three times as I battered his guard lower and lower. Then his sword was totally out of position and I extended forwards, my sword passing in a straight lunge through the front of his neck and out the back.

I withdrew the blade, and Drogo's hands came up to his throat, desperately trying to staunch the bleeding as his mouth filled with red blood and he choked on the air he would never breathe again. Then Aegon stepped forwards, putting Drogo closer to me, and my sword swung hard to the side, taking off his braid and part of his skull. With a twist of the wrist I flicked his braid towards me and caught it.

"NO! NOOO!" I heard Daenerys shout, restrained from rushing to Drogo by the men he had once set to protect her. I rode down the last of Drogo's bloodriders then turned to the rest who were looking on in shock and horror. Drogo's party broke into a chaos of shouting as Jon, Togo and Ghost raced up behind me. Jon tossed me my archery equipment which I quickly reattached to Aethon's tack. I didn't, however, have time to get my armor back on.

I turned to their party which was growing a bit more orderly and called out. "By my victory I claim Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen! Does anyone here gainsay me?"

My hand was full of arrows, the first already nocked and ready to be drawn. I could already see the riders splitting up into two main groups, each headed by what I was guessing were some of Drogo's lieutenants. In the middle were Daenerys and her protectors who looked far from pleased at their position. Both leaders had seen me shoot, and neither wanted to die for some foreign girl or her piece of shit brother.

"You killed Drogo. She is yours," the one called.

"This is known," agreed the other.

One of Daenerys' protectors looked furious. "She is our khaleesi!" he shouted. "We must bring her into Vaes Dothrak so she can join the dosh khaleen!"

I grinned. I'd had the time to talk to the merchants and some Dothraki about Dothraki customs, and knew their law well enough to answer that. "Wrong. All khaleesi must be approved by the dosh khaleen first. Khal Drogo never presented her. So Daenerys Targaryen is not your khaleesi, but simply a girl your khal had at one point. I imagine he's done the same to many girls," I said somewhat crudely.

I could see him wavering. "Or you could challenge me for her?" I offered. And that did it. The fight went out of his eyes, and he pulled back from her.

Poor Daenerys. She couldn't even speak Dothraki, couldn't follow the rapidly changing situation. But she realized how bad things were for her when the last of her protectors pulled back and abandoned her.

I looked at her, not unkindly. She was just a girl, for all the death and misery she could have sparked, and never chose this for her life. "They've abandoned you, Daenerys," I explained.

"T-they can't," she gasped. "I'm their khaleesi!"

"I'm sorry, girl, but you're not. Dothraki khaleesi's have to be presented to the dosh khaleen, the widows of all the khals who died before their time. That was going to happen after you got to Vaes Dothrak. Now, they decided it would be easier to surrender you to me."

She was looking around, the panic and hysteria starting to set in. I decided to nip that right in the bud. "Hey! Daenerys. Look at me. Look at me. It's going to be alright. I won't harm you. And if you go out into this crowd, you'll be nothing more than a rich prize, a toy that used to be Drogo's to boast about. So take a deep breath, and calm down." She was doing so, thankfully, rather than panicking and running and make this situation into a whole mess.

I had been closing with her then when I figured I was near enough hit her with a bolt of concentrated suggestion to sleep. She passed out, slumping in the saddle. Aethon raced forwards and I caught her, pulled her into the saddle in front of me, and her grabbed her horse's reins. Her horse was a beautiful silver filly, and I figured Daenerys might want to keep her. A couple minutes later a rider came galloping up, a struggling silver-haired male tied up and slung over the horse's back.

"Unhand me! I am your king!" the figure screamed.

The rider rolled his eyes and shoved him unceremoniously onto the ground. "This one," he told me, "is utterly useless. He would rather ride a cart than a horse."

Oh, Viserys, were you really so stupid as to do no research about the people you wanted to have fight for you? No Dothraki would follow someone who rides in a cart.

Whatever. I didn't need that bastard; if he'd just gone into a nice, quiet exile I wouldn't have been there in the first place. Quick as can be, the groaning young man's noises were cut off as an arrow sprouted out of his skull.

I turned to look at Jon. "I told you it would make for a good story," I said with a grin. "Now let's get out of here before anyone else tries to kill us."

I started pushing temporary versions of my enchantments into Daenerys' horse so it could keep up.

Jon came up beside me. "But wouldn't that just make the story better?" he asked snarkily.

I glared at him. "I think I liked it better when you brooded." We both burst into laughter at that relatively weak joke and the sudden decrease in tension.

A few hours later, and with Hue and Mu to verify that there wasn't any pursuit we particularly needed to worry about, we stopped for a rest. I got my clothes and armor back on, and settled in to work on the horse.

First, I sterilized her. I made sure I could reverse the procedure, but I didn't want to release a new breed of super-horses without consideration. Then I added the same upgrades that Aethon had. I noticed that when I upgraded an animal it would be reasonably loyal to me. The Direwolves loved me about as much as their owners, and warg-bonds were deep. Still, just in case the horse tried to help Daenerys escape I used a modified communication link that left her incapable of stopping me from over-writing its vision, hearing, scent and touch with my own. If I needed to I could shut the horse off from all sensation, though hopefully that wouldn't prove necessary.

I checked over Daenerys too. She was pregnant, the to-be-born child a girl. I made sure both of them would be having no new children without my reversing the magical surgery. That way even if she did somehow escape, it wouldn't be a critical emergency. I also installed the conceptual shield and added a bit of regeneration so that she could keep up when we were riding. I'd take it away when we were on a ship to King's Landing.

Then I noticed something interesting. A dormant, unpowered enchantment resting in her blood. I memorized the pattern of it, thinking I'd test it later. With any luck, it would be the storied Targaryen fire-invulnerability.

With that done, I woke up Daenerys.

She was obviously confused by everything that happened, and recoiled back when she saw me.

"You fainted, Daenerys," I explained, shooting a glance at Jon not to mention my magic to her.

She looked on the verge of tears. "So, my sun-and-stars?"

I assumed she meant Drogo, as her horse was right behind me. "Drogo?" I verified.

She nodded. I shook my head. "I killed him," I answered. "It wasn't a dream."

Then she broke into sobs. "Why?" she finally asked. "Why did you have to kill him? He didn't even want to go to the Seven Kingdoms!"

"But you did, Daenerys," I said calmly. "And your brother did. And you didn't want to go to bend the knee, but to start a new rebellion. You think you're in pain? You think today was bad? Grow up, girl. A successful rebellion on your part would have put at least a hundred thousand men into the ground before the dust cleared and the fighting was over. A hundred thousand widows and orphans. No, today was a mercy. A mercy for all the people sleeping peacefully in Westeros who won't be killed, raped, enslaved by some barbarian Dothraki horse-lord."

She looked up at me, confused. What I was saying didn't fit with her world view. "B-but, I thought the Usurper was ruining the country? That people were just waiting for us to come back and restore things to the way they were?"

Wow. They had kept her very sheltered apparrently

I laughed bitterly. "Are you really so naïve? The rebellion didn't happen for no reason, Daenerys. Do you think that all those lords went to war over what, greed and the evil in their hearts? No. Your father was called the Mad King for a reason. His own son, Rhaegar, was plotting to depose him. But then Rhaegar fell in love with Lyanna, and lost his reason in turn. He stole her. It would be wrong if she had been the poorest peasant girl or beggar.

"But she wasn't. She was the daughter of one Lord Paramount, the betrothed of another. And when her father went to court with her older brother to beg for her release, the king, your father, accused them of plotting to kill Rhaegar, of having had Lyanna seduce him to give them justification for it. He burned Lord Stark alive while his oldest son was tied so that he would slowly strangle if he struggled to help his father. Lord Stark died screaming, and his son died struggling. That's why Robert rose up, why the Starks came south. And the memory of that, of that madness your family was so famous for, is why the Kingdoms would never fall without a heavy fight."

She looked stunned. "Your brother never told you about that, did he?" I asked. I had to hammer the point home while she was still recovering, and would likely have to reinforce it half a dozen times on the way back. "About how your father refused to cut his nails and hair for fear of anyone with a blade being close to him. About how he'd beat your mother. About all the other lunacy. So no. No one who wouldn't stand to profit, and profit heavily, is interested in your returning to take the throne."

"And how do you know all of this?" she demanded, sullen. Ah, great. A pissed off teenager. Was I sure I couldn't just kill her? Because I was sure she'd test me patience in the days to come.

"I asked questions of those who were at court at the time," I answered. "Some of the servants and Ser Barristan the Bold included."

"Barristan turned his cloak," Daenerys rejoined.

"He killed a dozen men at the Ruby Ford, and finally fell to his injuries. He was so wounded they expected he would die, but Robert had been impressed enough by his honor and skill that he sent his own maester to tend to Ser Barristan. By the time Barristan could walk again without assistance, the war was over. In return for Robert's mercy, he swore to him. And even now, all these years later, when Robert heard of your future child and grew fearful, and all but Lord Stark on the small council accepted the necessity of sending assassins for you, Ser Barristan spoke in your defense. He took no small risk doing so, even if he was not successful."

Daenerys lowered her eyes in shame. "If you were meant to kill me, why didn't you?

I grinned. "I'm not meant to kill you, of course. Lord Stark and Ser Barristan were right. There was no honor in killing a young pregnant girl. I volunteered to see you brought back under Robert's control, or placed into the dosh khaleen."

She looked at me incredulously, her mouth hanging open. "Wait, do you mean to say you set off to do this? That you always intended to kill Drogo? Just the two of you against his whole khalasar? Are you insane!?"

Jon decided to speak up. "I asked him the same thing, you know. He said it would make for a better story."

I settled back in arrogant amusement. "Well, it worked didn't it? And we're not two, we're eight. I'm Odysseus, as I mentioned before the fight. This is my friend and technically my squire, Jon. Aethon is my noble steed, while Shadowfax puts up with Jon's bony ass. Togo is the oversized dog, Ghost the direwolf. Hue and Mu are my ravens, but they're currently out scouting. Anyways, I'd rather we avoided any pursuit, so it's time to ride."

Daenerys began to mount her horse. "Eight, because of course he counts the animals," I heard her mutter. "And he has the temerity to call my father the mad one."

"I heard that!" I called out. "And you shouldn't insult the non-humans here, you'll hurt their feelings. By the way, what's your horse called?"

"My silver? The Dothraki don't name horses," she replied.

"You're not Dothraki, Daenerys," I reminded her.

She looked down and sighed. "I don't know then."

"How about Asfaloth?" I suggested.

"Asfaloth? What does that mean?" she asked.

"Asfaloth, which means foam-flower, was the horse of a hero from a tale. Glorfindel, one of the greatest of the Firstborn in wisdom and strength, an Elf-lord who met and turned back the Immortal Witch-King of Angmar." I had been just slightly obsessed with Tolkien as young child. I only read the trilogy three or four times before I started only reading my favorite bits in subsequent read-throughs, so that wasn't too excessive. Right?

She considered it. "No, I don't think so. I think being my Silver suits you just fine, doesn't it?" she asked the horse, getting a nod in response.

Fine. See if I care if you subject your horse to your horrible naming sense.

Chapter 21: Over the Sea and Far Away, pt. 4

I picked up Jorah's head by the hair and holding it away from Aethon rode back to Jon. He helped me strip off my armor and upper clothing, and I left it with him when I turned to face Drogo.

"Are you ready, khal Drogo?" I asked.

Daenerys reached towards him, begging him not to do this, and to his credit Drogo seemed conflicted. Then he came to a resolution.

"Come then, blood of my blood. As we are one, let us fight this Andal as one," he called out. Three other riders moved forwards with him.

Oh, that fucking cheat.

I shook my head. "Jon, it's fine!" I called out. "I've got this."

Jon just looked at me. "I wasn't going to move in the first place," he said dryly. "After all, I wouldn't want to ruin your grand story."

"Gods, Jon, with that much saltiness are you sure you aren't Ironborn?" I replied. Then, to make sure I got the last word, I urged Aethon forwards.

The four dothraki had spread out in a tight arc, their horses moving at a steady walk. They had seen what I had done to Jorah, and weren't going to risk closing so quickly. One stayed at the back and drew a bow. Seriously. These guys really went all in when it came to stacking the deck. Unluckily for them, there was no way a single archer was going to break through my shields. But I didn't want to show that off unless necessary, so I urged Aethon to move faster.

"I thought you said we would fight with swords, khal Drogo?" I called out as I closed with them.

"And we are," he replied. "But I said nothing of my bloodriders. Of course, you could always join my khalasar instead."

I shook my head. "There won't be a khalasar when you're dead." And with that, we clashed. Or rather, Aethon did, rearing up and dancing forwards while balanced on his hind legs, his front hooves lashing out and downing the two bloodriders' horses that were part of front line. It was a thing of terrible beauty, watching Aethon fight. The bloodriders were good, and didn't go out of the fight with their horses, but it gave Aethon the chance to charge the archer before he was ready. We passed to the archer's side, and my blade flicked out in a wicked horizontal blow, taking off the archer's upraised hand.

We wheeled around, then charged back at khal Drogo who was now far less good-tempered. I heard Daenerys scream in the background as we clashed one, twice, three times as I battered his guard lower and lower. Then his sword was totally out of position and I extended forwards, my sword passing in a straight lunge through the front of his neck and out the back.

I withdrew the blade, and Drogo's hands came up to his throat, desperately trying to staunch the bleeding as his mouth filled with red blood and he choked on the air he would never breathe again. Then Aegon stepped forwards, putting Drogo closer to me, and my sword swung hard to the side, taking off his braid and part of his skull. With a twist of the wrist I flicked his braid towards me and caught it.

"NO! NOOO!" I heard Daenerys shout, restrained from rushing to Drogo by the men he had once set to protect her. I rode down the last of Drogo's bloodriders then turned to the rest who were looking on in shock and horror. Drogo's party broke into a chaos of shouting as Jon, Togo and Ghost raced up behind me. Jon tossed me my archery equipment which I quickly reattached to Aethon's tack. I didn't, however, have time to get my armor back on.

I turned to their party which was growing a bit more orderly and called out. "By my victory I claim Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen! Does anyone here gainsay me?"

My hand was full of arrows, the first already nocked and ready to be drawn. I could already see the riders splitting up into two main groups, each headed by what I was guessing were some of Drogo's lieutenants. In the middle were Daenerys and her protectors who looked far from pleased at their position. Both leaders had seen me shoot, and neither wanted to die for some foreign girl or her piece of shit brother.

"You killed Drogo. She is yours," the one called.

"This is known," agreed the other.

One of Daenerys' protectors looked furious. "She is our khaleesi!" he shouted. "We must bring her into Vaes Dothrak so she can join the dosh khaleen!"

I grinned. I'd had the time to talk to the merchants and some Dothraki about Dothraki customs, and knew their law well enough to answer that. "Wrong. All khaleesi must be approved by the dosh khaleen first. Khal Drogo never presented her. So Daenerys Targaryen is not your khaleesi, but simply a girl your khal had at one point. I imagine he's done the same to many girls," I said somewhat crudely.

I could see him wavering. "Or you could challenge me for her?" I offered. And that did it. The fight went out of his eyes, and he pulled back from her.

Poor Daenerys. She couldn't even speak Dothraki, couldn't follow the rapidly changing situation. But she realized how bad things were for her when the last of her protectors pulled back and abandoned her.

I looked at her, not unkindly. She was just a girl, for all the death and misery she could have sparked, and never chose this for her life. "They've abandoned you, Daenerys," I explained.

"T-they can't," she gasped. "I'm their khaleesi!"

"I'm sorry, girl, but you're not. Dothraki khaleesi's have to be presented to the dosh khaleen, the widows of all the khals who died before their time. That was going to happen after you got to Vaes Dothrak. Now, they decided it would be easier to surrender you to me."

She was looking around, the panic and hysteria starting to set in. I decided to nip that right in the bud. "Hey! Daenerys. Look at me. Look at me. It's going to be alright. I won't harm you. And if you go out into this crowd, you'll be nothing more than a rich prize, a toy that used to be Drogo's to boast about. So take a deep breath, and calm down." She was doing so, thankfully, rather than panicking and running and make this situation into a whole mess.

I had been closing with her then when I figured I was near enough hit her with a bolt of concentrated suggestion to sleep. She passed out, slumping in the saddle. Aethon raced forwards and I caught her, pulled her into the saddle in front of me, and her grabbed her horse's reins. Her horse was a beautiful silver filly, and I figured Daenerys might want to keep her. A couple minutes later a rider came galloping up, a struggling silver-haired male tied up and slung over the horse's back.

"Unhand me! I am your king!" the figure screamed.

The rider rolled his eyes and shoved him unceremoniously onto the ground. "This one," he told me, "is utterly useless. He would rather ride a cart than a horse."

Oh, Viserys, were you really so stupid as to do no research about the people you wanted to have fight for you? No Dothraki would follow someone who rides in a cart.

Whatever. I didn't need that bastard; if he'd just gone into a nice, quiet exile I wouldn't have been there in the first place. Quick as can be, the groaning young man's noises were cut off as an arrow sprouted out of his skull.

I turned to look at Jon. "I told you it would make for a good story," I said with a grin. "Now let's get out of here before anyone else tries to kill us."

I started pushing temporary versions of my enchantments into Daenerys' horse so it could keep up.

Jon came up beside me. "But wouldn't that just make the story better?" he asked snarkily.

I glared at him. "I think I liked it better when you brooded." We both burst into laughter at that relatively weak joke and the sudden decrease in tension.

A few hours later, and with Hue and Mu to verify that there wasn't any pursuit we particularly needed to worry about, we stopped for a rest. I got my clothes and armor back on, and settled in to work on the horse.

First, I sterilized her. I made sure I could reverse the procedure, but I didn't want to release a new breed of super-horses without consideration. Then I added the same upgrades that Aethon had. I noticed that when I upgraded an animal it would be reasonably loyal to me. The Direwolves loved me about as much as their owners, and warg-bonds were deep. Still, just in case the horse tried to help Daenerys escape I used a modified communication link that left her incapable of stopping me from over-writing its vision, hearing, scent and touch with my own. If I needed to I could shut the horse off from all sensation, though hopefully that wouldn't prove necessary.

I checked over Daenerys too. She was pregnant, the to-be-born child a girl. I made sure both of them would be having no new children without my reversing the magical surgery. That way even if she did somehow escape, it wouldn't be a critical emergency. I also installed the conceptual shield and added a bit of regeneration so that she could keep up when we were riding. I'd take it away when we were on a ship to King's Landing.

Then I noticed something interesting. A dormant, unpowered enchantment resting in her blood. I memorized the pattern of it, thinking I'd test it later. With any luck, it would be the storied Targaryen fire-invulnerability.

With that done, I woke up Daenerys.

She was obviously confused by everything that happened, and recoiled back when she saw me.

"You fainted, Daenerys," I explained, shooting a glance at Jon not to mention my magic to her.

She looked on the verge of tears. "So, my sun-and-stars?"

I assumed she meant Drogo, as her horse was right behind me. "Drogo?" I verified.

She nodded. I shook my head. "I killed him," I answered. "It wasn't a dream."

Then she broke into sobs. "Why?" she finally asked. "Why did you have to kill him? He didn't even want to go to the Seven Kingdoms!"

"But you did, Daenerys," I said calmly. "And your brother did. And you didn't want to go to bend the knee, but to start a new rebellion. You think you're in pain? You think today was bad? Grow up, girl. A successful rebellion on your part would have put at least a hundred thousand men into the ground before the dust cleared and the fighting was over. A hundred thousand widows and orphans. No, today was a mercy. A mercy for all the people sleeping peacefully in Westeros who won't be killed, raped, enslaved by some barbarian Dothraki horse-lord."

She looked up at me, confused. What I was saying didn't fit with her world view. "B-but, I thought the Usurper was ruining the country? That people were just waiting for us to come back and restore things to the way they were?"

Wow. They had kept her very sheltered apparrently

I laughed bitterly. "Are you really so naïve? The rebellion didn't happen for no reason, Daenerys. Do you think that all those lords went to war over what, greed and the evil in their hearts? No. Your father was called the Mad King for a reason. His own son, Rhaegar, was plotting to depose him. But then Rhaegar fell in love with Lyanna, and lost his reason in turn. He stole her. It would be wrong if she had been the poorest peasant girl or beggar.

"But she wasn't. She was the daughter of one Lord Paramount, the betrothed of another. And when her father went to court with her older brother to beg for her release, the king, your father, accused them of plotting to kill Rhaegar, of having had Lyanna seduce him to give them justification for it. He burned Lord Stark alive while his oldest son was tied so that he would slowly strangle if he struggled to help his father. Lord Stark died screaming, and his son died struggling. That's why Robert rose up, why the Starks came south. And the memory of that, of that madness your family was so famous for, is why the Kingdoms would never fall without a heavy fight."

She looked stunned. "Your brother never told you about that, did he?" I asked. I had to hammer the point home while she was still recovering, and would likely have to reinforce it half a dozen times on the way back. "About how your father refused to cut his nails and hair for fear of anyone with a blade being close to him. About how he'd beat your mother. About all the other lunacy. So no. No one who wouldn't stand to profit, and profit heavily, is interested in your returning to take the throne."

"And how do you know all of this?" she demanded, sullen. Ah, great. A pissed off teenager. Was I sure I couldn't just kill her? Because I was sure she'd test me patience in the days to come.

"I asked questions of those who were at court at the time," I answered. "Some of the servants and Ser Barristan the Bold included."

"Barristan turned his cloak," Daenerys rejoined.

"He killed a dozen men at the Ruby Ford, and finally fell to his injuries. He was so wounded they expected he would die, but Robert had been impressed enough by his honor and skill that he sent his own maester to tend to Ser Barristan. By the time Barristan could walk again without assistance, the war was over. In return for Robert's mercy, he swore to him. And even now, all these years later, when Robert heard of your future child and grew fearful, and all but Lord Stark on the small council accepted the necessity of sending assassins for you, Ser Barristan spoke in your defense. He took no small risk doing so, even if he was not successful."

Daenerys lowered her eyes in shame. "If you were meant to kill me, why didn't you?

I grinned. "I'm not meant to kill you, of course. Lord Stark and Ser Barristan were right. There was no honor in killing a young pregnant girl. I volunteered to see you brought back under Robert's control, or placed into the dosh khaleen."

She looked at me incredulously, her mouth hanging open. "Wait, do you mean to say you set off to do this? That you always intended to kill Drogo? Just the two of you against his whole khalasar? Are you insane!?"

Jon decided to speak up. "I asked him the same thing, you know. He said it would make for a better story."

I settled back in arrogant amusement. "Well, it worked didn't it? And we're not two, we're eight. I'm Odysseus, as I mentioned before the fight. This is my friend and technically my squire, Jon. Aethon is my noble steed, while Shadowfax puts up with Jon's bony ass. Togo is the oversized dog, Ghost the direwolf. Hue and Mu are my ravens, but they're currently out scouting. Anyways, I'd rather we avoided any pursuit, so it's time to ride."

Daenerys began to mount her horse. "Eight, because of course he counts the animals," I heard her mutter. "And he has the temerity to call my father the mad one."

"I heard that!" I called out. "And you shouldn't insult the non-humans here, you'll hurt their feelings. By the way, what's your horse called?"

"My silver? The Dothraki don't name horses," she replied.

"You're not Dothraki, Daenerys," I reminded her.

She looked down and sighed. "I don't know then."

"How about Asfaloth?" I suggested.

"Asfaloth? What does that mean?" she asked.

"Asfaloth, which means foam-flower, was the horse of a hero from a tale. Glorfindel, one of the greatest of the Firstborn in wisdom and strength, an Elf-lord who met and turned back the Immortal Witch-King of Angmar." I had been just slightly obsessed with Tolkien as young child. I only read the trilogy three or four times before I started only reading my favorite bits in subsequent read-throughs, so that wasn't too excessive. Right?

She considered it. "No, I don't think so. I think being my Silver suits you just fine, doesn't it?" she asked the horse, getting a nod in response.

Fine. See if I care if you subject your horse to your horrible naming sense.

Chapter 22: Over the Sea and Far Away pt. 5 (Or, There and Back Again)

That night, before we all went to sleep I told Daenerys I'd be searching her things. I didn't think she'd try and kill us; she certainly wouldn't succeed, as someone, whether furred, feathered or human was on watch at any given time. But if she wasn't armed she'd be less inclined to do something foolish, and I wouldn't be forced to punish her for it.

That's how I found the dragon eggs in her saddlebags. Three of them. One deep green with little flecks of dark gold. Another cream with golden streaks. The third midnight black with red marks like a tribal tattoo.

They might have been petrified but I could feel it deep inside, the life just waiting patiently to be fed enough mana to be born. Hell. Fucking. Yes.

Obviously, I wanted to be stronger in just about every respect before I hatched them, and I needed to be able to do a lot more with mental effects, brainwashing, bindings and the like. Westeros needed a pissed off wild dragon running about the place burning cities like I needed a jalapeno enema – in other words, not at all.

But was I going to be a dragon-knight? Damn straight.

I didn't sleep until I finished crafting a ward to keep the magic balance inside of the eggs stable instead. As much as I didn't want them to hatch yet, I wanted them to die even less.

Ah, dragons, I sighed to myself. I had dragons. I was grinning like a loon.

"He does know they won't just hatch, right?" Daenerys asked Jon cautiously the next morning when my joy still hadn't receeded.

Jon looked at her pityingly. "He only mentioned how he wished he felt up to going to Asshai and the Shadowlands while we were already so relatively close once or twice." Daenerys looked puzzled as to why that might explain my reaction. Then Jon finished his sentence. "Once or twice a day. Every day since we passed the Free Cities. He was talking about what he'd need to be able to camp out for years, in the Shadowlands, just to find one of these things."

"Is it because he's a wizard?" she asked. Jon and I looked at her in shock. "The horses are moving much too fast, and my legs haven't been chafing at all. Then he falls in love with the dragon eggs. It wasn't hard to guess," she explained, rolling her eyes.

I cleared my throat. "Ha. Yes. Well I try and keep it quiet, generally. I mean, it's something of an open secret, just look at Togo, but I find it's a lot more fun to be a wizard than to be asked to be a wizard, if you see what I mean."

She looked at me with a fair bit of confused fear. It was almost as if she were the captive of someone she thought slightly mad.

I deflated a bit. But only a bit because dragons. "Let's just get a move on," I instructed.

The problem was I had three of them. I hadn't anticipated needing three names. Beyond that none of the names I could think of were auspicious. I wanted my dragons to be giant fire-breathing monsters of intelligence and wit, not just massive amounts of killy-ness.

Of course I wanted the killy-ness too.

Then it came to me.

Zelazny, Feynman and Stephenson. Three amazing authors. Zelazny wrote Lord of Light, my single favorite book ever. Feynman had a unique way of looking at problems that I attempted to emulate as a student. And Stephenson's Diamond Age had been the novel that set me down the path of science in the first place. I'd simply name the dragons randomly from that list as they were born.

From Vaes Dothrak we went west and slightly south towards Volantis. After our previous innocent misunderstanding I didn't want to risk travelling through Qohor again. Beyond that, Volantis had this massive, centuries old magical black stone wall. Or at least they thought it used magic, but considering it was seamless and thick enough to drive six chariots across the top I wasn't going to discount the possibility.

Although that did raise the question; just what kind of fucking monsters are out there that a twenty-four meter thick, 60 meter tall wall was considered reasonable and necessary?

Either way, I wanted to see Volantis and its wall, so we set off for it. Given that Daenerys was pregnant, we took it a little easier. At the beginning of the journey she was somewhere on the border of the first and second trimester. I asked her if she wanted an abortion, which she refused with a bit of horror. As far as I and Blue was concerned the baby wasn't showing any signs of true sentience at that time, so I felt like it wasn't immoral to offer.

But that just gave me more time to bond with the land as we passed over it. I picked up eight White plains in the Dothraki Sea as well as a pair of Blues from rivers we passed in that area. They weren't marked on my map so I had no idea as to their names. Then we were travelling along the edge of the Painted Mountains and I picked up a neat half-dozen Red mana.

After passing over some hills we entered into the marshes and swamplands around the source of the Volaena river basin. The ground would have been unpassable if it weren't for my weaving roots into a solid road for the horses to walk along. I picked up three Black mana passing through that area. Then we were past the marshes and travelling along the Volaena river itself, which I bonded twice before we finally came to Volantis.

I was wary of bringing Daenerys into the city, especially with her eye-catching white hair. I wasn't too worried about her running; she'd gained a fairly deep level of Stockholm syndrome over the past three weeks of travel, helped along by gentle nudges of Blue. Slightly unethical, and I knew that, but if I could present Robert with a Daenerys who was happy and content and obviously not going to incite rebellion things would go much better for her. Beyond that I really wasn't capable of anything more than planting temporary suggestions and emphasizing certain thoughts. It was a slow nudging in truth, rather than a thorough conditioning or total control.

At least so I comforted myself. It was interesting to see how easy it was to be corrupted by power, the temptation to violate people in the deepest and most disturbing ways simply because it was less bother for me.

But Westerosi traders were not unusual in the city, and the bounty on Daenerys and Viserys' heads from over a decade ago had never been officially rescinded. Beyond that the Old Blood of Volantis, those who could prove unbroken descent from Old Valyria and were allowed to live within the Black Walls, might take an interest in her. So I used Green mana to change her hair from silver to a more common blonde, her eyes from purple to a deep blue. I attached an Uninteresting Object enchantment to the bag that was holding the dragon eggs, then again on their padding. And with that we were ready to enter.

Volantis was a great city, perhaps the greatest of the Free Cities. Once it had been the most populous. Though that was no longer the case it did have the most other cities within its territory, hovering somewhere between city-state and a proper small nation. In contrast the other Free Cities were more centralized around their single main city.

After living in nature for so long being in a populated city with its smells and noises – but mostly smells – was a real shock to the senses. Even in the relatively exotic Volantis we cut quite the figures, a pair of Westerosi warriors with a beautiful blonde, all riding handsome horses and flanked with pony-sized canine beasts.

That did give us a bit of space. The hathays, a type of cab used by the people of Volantis who believed that travelling on foot was somehow demeaning, gave us an especially wide berth, careful that our animals wouldn't spook their dwarf-elephants. In Volantis even being mounted on horses was seen as distinctly middle-class. But fuck that bourgeoisie laziness, Aethon was a much better ride than any wheeled conveyance, especially since they lacked suspension systems.

The city was full of tattooed persons. Slaves were consistently tattooed to mark their status and denote their occupation, and Volantis had five slaves for each freeman. I was honestly amazed that there hadn't been some Spartacus to come along and slaughter the slavers yet. I didn't want to stay in the city for too long; the slavery made me uncomfortable. On the other hand, I was very interested by what was on the inside of the Black Wall. I wanted to explore the towers and temples, the stores of ancient knowledge held within.

There were some other important structures in the city that I wanted to visit as well. The Temple of the Lord of Light was dedicated to R'hllor, whose worship was most common outside of the more traditionally Valyrian Black Walled populace. The

Temple was supposedly three times the size of the Great Sept of Baelor; I wanted to bond it, and see if any of their priest's sermons included real magic.

There was also a bridge, the Long Bridge, that went over the wide mouth of the Rhoyne and connected the older and newer parts of the city. The bridge itself was some two kilometers long, which was simply amazing considering it hadn't been built during the age of myths and magic.

Volantis seemed to like these sorts of overblown edifices. It was also home to the Merchant's House, an Inn which was certainly the largest in the city, possibly the largest, at least with regards to maximum occupancy, in the Free Cities. We were staying there while we explored the city. It was strange to sleep on a bed after so long on the ground.

Since we were staying there the Merchant's House was the first place that I bonded. It provided a White and a Red mana. The first two days we travelled along the Long Bridge. Each five hundred meter stretch provided a White and a Blue mana, four of each in total. Jon and Daenerys window shopped while I followed along, most of my attention focused on attuning myself.

Then we had finished with that, and it was time to move onto the Temple. It was a truly massive complex and took three days of my attending the Temple and pretending to pray before I finally managed to attune the whole place. In the end it gave me three Red, three White, two Blue and two Black. What that said about R'hllor as a god was disturbing; the place was weighted very heavily towards Red and Black for a place of prayer and knowledge. Even a relatively chaotic place just being in a city and organized would give that relative amount of White. Unfortunately, the priests' magics were still as unimpressive as they had been in Pentos.

Then it was finally time to approach the Black Wall. I looked at it closely with my magical senses. It was impressive. Over the course of the day I bonded that gatehouse, gaining a pair of Reds. I also learned three new enchantments. The first was something I probably could have figured out on my own with a bit time, and was an effect I dubbed Fuse Stone.

But deeper in the Black Walls, sleeping and drained of power were some more interesting enchantments. The second enchantment I learned that day was what I thought of as Living Stone. The Walls, were they powered, could actually slowly regenerate themselves and repair damage. Sort of like a persistent stone shaping effect directed to strengthen and heal the walls. The third enchantment of the day was what I called Hateful Stone. If the walls defined you as an enemy then on contact it would attempt to destroy you, in this case by burning.

Unfortunately both the second and third enchantments depended on a power source. For the Black Wall, this was the stone that the Wall was itself made of. The thickness wasn't just defensive, but actually meant that the Walls were once upon a time an absolutely massive battery for the enchantment. That said, the energy density of the stone, which seemed to be mostly dragonglass with some other things mixed in, was low. It made sense they needed so much. But with higher ambient mana I wouldn't be surprised if the Black Wall fortress stayed standing basically forever, even if it was being actively attacked day and night. I could tell that the energy was mostly drained though, and that the Walls would start running totally dry in a century or three.

I couldn't wrangle an invitation inside and had little chance of finding anything interesting in a timely fashion without a guide, so I decided we might as well leave Volantis. The stench of oppression was starting to get to me anyways.

We followed the river Rhoyne north for a week as I bonded seven Blue mana from it, then passed two days in the Velvet Hills, earning two Red, before finally ending up back at Pentos. We were stuck there for four days until there was a ship going to King's landing. Ten days after that and some three and a bit months and a new calendar year after we left in the first place, we were finally back in Westeros.

Come to think of it, it had been about nineteen months since I first came to Westeros. I was soon to be twenty two years old.

Chapter 23: Homecoming

I had kept Lord Stark updated via Nevermore, and so he knew to expect us. Jory Cassel and a squad of Stark guardsmen were waiting for us at the docks. Our cavalcade of people, horses, and massive fanged beasts left the ship.

I walked up to Jory smiling, grasped his arm in mine. "Captain Cassel! It's good to see you again."

He was smiling too. "No, it's good to see you again, Ser Odysseus, and you Jon. I feared that you would never return from your mission."

I spread my arms wide, showing off that I was, in fact there in the flesh. "I'm devastated at the lack of faith, Jory," I joked.

He laughed. "So is that the girl?" he asked. Daenerys was in a hooded cloak to avoid any unfortunate incidents happening before we reached the Red Keep. I had restored her original coloring as we came in to port.

I nodded. "She is indeed."

He looked at her cloaked figure intently. "She's a small thing to cause so much trouble."

Daenerys shifted uncomfortably. "She can also hear you, Ser," she said.

Jory just laughed. "My apologies lass, that was rude of me. And I'm no Ser; I'm a proper man of the north, and don't need a pretty title to dress up what I do."

I gasped, clutched my chest. "Oh Captain, you wound me so!" The Stark men, Daenerys and Jon laughed at my joke. "Anyways, it's been a long journey, Captain. Shall we end it?"

He nodded, gave his men the order to split up half ahead and half behind, and we were off for the Red Keep. When we arrived, Jory told us that the king and his small council were waiting for in the small council chambers. We dismounted, leaving the horses with stablehands, and walked up to meet with Robert, Ned, and the rest of the council.

Robert looked very glad to see me. "Odysseus!" he roared. Really, the next time he got poisoned I was installing an inside voice. "You did it! You magnificent man, you did it!"

Ned also looked happy to see us back, as if weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. "Well done, Ser Odysseus, Jon. I'm glad you're safe."

Renly, Ser Davos, Grand Maester Erreck, and Lord Manderly were also quick to offer their congratulations.

Then the old woman in the room spoke up. "Yes, yes, you went off and killed some horse-lord. Congratulations, boy," she said somewhat flippantly, her eyes cunning and analyzing my reaction.

"My lady Tyrell," I said with a short bow and a smile, "may I say what a pleasure it is to have you in King's Landing. I can see that you live up to every bit of your reputation."

She gave a humph sound. "Not too easily riled, then," she said as if to herself.

Robert laughed. "Stop teasing, Lady Olenna. There's more than time enough for that in the future. Now, is that her?"

I nodded. "Your Grace, I present to you Daenerys Targaryen."

In a bit of theatrical flair she dropped her cloak to the ground and kneeled. "Your Grace," she said, eyes lowered. She was obviously pregnant, well into the second trimester, but still very pretty and so very, very young. I suppose most of that was cultural; the Westerosi married as young as thirteen and fourteen sometimes, teen pregnancy the rule rather the exception that it was where I grew up.

For all his faults, Robert tended to be generous if lecherous towards women. I was hoping that would help Daenerys; I had gotten to know her on the way back and she was a good kid. Might, in another lifetime, have even made a good queen.

He looked at her, grimaced. "Up, girl, up. I won't keep a pregnant woman kneeling, no matter what family she was a part of."

Daenerys stood up, her eyes still looking down.

"Look at me, girl," Robert ordered. Daenerys' face came up and he looked deep into her eyes. "You have Rhaegar's hair, but your eyes are far fairer. Hopefully you didn't get his madness, or worse yet your father's." He sighed. "I still don't know what to do with you. So, why not. Ser Odysseus, you caught her, you keep her."

My eyes widened. Please, please don't be what I'm thinking. I had no desire to marry, especially not some girl nearly six years my junior whose previous husband I had cut down. "Your Grace?" I choked out.

He looked at me with a bit of amusement. "Well, you took care of what we discussed, correct?" he asked, referring to making sure there would be no future Targaryen pretenders with an unusual degree of circumspection. I nodded. "So since she's no true threat, and I don't know what to do with her, I'm making you responsible for her. Send her to a nunnery, keep her here or at Winterfell, hells you can make her your mistress or even kill her for all I care."

I blinked a few times in astonishment. That was, in so many ways, fucking cruel. "I wasn't aware Westeros had slavery, Your Grace?" I asked, my voice denoting humor to take the bite out of my words.

Robert's face became a bit grim and he smirked darkly. "And we don't. I heard you finally passed judgement on Jorah Mormont as well, good job on that by the way. But no, I've simply not rescinded my previous writ of attainder. Daenerys Targaryen has no right to title of nobility, property, or even her life. But I am now deferring judgement in this matter, and giving you full powers in all matters related to her. The child too when it's born."

Wow. That was actually clever. I mean, really clever. Robert wasn't exactly famous for his legal acumen, after all, and that was as far as I was aware a loophole that hadn't been used before. It wasn't in any book of Westerosi legal practices that I read, at least.

He read that thought on my face, as well as the faces of the small council and barked a quick laugh. "Ha! You all didn't think I paid any attention when we discussed legal issues. I was just waiting for my moment." And then he laughed heartily at our surprise, the rest of us chuckling along.

Finally he stopped. "Now, I would ask for the full story now, but I've already arranged a feast in your honor which starts in an hour. And I'm sure it's quite the story."

Well. It seemed that I had to figure out what to do with Daenerys now. I was a bit overwhelmed.

As he left the council chamber to get ready to feast, Robert clapped me on the shoulder. "Now, don't worry, Odysseus. I have a proper reward for you too. But it's a surprise; you'll have to wait for me to announce it during the feast."

Oh dear.

Then Jon walked up next to me. "You know, given everything you put me through I think we can agree you owe me a favor, right?" he asked. I nodded hesitantly. Then he got a wolfish smile on his face. "Good. So, I'll be the one telling the story then."

Oh dear.

An hour later, Robert stood at the front of the packed Grand Hall. Margaery and Lord Stark were sat near him, but I was in the place of honor, Jon right next to me. Daenerys stood behind me; Robert had wanted her to serve as my cupbearer at least for tonight in a bit of politically pointed public humiliation.

I'll admit, the power, the attention… It was a heady feeling, one I feared I might grow used to. I had grown, developed, changed during my time in Westeros. When I returned home, how would I relate?

Robert rang a bell, getting total silence. "Alright," he said. "When I announced this feast, I didn't say what it was for. Or rather, who it was for. Odysseus, stand up," he ordered.

He pulled me up and put an arm around my shoulders. "For those few who weren't here for the Tourney of the Hand, or didn't get to see him fight and compete, this is Ser Odysseus Gangari. And tonight, he's who we're all here to honor. I'm sure you've at least heard of him. He's an accomplished and learned warrior, a great healer, and one of the most honorable men in the Realm."

I was blushing a bit at the unstinting praise.

"I'll cover some of his greatest achievements, then talk about what he's done most recently. First, as a warrior. He beat Sandor Clegane, disdaining weapons and only using his fists despite both being armed. His dog, Togo, fought and won a trial by combat with the Kingslayer and traitor, Jaime Lannister. Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain that Rode and forty men ambushed him – he brought their heads in sacks right to this hall, and fought and killed Lord Tywin Lannister the next day." The crowd went wild with cheering at that.

"Aye, aye, I know," Robert boomed in agreement. "You'd better believe, I was even happier than all of you. And a lot of us were cheering extra hard when he took the championship in archery later." A lot of people smiled and nodded in agreement.

"He was critical in overturning the Lannister conspiracy, in bringing Cersei Lannister to justice, in discovering the treachery of Grand Maester Pycelle as well as Lords Baelish and Varys, and though Baelish is still at large his properties were seized following a plan which Sir Odysseus suggested.

"The Crown is some five and a half million dragons richer today, and we have much of that thanks to our good knight. Further, Lord Manderly, the Master of Coin, assures me that Odysseus' advice has left the Seven Kingdoms with a yearly profit three quarters of a million dragons greater. Now, I'm not one to count coppers as many know, but even I'm impressed by that."

Another round of cheers rang out. I was getting so many fuck-me eyes, from married and unmarried alike. Hell, even some of the men; no judgement, but no way in hell guys. Some of the women though… There's a reason they call it tempted to sin.

Robert waved for quiet again. "Now, any man who achieved half of that in his life would count it well lived, but our Ser Odysseus has gone even further. He's a great healer, helping save the life of Bran Stark when the boy was pushed from a tower. Not to mention saving my own royal life not once but twice."

And at that the crowd went quiet with shock then wild with applause. Dammit, Robert, I liked shit being calm and quiet. Plus, I was previously a little feared. Now everyone would want to be my friend. Plus they'd bring me sick people to heal which just… urgh. Notwhat I wanted to be doing with my life.

Robert waited for the shouting and cheering to die down. "We should have been feasting him many times before, but Ser Odysseus dislikes too much attention and is perhaps too humble."

Ya, no, that was just a straight up lie. I am far from humble. It was like that time I was in middle school and my physics teacher was so happy with me that he praised my organization. I was good at physics, not filing, and had already lost something like three quarters of my papers, but organization was part of the rubric so I got a ten out of ten on that and a bit of praise added to my year-end report.

I was about as humble as an eagle; that is to say, not at all. It was more my anti-social nature not wanting to have to deal with too much popularity than anything else.

"But over these last few months he has achieved something that I just could not let him get away with brushing off," Robert continued. "Accompanied only by his loyal squire, their horses, and their dog and wolf, he rode out past the Free Cities. Ser Odysseus proceeded to cross hundreds of leagues of grassland, patrolled and inhabited by the savage Dothraki horse-lords. Finally, he found the horde of one of their kings, Khal Drogo, who commanded forty thousand cavalry."

Everyone was listening entirely intent on Robert's story as he paused to build tension. It was times like this that made me realize why they made him king. The man was charismatic, and boy did he know how to work a crowd.

"Also part of this horde were three of our enemies. Ser Jorah Mormont, who fought bravely at Pyke and bested Jaime Lannister after breaking nine lances in the joust, yet sold men into slavery and fled before my good Lord Stark's justice could reach him. Viserys Targaryen, the Beggar Prince and pretender to the crown. And his younger sister, Daenerys Targaryen who was to wed Drogo in return for an army."

The room was totally silent now. You could literally have heard a pin drop as the crowd just ate up Robert's performance.

"When I heard of this, I had a heavy heart. It wasn't the most honorable course of action, but I decided that for the good of the realm, to prevent another war, it had to be done. I had to send assassins after the Targaryens, after any unborn children the girl might carry." Robert sighed deeply, as if I hadn't been there I might have believed that he wasn't just pissed off, fearful and lashing out at that time.

"But my Hand, Lord Stark, and Lord Commander Barristan argued against that. Argued that my honor was too dear to lose whatever the case. So I was left with a most difficult decision; my honor as a man, or my honor as a king?"

The room listened raptly as Robert drew them in, his voice getting softer as he related his great moral dilemma.

"But then Ser Odysseus spoke out. Without thought to risk or reward, he volunteered to ride out, kill Viserys and Drogo, and retrieve Daenerys. And in so doing, to keep my honor safe as both man and king. As you can see," he said his voice gradually rising, then turned to gesture at Daenerys, "Ser Odysseus was successful, and Daenerys Targaryen is now in hand!" he boomed.

If I thought the crowd went wild before, what followed gave a whole new definition to the word. It took minutes for the cheering, banging and stomping to even start to die down.

Eventually Robert raised his arms for quiet. "Now, when I asked this man, this hero, what he wanted for doing so much to aid the realm, to save my life, to save my honor, do you know how he answered? He didn't ask for lands, for honors or favors, for some highborn lady's hand in marriage. Hells, when I tried to give him a lordship or place on the small council previously he's even refused. He hasn't even mentioned being refunded the monies he spent on his quest."

People were visibly impressed by that, and curious as to where Robert was going with it. I, of course, knew. After all, I'd organized it by communications raven with Ned and Robert before we even took ship.

"No, Ser Odysseus asked for one thing. He asked that his faithful squire, Jon Snow, the son of Lord Eddard Stark, be legitimized as a cadet branch of House Stark. And so I want it to be known to all here that Jon Snow is no more. In his place sits a new man, Jon Farstark!"

Jon was totally shocked, his mouth open as everyone started applauding him and chanting "Farstark! Farstark!" He shot me a look saying he'd get me back for this as I pulled him into a one armed hug and ruffled his hair while I smiled.

After a while Robert raised his arms for quiet again. "Now, you all know me, and you all know I'm generous to my friends. So there was no way I could allow Ser Odysseus to get away with this selfless act being his only reward. All the time that he was gone, I wracked my mind for what reward I would give him when he came back with success. And then, well, there was the tragic passing of Lady Whent a fortnight ago. This time I'm not giving Ser Odysseus the option of refusing," Robert said with a smile.

Oh, that bastard! He was giving me so much work! I thought.

"And so I present to you Ser Odysseus Gangari, Lord of Harrenhal!" Robert shouted as the crowd went wild once more, screaming and chanting "Gan-ga-ri! Gan-ga-ri!" and "Harr-en-hal! Harr-en-hal!".

I turned to shout in Robert's ear, "that was evil!"

He gave me this massive, innocent smile and shouted back, "I know!"

Robert waited a bit for people to calm down, then raised his arms wide for attention again. "So, before we hear the tale of his latest adventure, something even I haven't had the details of yet, let us raise a toast. To Lord Gangari!"

""To Lord Gangari!"" the crowd echoed and drank. I saluted with my wine-glass in return and drank a bit myself.

"Well," I said loudly as I stepped forwards to begin my own speech. "I still say that Harrenhal is much too great an honor, and a heavy burden. But as I seem to have no other choice, I shall have to bear it."

The crowd laughed at my joke.

"I wanted very much to tell everyone the story of our adventures in Essos," I said. And I really did. A culture of epic storytelling was basically the greatest thing about Westeros. "I even subjected myself and Jon to a number of situations so that the resulting tale would be even better than otherwise. However, my dear squire, not knowing that I was planning to gift him a name, demanded a single reward of his own; to tell our story. And so I give you Jon Farstark to relate our journey into the heart of the savage Dothraki Sea, our actions and battle while there, and our return to fair Westeros."

And then with a bout of clapping from the crowd I sat down, and Jon stood up.

"I've heard my master, teacher and friend called many things," he began. "Some people have called him mad."

A few hisses, jeers and boos at those that would denigrate a hero, some from the very same people that had done so in previous months.

"Others," Jon continued, "have called him a genius."

Now some cheering, quickly quietened.

"Of course, they're all wrong. I'll tell you the hidden truth, here and now," he said, his voice quiet and drawing everyone in. "To me, at least, it's quite obvious. He's a mad genius," he deadpanned. The crowd burst into laughter, as did I. Under my influence Jon had lightened up a lot and proved to have a deep sense of humor.

"You see, my lord doesn't look at the world like normal people. No, he looks at the world like it's an epic of the first age, and he's the heroic protagonist…" Jon continued as I began to dig into my food and wine with a smile. I might as well have a good night, because in the morning I'd have to start getting my shit together.

I'd been given my most difficult job yet; to fix the cluster-fuck that was Harrenhal.

Once I had, my future dragons had better not fuck it up like their cousins did in the past.

Chapter 24: New Lands

Ned came by in the morning to record my house words. I went with "Thy Will Be Done". The overt Westerosi meaning was to be obedient and dutiful to m y overlords, the Tullys, and my king Robert. The more hidden meaning was a reference to my magic powers. And the reference to the Lord's Prayer was a reminder not to lose myself and my morals. I had no desire to demonstrate the concept of absolute power corrupting absolutely, after all.

I looked at Ned warily. "So now that you've managed to force a lordship on me, what's next? Going to try and get me wed?" I sarcastically asked.

Ned was looking at me with the particular face he used when something was hilarious and he was not laughing because Starks are serious. A shiver went down my back and I bolted upright.

"No!" I protested.

He couldn't help it and grinned. "I've already had someone approach me about that, as it so happens." He paused long enough to really wind me up, then continued. "Arya decided that if she had to marry someone it was going to be you." At that, I knew he was joking.

"Oh, you jackass!" I exclaimed. "You had me so worried for a moment."

Ned chuckled. "But seriously, if you aren't wed by the time she's sixteen, we'll be having this talk again." He raised a hand to stop my protest. "I know how you feel about marriage; you explained the customs of your homeland, and I haven't forgotten. But ten years difference is not too long, not when I suspect you will live far longer than any ordinary man. For your own sensibilities you can be betrothed when she's sixteen, and wed when she's eighteen so long as her feelings don't change. But Odysseus, you are one of the few men with whom she might be able to live a happy life," he finished, pleading somewhat.

I sighed heavily. "Fine. If, if I'm still unmarried in four and a half years we can go ahead with your plan, at least to the point of Arya and I talking about it."

Stark smiled and clapped me on the shoulder. "Thank you, Odysseus. That is a great weight off of my shoulders. What are your thoughts on Harrenhal?" he asked, gesturing to the documents and maps I was looking at.

Honestly, I had been pissed off a bit about being given Harrenhal at first; it felt like settling down, giving up on going home. But then I realized it might be nice to have a home in Westeros. Once I figured out how to get home I'd almost certainly be able to travel back and forth at will, and being the undisputed lord of a fief could be fun.

Still, I groaned. "You know giving me that place was adding an extra job for me to do. That place is a mess."

And it was. Harrenhal was designed to be a royal seat, and even then it was overly large. Winterfell was a massive fortress and could host over ten thousand troops and as many civilians in a siege in reasonable comfort. Harrenhal was three times larger. The godswood alone was twenty acres, all of it inside the walls.

Winterfell needed a minimum patrol on the walls of about fifty men to detect a surprise attack, and needed about two hundred more to hold the walls properly. Two shifts to alternate sleeping and fighting and taking into account the strength and height of the walls meant that a garrison of five hundred was able to keep Winterfell safe from twenty times their number.

Harrenhal needed almost as many soldiers as a full combat shift at Winterfell just to patrol the walls properly. It should be properly garrisoned by at the very least a thousand troops. A good garrison would include two thousand foot and five hundred horse. From the latest figures, they had only two hundred guardsmen and less than a half-dozen household knights.

Everything was such a larger scale there, that monstrous edifice of a concentric castle on steroids. Harrenhal was meant to be a royal capital, not a lord's seat, and without those extra revenues it was next to impossible to run the place properly. Then add in the fact that so much damage was caused and never fixed after the castle was burned by dragonfire, the rumored curse from the workers whose blood had been mixed into the stones and mortar, the fact that old Lady Whent had been mostly incapable of properly managing her territory for years… honestly, my "reward" was more of a punishment.

Still, I'd make it work. It was my responsibility, after all, and I wasn't going to leave the thousands of people that lived on what were now my lands in the lurch.

Was I going to cheat like fucking crazy with magic? You'd better believe it.

My first priority was agriculture and the food supply. Initially I'd just give a boost to what the farmers were already doing; add Green to make hardier, healthier plants and animals and White to ward away pests. Then I'd introduce fully upgraded fruits and vegetables, first to my own castle for a year or two to really optimize them, then to my farmers. I'd also be requiring my farmers to use Four Field rotation, and start the enclosure movement soon. I had plans for aquaculture too; Harrenhal bordered the God's Eye lake, and fish farms are highly productive with large protein yields. All of that would take time though.

Part of improving the agriculture would include improving the tools used, which tied into the second thrust I was planning, metallurgy. Given that I had the secret to Valyrian steel, I had no doubt that I could make my lands a center for Westeros' smiths. I also knew how to make blast furnaces and Bessemer converters, so I could manage plentiful, cheap steel. Granted, actually making those would be very difficult if it weren't for the fact I could shape and improve stone materials. I'd make sure to spend some time designing better plows, seed drills, harvesters and the like too.

Apart from metals and food, I was planning on one more industry: books. I wanted a paper mill and printing press. Large amounts of paper was actually likely to be the bottleneck there, but I was hoping that a half-dozen alchemists and some guidance from me might make it work.

Even better for my future industry, my lands were connected by river to King's Landing which meant I could export easily. Someday Harrenhal would be productive and powerful. I would have the last laugh.

But most of that was for the future. My beginnings would be much more humble. And the very first step was to raise some seriousfunds. Luckily, there was a product that I could produce quite easily that was literally invaluable: Valyrian steel. I just needed a few good smiths to sign on with me. I still had the lion's share of the gold I had won in the Tourney, about eight-hundred dragons, and I was sure that the Harrenhal vaults held more, so paying them wouldn't be an issue.

I even had an idea as to who to visit first: Tobho Mott, and his apprentice, the king's bastard Gendry Waters. When investigating Arryn's death Ned had come across Gendry, and been impressed with his skills. Apart from being a lord, Ned was a well-trained warrior and had an eye for quality equipment. Anyone good enough for the Lord of Winterfell was good enough for me, at least until I revolutionized the industry.

Luckily Gendry and his master were willing to have him come work for me. I recruited another two journeymen level smiths who seemed skilled and worked for well-reputed masters, and gave them money to buy whatever equipment and supplies they would need at Harrenhal that wasn't already available there. I asked Lord Stark to look over their preparations then left with Jon and Dany (short for Daenerys) for Harrenhal.

Unlike when travelling in Essos, I wanted to be there faster rather than take the chance to gain mana, so we travelled at a good pace all day, making the four hundred miles or so by noon the following day. We passed by my new town, Harrentown, and its four and a half thousand inhabitants along the way.

My new lands were fairly extensive, stretching from about forty miles west of Harrenhal over to the Kingsroad about eighty miles the east of my castle, and going from about twenty miles north of Harrenhal down to about 250 miles south. Of course, most of my southern area was occupied by the God's Eye lake and the Isle of Faces, the latter of which was exempted from my control.

My lands were relatively productive agriculturally and fairly densely settled; all in all, I had a population of some four-hundred thousand. This included nine subordinate houses of landed knights and their lands, as well as the town of God's Tears where the God's Eye river starts. The rest of the population were scattered about in fishing and farming hamlets and villages.

The decent supplies of food and relatively clean fresh water meant that my peasants tended to be fairly healthy; the weak leadership in previous years meant that banditry was starting to become more prevalent. There was a decent sized piece of woods to Harrenhal's south-east which came close to the Kingsroad; the bandits seemed to use it to raid my villages and travelers depending on their circumstances. I looked forward to collecting more Green mana and hunting the bandits at the same time.

When we arrived, Dany was just about ready to kill me. She was pregnant and moody, and though relieved to be in my care was somewhat upset by the fact that I could do anything I wanted to her and there'd be no recourse. She trusted me not to abuse that authority, but it was still a difficult situation to digest, especially for a pregnant teen. Dany had had quite enough of riding, and was glad to be done with it. Though not, it seemed, glad to be at Harrenhal.

I couldn't blame her. The place was a fucking disaster zone. Living there was like living in a building that had been hit by a hurricane and never properly repaired; it was better than living in the natural wild, but hardly pleasant on the mind. The half-melted stone was disturbing, but the gnarled, twisted, leaning towers were legitimately worrying.

Stone castles tended to settle over time, sinking very, very slowly into the ground. If the towers shifted much more, the whole damned things could come down. It wasn't like the stone was reinforced by rebar or anything either. Just mortar, which meant that any and all structural integrity was really coming from the fact that everything was under compressive loading. Add shear to the mortal like the towers were experiencing from their tilts, and I gave our materials at most fifty years more until something went catastrophically wrong.

It took Harren forty years and all the money in the Riverlands to build my castle; there was no way in hell I'd be able to fix it soon enough to feel comfortable – it didn't matter how much money I used, how many Valyrian blades I made and sold.

No, looking at that mess, I realized it was time to fess up to being a wizard, and get my magic on.

The fact that the fortress was legitimately cursed didn't help things. I had felt the sinister tendrils of Black reaching for us before being repulsed by the protections I had given us. It was a weak thing, but the ground was cursed and over time would invite misfortune for those that called it home. No wonder Harrenhal kept changing hands.

I suspected that breaking the curse would have a noticeable effect, so I figured I might as well go all out. It wasn't like my magic was really that much of a secret, and I was strong enough by that point that I could face the assorted armies of the world and laugh. I had a hundred and fifty five mana after coming back to Westeros. That could power enough attack magic to wipe out small armies.

Further, as I had gained more and more mana I had noticed that my bonds grew deeper, more complete. I was already starting to see a noticeable degree of diminishing returns, but my mana cycle time had decreased from a little over half an hour back when I first arrived at Winterfell to about five minutes. I had plotted it out, and determined that the cycle time for mana was roughly an hour divided by the square root of the total amount of mana I had access to.

With so much raw power available, I had to fight the temptation to just use every increasing amounts of mana in crude but easy applications, rather than improving my skill and finesse alongside my power. The latter more skillful method had fewer immediate results but would allow me to go much, much further in the future.

I shuddered to think what another mage of my variety might be capable of after gathering mana for a decade, a century, a millennium. How mighty they might be.

I had conceived of the idea of creating a spell to form mana bonds. Then it would be an exponential mana-bonding curve until the whole of Planetos gave me power. By a back of the envelope calculation, assuming that Planetos was the same size and land-area as Earth, that meant that there were about fourteen point five million chunks of land that were four square miles in size, which seemed to be the size that I bound for non-improved mana sources – for example plains as contrasted to the more efficient cities. Assuming that it took five mana per new mana bond, and my mana cycled every five minutes, I could fully bond the whole world in about five hours and fifteen minutes.

That was fucking crazy. I kind of wanted to do it. I didn't for a few reasons.

First, I was a firm believer in the twenty second rule of evil overlords: "No matter how tempted I am with the prospect of unlimited power, I will not consume any energy field bigger than my head." I was pretty sure bonding all the mana on Planetos counted.

Second, I had noticed a sort of subconscious awareness of the land after I bonded with it. I was pretty sure that if one of my forests burned down, for example, or was cut down and a town built there, I would know. It didn't seem that the mana I had was pressuring my mind, but it could easily be that my mind was naturally and slowly adapting to the strain. Suddenly being aware of fourteen point five million lands seemed like it might be too much.

Third, I had noticed if I bonded a lot of mana of the same sort in quick succession that I got a little crazier. Challenging khal Drogo to a fight wasn't out of character, sure, but it was driven by the parts of my character that had been amplified by all that extra White I'd been picking up. Otherwise I'd have never decided on a semi-honorable duel. That was why I was careful to pick up even Black mana occasionally despite my general distaste for it and inefficiency using it.

I suspected that by area, Planetos was heavily skewed to White and Green, grasslands and forests, with comparatively smaller amounts of river and coastline, mountains and swamps. Granted those had higher energy densities than forests or grassland, but it still wasn't something I wanted to leave up to chance. Even if the planet were perfectly balanced, it still might supercharge all parts of my personality. I had no desire to give myself personality disorders, I was crazy enough already.

Fourth, I wasn't quite sure how to do it yet. I could feel the possibility for the spell, but it just wasn't there in my mind yet. Still, whether it took ten new mana to get there or a hundred, I looked forward to having a more efficient way of gathering mana bonds. Especially if I could do so at a nice distance, and set the spell to target a specific type of bond. That would just be grand.

But even if my power curve wasn't as explosively exponential as it might have been, it was still at least somewhat exponential. In my magical infancy, I might have gone mad bonding ten mana of a single color back to back, and if I didn't go mad it would have been close. After returning to Westeros I could do something like that and just take a day or two off afterwards to re-center. As I gained more and more mana bonds, and grew more and more used to them, I could gain the next ones with less effect.

So again, I was left wondering how strong a true elder land-mage like myself might become. How many worlds they might call upon. How skilled their magic, how overwhelming their power.

One day I would be like that, as much above the fabled Titans as they were above the mortals of antiquity. Already I was above any of the nations on this world.

It was a heady realization, powerful and frightening in equal measure.

But that was to worry about in the future. For now, it just meant I could fix a broken castle with impunity.

Chapter 25: Meet the New Boss

Of course, before I went around re-arranging the skyline, I had to meet my new subordinates. I had sent Nevermore ahead to tell them when I'd be arriving and to ask for a meeting of the lord's council. Then Nevermore had winged his way north to Winterfell; it was hard for Ned to be so far apart from the rest of his family, and that way he could at least get and send news in near-real time.

After ordering a servant to find Dany rooms near my own and look after her needs, Jon and I were led off to greet the officers of Harrenhal and Harrentown.

There was the Marshal, who was in charge of all military affairs, Ser Deran Middlebury. A fierce man with a cynical outlook into his middle years, he had a stout build. He preferred to organize and command from the rear. He was responsible not just for the men, but for their logistics as well.

The Captain of the Guard was Ser Levir Hawick. Stern, average height and solidly built, his red hair sported a widow's peak. He was in his thirties and very respectful. His job was to see to the day to day operation of the Guard, focusing more on a tactical/executive level than a strategic one. He was Ser Deran's second in command.

Ser Kase Crane was Master-at-Arms. Restless and energetic he was a strong man but with a bit of fat to him and despite being fairly young had thinning brown hair. His job was to train the soldiers in how to fight, and help lead them in war.

The Master of the Horse was Ser Darran Perk, a gentle man, especially with horses. He had sandy hair and his long face suited his lanky frame. He was responsible for selecting and caring for the horses and helped in training the men to ride and fight from horseback. Like Ser Kase, he would help lead the guardsmen in combat.

Chief Constable Arnol Stally was outspoken and a bit of a braggart. Tall, with salt and pepper hair and beard he kept the populace of Harrenhal and Harrentown in line.

Chief Steward Stefon Bridges was my senior civilian manager and advisor. He looked after the finances for my house, which Jon would now be helping with, made sure taxes were collected, and commanded the castle's servants. He was assertive, confident and competent. His blue eyes, black hair, thin frame and average height made me think he might hail from the Stormlands.

Mayor of Harrentown Edam Blest was a bit of a worrier, wringing his hands during our meeting. He was shorter than average, solidly built, and had a large bulbous nose.

The Harrentown Dockmaster was Dorran Lander. He might as well have had his picture under the encyclopedia's entry for sailor; he was talkative, average height, had light brown watery eyes, a broken nose, and missing a finger that he'd likely accidentally cut when gutting fish or lost in a net.

The Septon, Marcyn Chess, was a disagreeable and self-righteous man, taller than average, soft in body and not a great orator. I suspected that we might have trouble after I showed off my magic.

The Maester was called Connor Rislet. Compassionate, intelligent and pragmatic I was glad to have him. Physically a little shorter than average, he was fit but skinny and had thinning salt-and-pepper close-cropped hair.

Master Smith Bryan Teague was the senior smith for the castle, and the most accomplished in the region. Sharp-witted and tongued he had a reputation for no nonsense. Shorter than average but built like a beer barrel he reminded me a bit of a fantasy dwarf-smith.

Chief huntsman Orwen Wyne was calm and quiet, of average height and build, and brown haired.

After meeting them and hearing their reports on the state of my lands, I wasn't particularly happy. Nor was I particularly surprised though. Things were as I'd been told to expect by Ned and Robert. I wanted to get started with my magic then and there, but decided it might be better to wait until I had spoken with Ned and Robert, laying all my cards out on the table. Even if they knew and suspected the truth, it was just polite and what a friend should do.

So instead I laid out my general vision for the future. How I'd be using my knowledge to better than double the food production. How we were soon going to be the top steel producers in Westeros. How Harrenhal was going to be the first place in Westeros with a proper paper-mill and printing press.

Basically, that there were good things coming, and that I'd be leading the territory to wealth and power for all involved.

Furthermore, I'd be fixing the damned castle.

They seemed cautiously optimistic, which was about what I was hoping for, though they obviously disbelieved my last claim to fix the castle and its curse. Now that I'd met them and verified there were no critical emergencies, I was able to go back and start gathering together the caravan of smiths, alchemists, and other experts. Of course they'd need an escort on the road, so I told my new Captain, Ser Levir, to take as many men as he thought necessary to be safe on the road to King's Landing and then escort my experts back to Harrenhal. It would take Ser Levir about two weeks to get to King's Landing; I certainly wasn't going to travel at that slow pace.

I sent Hue back to Ned with the message that I'd be by King's landing tomorrow and would like to speak with him and Robert.

I left Jon behind to start getting the clerks using double entry book-keeping, and to find some boys from Harrentown who could be trained up as clerks to go back through the last few years of accounts and re-record them in a better format. Daenerys was taking a much deserved rest and relaxation. And I left in the morning for King's Landing.

Riding quickly and fueled to endure with extra charges of Green, Aethon, Togo and I managed to arrive in King's Landing some nine hours later. It was still the early afternoon. Ned and Robert weren't busy, and were happy to meet with me.

I looked at them slightly nervously, hoping that they'd react well to what I was about to say. "So. I'm not sure how exactly to say this… You know how Togo is absolutely massive, and Aethon can run faster than any other horse but Shadowfax? There's a simple reason for that. I'm a wizard."

Robert and Ned just looked at each other and burst out laughing.

I was taken aback. "That was not the reaction I was expecting," I muttered.

Robert was howling in amusement and smacking his leg in his paroxysms. "I'm a wizard! Hahahaha! As if that's a secret! Ahahahaha! And his face, Ned, his face! AHAHAHAHAHAH!"

I narrowed my eyes. "Alright then. I'm glad I've amused you," I said snarkily.

Eventually they calmed down a bit. "So what brought this stunning revelation on, Odysseus?" Ned asked. Robert started laughing again as soon as he heard the word "revelation."

"I'm planning on coming out about it, at least to an extent," I replied. "Harrenhal is a wreck. I'm stunned that none of the towers have collapsed yet, but it's only a matter of time. Ten years, twenty, fifty… I have no desire to be buried in falling rocks. And the place is fucking cursed to boot. There's no way to fix either of those without a lot of pretty obvious spells getting thrown about."

Ned raised his eyes. "Your magic can fix something like that?" he asked incredulously.

"I've gotten a lot stronger since leaving Winterfell," I admitted. "And I roughly doubled my strength while in Essos. I figured out how to achieve some of the same effects of the wonders there. Volantis' Black Wall taught me how to mold stone and repair it, while in Qohor I saw enough of how they reforged Valyrian steel to be able to make my own."

That last one had their attention. "New Valyrian steel, you mean?" Robert asked seriously.

A wide and gleeful smile dawned on my face. "That's right. I need to work on it while it's being made by a master smith, but I can manage it. I'll be selling them at set rates, a hundred times the weight of the weapon in gold for true Valyrian folded steel. Twenty five times the weight of the weapon for unfolded Valyrian steel. Or five times the weight of a metal item to have it given a Valyrian blessing."

"What's the difference?" Robert asked.

"The Valyrian blessing is the basics of the magic they put in the steel. It makes it so the metal doesn't dull or break, at least not that I've been able to manage at the sorts of forces a human can exert. The metal also gets a lot lighter, which is both a good and a bad thing. Swords and other weapons rely partially on their weight to cut, after all. The best part about the Valyrian blessing though is that it can be applied to something that's already been forged, including armor."

I could just see their eyes light up at that.

"One level up from the blessing is unfolded Valyrian steel, or as I think of it false Valyrian steel. This does everything the blessing does but also makes the edge of the blade very sharp. However, it needs to be cast while the blade is still somewhat fluid. After the sword will have an edge sharper than the finest razor.

"And then there's the pinnacle. The problem with true Valyrian steel is that it needs a smith with skill, soul and heart sufficient to shape the magic. I can provide the power, but not the inspired act of artistic creation. But true Valyrian folded steel is truly amazing. To begin with this takes the advantages of the less sophisticated techniques and makes them even greater. Then the magic and the smith work together to imbue the blade with the conceptual ideal of cutting. If cutting was a god, then the sword would be its saint. Beyond that, there is something about the blade that causes them to strike true. Lastly, the sword gains metaphysical weight to replace what was lost to the magic. When the blade strikes it hits just as hard as non-magical steel of that size and speed would, but since the blade is lighter and thus faster it actually allows the wielder to strike harder."

Ned nodded. "That has been my experience with Ice," he agreed. "How many of these blades can you make?"

I grinned. "We will be making a single item a month. The right to choose what is made will be auctioned, then the purchaser will pay the price of the item itself."

Ned sighed. "Of course. Your pricing seemed far too reasonable. I should have expected something like that."

I shrugged. "One a month, auctioned, will bring me more than enough income to help reform my territory. But I was thinking we might help each other. Lord Manderly has a quarterly auction of the treasury bills and bonds. I was hoping you might add three of my monthly items to the auction, one for each of the months of that quarter, and publicize it ahead of time. We could start with the auction in two months time."

Robert nodded. "That would certainly bring a large crowd to the auctions," he agreed.

I smiled. "Thank you, Robert." He had told me after I brought back Daenerys that if I didn't call him Robert, at least in private, that he'd appoint me to the small council too. "Now, in appreciation of our friendship I wanted to offer the two of you some gifts. First, you can ask for whatever weapons or armor you like from me before the auction. I only ask that you wear it to the first one, and show it off.

"Other than that, I wanted to offer to improve you with my magic. I can make you supernaturally strong and fast, make your flesh as hard to damage as stone, give you a slight premonition of danger, give you a defense as powerful as leather armor that will work on any attacks – even magical ones, shield you so that it would take a dozen archers shooting at once to overcome the protection and harm you, make your bones nigh unbreakable, make it so that you heal faster and are healthier and harder to poison in general, improve the good qualities you can absorb from your food, make it so that dirt and sweat comes off of your body and you stay ever clean, and make it so that the wind assists you when moving and cools you when standing."

Their eyes glazed a bit at the list of upgrades you could provide. "You have all of these?" Ned asked incredulously. "And they're safe?"

I nodded. "I do. And, they are safe. For you, at least. The supernaturally enhanced strength and speed might make bed-sports dangerous if the woman is someone not so blessed, and you will have to take care when practicing not to accidentally injure your opponents," I clarified. "I am willing to offer the same to Catelyn, Ned, and your children save for the strength. And for you, Robert, I can offer the same to your future wife, and to Lord Barristan. But I think you can understand why I am wary of making too many superhumans, and the process is not without difficulty."

Robert was stunned. "Damn. That's quite the offer. Let me think on it a minute."

I smiled. "There's no rush. I can always give you the upgrades later."

Ned was considering it, then after a minute he nodded. "I will take you up on the offer, in full," he agreed. "And I will ask Catelyn to do the same."

Robert sighed. "Ah, fuck it. I'm in too. But not the strength; I couldn't bear to lose out on my fun. Mayhap things will change after I'm married, but I wouldn't count on it."

"The regeneration brings increased stamina as well. Your future wife might surprise you," I said, grinning.

Robert laughed. "Now if you want to truly make a fortune, you should sell that!"

I shook my head. "No, that is only for my friends."

"And we're honored to be counted as part of that number," Robert replied, draping his arms around Ned and me. "Now, I think this calls for a bit of a celebration."

Robert proceeded to try and get us all drunk.

Huh. I guessed I should have mentioned how hard that was going to be for him in the future.

Nah. Let him find that one out on his own.

Chapter 26: Making Whole

I spent the next few days in King's Landing, improving Ned, Robert, Ser Barristan, Sansa, and Arya. Only Ned and Ser Barristan got the full strength. Arya I gave a less potent version of the strength, but figured that she might be too tempted to use her strength and fight if I gave her a greater level. I could tell that the spells could be improved, but didn't have sufficient time to make it a higher priority given the lack of a pressing need.

Syrio Forel, Arya's instructor, figured out the difference almost immediately. I wasn't overly surprised; he had a sort of wise martial arts master vibe going on. He inquired about what it would take to get similar upgrades from me, but balked at swearing himself to my service. It was a pity; he'd have been fucking lethal with the upgrades and a Valyrian steel rapier.

Meanwhile, Wisdom Munciter of the Alchemists Guild slowly got his party of acolytes and apprentices all packed up to come to Harrenhal and take up residence there. I hadn't had much success attracting other skilled workers, but more for lack of time to search them out than anything else. Gendry and the other smiths were busy readying to head out too.

They looked to be on schedule to leave by the time my guards arrived, so that was all fine. Unfortunately for them, they were limited to the speed of carts and wagons on the road back. Aethon and I could make the five hundred mile Harrenhal - King's Landing run in a day; they'd take a month.

Apart from just not having time to waste, needing to get back to Harrenhal and start working my magic, I had to make it back to King's Landing again in time for the start of the week of festivities leading up to Margaery Tyrell and Robert's wedding. That was starting in just a week, so I didn't waste any time and pushed on to Harrenhal when my business in King's Landing was done.

Once I was there, I had the officers of the castle clear it out, brining all the people into one of the courtyards. I intended to break the curse and fix the stones, and thought it might be better if there were no one inside while I did the work in case something went wrong. I told my officers I was going to break the curse, activated my mage-sight, and set off. I tracked the lines of dark influence back to the godswood and eventually the heart tree.

The weirwood seemed to have a horrible visage, full of hate and twisted anger with wicked eyes. It was a scarred tree, and the very opposite of sacred. I settled into a light state of meditation, then reached for White. I took one mana, then another, then five, then twenty more until I held a massive force, the greatest single concentration of mana I had ever wielded as part of a spell.

"Forgive us our trespasses," I said clearly, structuring my desire to break the curse and restore the land. Then I loosed the healing, purifying energies into the weirwood and waited with my breath held for a moment before the tree started to heal. The scars shrunk and disappeared, the once wicked gaze became fond, its sneering face settling into the happy wrinkles of a kind grandfather.

Throughout the fortress, for as far as I could sense, the darkness receded then evaporated as it lost its grip on the land. No longer was Harrenhal cursed. The air seemed sweeter, the light brighter, and a small creeping dread in the back of my mind had passed on.

I turned, walked back out of the godswood and to the Kingspyre Tower, the tallest of all the towers where Harren and his sons were burned alive. It was a lopsided, broken structure that would have looked more like a wax model left too close to the flame than part of one of the greatest fortresses ever made had it not been for the humbling, awe-inspiring size of the tower.

I stretched my hands forward, touched the wall of the Tower, and began to channel. Strictly speaking, the Living Stone enchantment that was once active on the Black Wall of Volantis needed to be cast when the object had the structure that you wanted. In other words, were I to use it unaltered, it would happily repair my castle to its current broken state in the future.

But Blue was the color of history and dreams, of time and magic. White the color of purity, of completeness, of order. And so I made those stones living, but I made them remember and long for a time gone by when the fortress was new, and beautiful, and whole. And then I settled in to channel. This was a task beyond even my grown reserves, and so rather than a quick burst of power I gave it a steady stream, fed the spell pattern with a colorless mana every other second, occasionally touching the spell up as the magic tired.

I was there for a long time, an hour or more. My focus was complete and pure, my will iron, my intent sharp as an arrow. And Harrenhal responded. The stones flowed as if time were reversed. And my castle was more and more whole. And then suddenly the magic cut off, the spell completed with the fixes. I felt that the spell would soon collapse, but that I could make some small change with what time I had remaining.

I couldn't think of what I wanted to do with the spare energies until suddenly it came to me. Piping. And with that thought, the stone flowed inside the walls, some pipes appearing to carry water and others waste. Then the massive working was complete.

Jon passed me a bit of food and water. My servants and guards looked on at me in fear and wonder, gossiping and chattering around the large yard but trying to avoid gaining my notice. When I finished with my food and drink I stretched out my arms, interwove my fingers and strained to put a nice pressure across my palms. Some of my fingers clicked at the action.

Then I gathered up my mana again and reached out to the stone once more. This time instead of moving the stone in a general fashion I blended it together, fused the different blocks and structures together, made the stones of the entire fortress a single perfect seamless piece. It was eerie and awesome, as if some sculptor had carved the massive fortress out of a lump of perfect grey crystal, or as if a god had made the whole thing in one go out of cement.

I was finished. It was better than new, a slick grey fortress of looming concentric walls, powerful bastions and immense towers rising up, the smooth stone almost shimmering as the sun broke through the clouds.

When I walked towards the castle's people, they cheered.

Harrenhal was, without a doubt, mine.

Though I was sure that the interior furnishings would still need work.

After that my people were pretty damned reverent, if intimidated. Even Jon and Daenerys were highly impressed, and they had experienced my magic before first hand. I spent the next three days going over my plans for our Agricultural and Industrial Revolutions, preparing for when I could properly move on my plans. My steward started rolling out the Four-Field rotation system and enclosures immediately, organizing what he could for the spring planting, but it would still take another full year before all of my fields were using it.

My landowning farmers, who sat somewhere below a knight and above a peasant worker in the social hierarchy, tended to be fairly conservative. Most would wait for proof of success before starting a new method of farming; I was considering offering insurance if they'd make the leap, but was wary of being scammed. Then again, it was pretty hard to hide more-successful crops; the tax assessors, who were often part-time officials and the local village chiefs could see the extra plants growing.

I decided it was worth incentivizing the switch; those who did switch over their farms to the new system would be forgiven their grain tax for the next three years in proportion to how many fields they switched over. They would still be responsible for their duty to keep a certain amount of arms, perform a certain amount of training with the local militia, and be prepared to be drafted as part of my levy if necessary. The offer would only be good for these three years; in other words, if they switched next year, then they got two years of four-crop rotation tax free, the year after just one year without taxes, and after that I'd be back to collecting my share of a hopefully much increased harvest.

The magically optimized plants and animals would have to wait until I had time to experiment. That said, I did manage to bond with the Godswood there, all twenty acres of it, and gained three Green mana in the process.

Then it was time to go back to King's Landing. This time Jon came with me, since I didn't want him to miss the festivities. Dany, pregnant and not wanting to travel, nor particularly comfortable near Robert or at court in general, decided to stay behind at Harrenhal. It was a much brighter, happier place than when we had arrived, and much less likely to fall down on her head too, so I was content with the situation.

Jon and I arrived back in King's Landing to find space somewhat at a premium. The king's marriage to the young lady Margaery of Highgarden had brought thousands of lords, knights and their entourages to the city. The Reach had sent forth the flower of its chivalrous youth to represent them, and the city was practically choked with arrogant young shits who were used to be the largest fish in very small ponds. They weren't adapting to the city overly well, all charming and noble one moment then offended, petty and arrogant the next. A bunch of spoiled brats.

I sighed. I was being a bit unfair. One of the minor Reach nobles had had a collision with a merchant at the gate before we could enter. The lord was entirely at fault, far too happy to just charge ahead and expect that everyone not only would but could get out of his way in time. Then one of his carriages crashed into a wagon, and… it was a mess, and the gate was blocked.

After waiting a full half hour for it to get sorted with smaller and smaller amounts of patience left, I rode up there with Jon. The lord then got stroppy with me. Until he noticed Togo and realized who I was, at which point the lord paled and shut the fuck up. The small collision was fixed relatively soon after, but my mood towards these petty lordlings was still somewhat hostile.

Even the Red Keep was packed. Though that didn't affect Jon or me much, as we had places in Ned's tower. The day after we arrived, Robert brought Margaery to me to be improved. She was a beautiful girl, just turned sixteen, with soft brown hair, large soulful eyes, smooth skin and a slim but womanly figure.

In other words, she was totally Robert-bait. And by the gleam of intelligence in her eyes she knew it, and was using it. Not that I could blame her. Women's lib wasn't exactly a thing, and even if Robert wasn't an absolute monarch, women were generally restricted in power by what their husbands allowed them. Given that Robert was the king, well, Margaery could have a lot of power or none of it, and it all depended on how well she could lead Robert about.

Robert walked up with her arm in arm. "Now, my dear, this is the great Odysseus Gangari that I told you about. Odysseus, my wife to be, Margaery," he introduced, beaming. The man had already lost at least half of his excess flab in the weak I'd been gone, his regeneration working to restore him to a more optimal form. He looked years younger, fitter and healthier than he had been in a long time.

Robert had the habit of dropping titles among friends. I had not been granted any such dispensation, however. "Lady Margaery," I said, bowing. "I'm sure his Grace –" Robert glared at me, so I amended my statement before I found myself with a place on the small council "- Robert has told you already, but I'm not one for being formal. Please, call me Odysseus."

She smiled. "I've already noticed that my husband-to-be shares that informality among friends. I hope very much that you will be one of mine, so please, call me Margaery."

Robert was already impatient with the niceties. "Right, right, so the introductions are out of the way. Now, Odysseus, she didn't truly believe me when I said you were a mage. Before she'll agree to be improved, she'd like to see some magic."

I laughed. "That is easily done, though once word spreads of what I did at Harrenhal I doubt it will be necessary."

Margaery looked at me curiously. "What did you do at Harrenhal?" she asked. Robert seemed interested too.

I smiled widely. "I fixed it. I broke the curse there. I made the stones remember what they used to be. And then I fused them so that the entire castle is one single piece of stone, smooth as silk to the touch."

Robert gaped. "By the gods! That would truly be a wonder to see!" he exclaimed.

"You're always welcome to visit," I replied. "Gods know I have enough space inside to fit you, though the furnishings still need to be replaced and repaired and the bats chased out. There is a long road ahead of me still before it is restored to true glory."

Robert looked at me full of boyish charm and cunning. "But Harrenhal is not here."

I raised my hands in surrender. "Alright, alright," I said, looking around the room for something to show that wasn't a combat spell. I spotted a bowl of fruit, and picked out an apple. I looked carefully at Robert and Margaery. He was in black and gold brocade, she a darker and lighter green brocade dress with gold accents.

Then the apple began to twist and turn, the flesh receding as the seeds grew into wood. The small sapling began to thicken in my hand, separate into two. Then as my audience watched raptly the two rough cylinders of wood got more shapely, grew arms and legs, heads and hair, even clothes out of the small leaves. Then the wood began to lighten to be like skin, and the clothes color until one of the figures was in black and gold, the other green and gold, fixed arm in arm.

I smiled, and handed Margaery the little figures. "A present to mark out meeting."

She was astounded. "That was amazing," she said softly, not wanting to break the wonder of the moment. "Like something out of story."

Robert beamed at me, clapped me on the back. "Didn't I tell you?" he asked rhetorically.

"I just hadn't thought… how is this even possible?" she asked, still in awe.

"Magic," I said, grinning.

"But…" Margaery trailed off. "I was going to say there is no such thing, but it is obvious that there is magic."

"So, would you care for me to work my magic now?" I asked.

She began to nod then hesitated. "I do not mean to sound ungrateful, but…" she trailed off, not quite willing to speak.

"What is it?" Robert asked.

"My brother, Willas. He was crippled as a youth, and has trouble walking. Is it possible for you to heal him? I will forebear from any improvements myself if that is needed."

Ned and Lord Mace Tyrell had been in negotiations to wed Sansa to Willas in a few years, just as I had hoped. They were planning on announcing it during the wedding. I had been planning on healing Willas then, and upgrading him to match what I gave Sansa at the same time so it was really no bother. Still, it was good of her to ask.

I looked at her kindly. "It does you well to think of your brother. But as you're likely aware, he will be wedding Sansa Stark. I had already planned to offer him healing and similar enhancements to what you will soon have after the announcement."

"Oh, thank you so very, very much," she said, her eyes slightly tearing up in happiness. "How can I repay you?"

I shook my head. "There's no need for that. Ned and Robert have been good friends to me, and I give them my loyalty and friendship in return."

A few hours later, she was upgraded to match Robert, looking at her hands in marvel after a bit of pressure with a knife had done nothing more than leave a pressure-mark on the skin.

I didn't see much of Robert or Margaery for the rest of the week, as they were busy hosting the parties and celebrations leading up to the wedding. I did however meet her brother, Willas, whom I found very agreeable. I was sure that he and Sansa would get along well; by all reports their first meetings had already allowed them to develop a friendship.

I might not have been happy with dynastic marriages with such age gaps in general, but it was the local custom. If it was going to happen anyways, I thought Willas the best option for Sansa. I rather easily upgraded him, wished him the best of luck, and gave him a quick warning that I expected Sansa to be happy in the future. I didn't think it a real issue, but just in case I figured the protection of a ridiculously lethal wizard who was rumored to be somewhat unhinged couldn't hurt Sansa.

I also met Ser Edmure Tully, the heir to the Riverlands and my future liege lord. In place of his father, he took my oath of fealty. As Catelyn's brother and my at-least-in-theory boss, I upgraded him to match Robert and Willas.

Come to think of it I needed to make my way back to Winterfell at some point and upgrade Robb, Bran, Rickon and Catelyn too.

Other than that, over the week I upgraded Robert and Margaery's favorite horses as part of my gift to them, and acquired a dog which I gave all of Togo's upgrades save for the massive size to help guard her for the rest of the gift. Then I realized their guards would need to be able to keep up, and made seven more horses for the kingsguard. I had time to spare, so I upgraded Sansa, Arya, and Ned's horses too, and made sure their wolves were all up-to-date.

I had decided that super-animals might as well breed, if only in small numbers, and left them with a reduced but still present possibility to have colts and pups. Gods only knew what was going to happen when their progeny were first born. I needed to be present for Daenerys' child's birth, but even then the baby had been conceived before I added all those magics to Daenerys, and so had gotten all the upgrades that Daenerys got, in other words all the ones but the physique, at the same time as Dany.

A purely natural born animal from their improved parents could share all, some or none of the improvements, and I was excited and worried to find out what the case would be. I knew that I could make the enchantments a truly permanent part of the animal if they weren't already and I wanted them to breed true. It would just need some research. Likewise, I could make the upgrades, the more magical and less biological ones at least, limited to just that animal, but again it would take research.

Then the week of celebrations came to a close, Robert and Margaery wedded and bedded, and the Queen's Tourney kicked off.

Thankfully, I had had to have no part in planning or running it.

High in the sky a red comet blazed with fire. It was taken as a good omen by those attending the wedding.

Chapter 27: Lord of the Bow

Jon and I decided not to fight in the tournament; it would just be unfair and cause resentment. Luckily it seemed Ned had managed to convince Robert to follow suit.

Then there was a special bill and bonds auction, and every hope I had for a prosperous fiefdom was fulfilled when the first slot of Valyrian steel production was auctioned off.

Harrenhal was both a rich and a totally broken fief to hold. On the one hand, it was fairly populous and prosperous. It had a total population of about four-hundred and twenty thousand, average family size of about five and a half, and average income of four and a half dragons per family per year, which was about one and three-quarter dragons above the poverty line.

Of those four hundred twenty thousand people, four hundred thousand of them lived on lands within my territory; I ruled those lands, and taxed them, but didn't directly own and administrate the land. That was left to a patchwork of yeoman landowning farmers, knights, and various local semi-independent villages and towns. I ended taking about one fifth of their income above the poverty line in taxes and fees, with the rest going to the Tullys (one tenth), the crown (another tenth), village and common use (three twentieths), and about a quarter to the peasants to spend with another fifth to save.

Then there were twenty thousand people that lived on lands that I directly owned and managed. I managed to get my greedy mitts on about half the profit that those lands provided. That gave me a total general income of about twenty eight thousand six hundred dragons, an amount of wealth roughly equivalent to earning two hundred and sixty million dollars a year.

Which sounds like a lot until I take into account how much I have to spend. Twelve hundred on guardsmen, between pay, food, and equipment. Two thousand on the castle staff. A thousand on maintenance for the castle, and that was much reduced from what it was before. Four thousand to maintain the roads, shitty as they were, throughout my fief. Eight thousand of the taxes were taken as service with the militia, rather than gold; most of that was time spent training, and even then my people were about as useful in a fight as a wet blanket. Another eight thousand for bailiffs, constables, and as the small stipends for village heads and the like. A thousand on tax collectors, another thousand on the entertainments and feasts I was obliged to fund, and finally a thousand dragons on things not accounted for or overbudget.

That meant that at the end of the average year, Harrenhal's territory only made some one thousand, four hundred dragons in profit. That was still pretty damned good, even if most of those profits came from the reduced cost to maintain the castle. If I were back on Earth making thirteen million dollars a year, I wouldn't complain.

But it didn't take into account that instead of two hundred guardsmen at twelve hundred dragons a year, I really needed at least a thousand guardsmen which would cost around five thousand dragons a year. That would put me deeply into the red on my earnings sheet, and still didn't take into account the one-time cost of expanding the military rather than just maintaining it. Further, I didn't just want my lands to get by, I wanted them to fucking thrive.

Now, some things would have a big impact. Four-field crop rotation, for example, would roughly double my territory's income by improving the agricultural yields. Granted it would also mean I'd need to fund more mills, granaries, and other infrastructure, so it might cost a bit to begin with. The poverty line wasn't going to shift, so doubling the income meant that my peasants would have a lotmore disposable income to tax, going from one and three quarter dragons to six and one quarter dragons. Since I'd squeeze out extra taxes to "cover improvements" and the like, keeping my relative taxation rate on the peasants' profit consistent, I wouldn't be doubling my tax income; I'd increase it by about three and a half times.

Again, I was barely breaking even, but that was because both my expenses and my income were high. Better than triply my income, and that meant my territory's profits would go from fourteen hundred dragons to almost seventy three thousand dragons, increasing by a factor of fifty. With that money I could fully equip my castle and further modernize my territory.

However, historically speaking the gains from the agricultural revolution were pretty slow. It could take ten to twenty plus years before I saw those kind of gains, and at the very best with a Four-field rotation I'd be looking at four years for full impact.

I wasn't that patient. Beyond which, I was effectively in turn one of a game like Medieval Two Total War. I'd grow my territory a lotfaster if I used building cheats and money cheats. I'd already done the building cheat, fixing Harrenhal in a day. Next, I wanted to earn a shit-ton of money. And for that, there was nothing better or easier for me to do than produce Valyrian steel. As was obviously shown in the first auction.

Sixty four thousand dragons.

Sixty four thousand dragons.

SIXTY FOUR THOUSAND DRAGONS!

I felt like screaming in glee as I sat in the auction, the sound of ringing gold in my mind. It was a stupendous amount of money. Not a year ago, and I was worried that a cost of a hundred thousand dragons might send the whole realm into a financial tailspin.

Gods bless rich nobles who get their pride mixed up in having the very first Valyrian sword of the modern age, that's all I could say. Though to be fair, they'd likely get their names in the history books that mentioned this moment, and nobles lapped that sort of useless honor up like cats drinking the sweetest cream.

The second spot went for twenty two thousand dragons, the third for twelve thousand. A total of ninety eight thousand dragons, more profit than my fief used to make in a lifetime. It was paid in the form of Royal Treasury Bills, which had quickly become the standard method of moving large amounts of money around in Westeros.

With that, I was in business. It was time to go back to Harrenhal and get started.

About a month after I returned to Harrenhal, and my smiths and alchemists had finally settled in. I gave the alchemists a decent budget, and set them to figuring out how to make paper. I suspected that the process would change a lot in the future. Once they figured out exactly what was important in the paper making process I was sure I could figure out how to make a tree or bush that provided useful materials. I just needed some parameters to design my plants.

The smiths, meanwhile, were ready to make the first true Valyrian steel equipment in an age. I had spent a lot of time with them enchanting files, cutters and other equipment to be invulnerable. They had practiced daily with meditation and focus exercises to achieve the correct states of mind, and grown their skills to make Damascus-style patterned steel blades.

The first item we worked on was Ned's new sword. He had decided that Ice was pretty much the epitome of an excellent blade, and that it would be nice for Winterfell to have one for the Lord and one for the Heir. So we set to work, and created a copy of the same size, weight and dimensions. Its name read Frost.

The second was a bit more complicated. Robert had asked if we could manage a Valyrian war hammer with a blunt head, a curved spiked beak back, and a spearhead at the top of the shaft for thrusting. After consulting with my smiths, I'd sent Hue with the reply that we could, but it would be difficult. Even more than a sword, a hammer relies on its mass to cause damage. Which mean that the head of the hammer had to be true Valyrian steel for the impact.

The problem was, the head didn't have an edge. Couldn't have an edge. And instead of blade essence, had to be full of hammer essence in the crafting while the metal was folded and refolded into the shape of a hammer-head. On my part, the enchantment had to be modified slightly. The first time was an utter failure, the magic within the hammer-head detonating. The only reason the blast didn't kill one of my smiths was that I'd thought ahead and given them some protections. I still ended up having to regrow one of their hands.

A much warier group returned to try again. The second failure was less explosive; the enchantments took, but the hammer didn't achieve the hammer essence it needed and so the weapon was useless.

The third time, we succeeded in making the hammer and claw. Then we took a shaft with a spearhead sized blade on it, fit them together, and I fused the metal. And it was done. The world's first Valyrian steel Warhammer. At least, the first I'd heard of.

Fucking Robert. Only he would want something like that.

Once the hammer was done, productivity went up. I had them make Valerian steel swords and lances for Jon and I. We even had Valyrian steel belt knives, a true extravagance. If I hadn't taken care of my facial hair with Green, I'd have used it to shave too.

Harrenhal began to feel more like a home over time. I bonded the whole fortress; the five towers, the main gate, the east gate, the great hall, the kitchens, the barracks and armory, the outer and inner yards, the bathhouse. My fortress was the size of a small town, but over time I bonded it all. Eight White, four Blue, six Black and five Red from the memory of dragons and fire.

With all the extra wealth, I ordered Ser Deran to expand the Guard's cavalry. I thought about expanding the infantry too, but decided against it. I wasn't overly impressed by the foot soldiery of the Seven Kingdoms. Roman infantry or Spanish tercios would hand them their asses. Eventually I'd see to training up a decent bunch of professional infantry, but until then I saw little point in expanding what was essentially an antiquated an ineffective force.

Generally I liked the expanding cadre model for the military: a small core of permanent professional soldiers, who served as the cadre for part time semi-professionals, basically the reserves, who in turn served as the cadre for their local militias. That way, I'd have a relatively consistent force, with a hardened, seasoned core I could call on at a moments notice. If I needed to mobilize for war, I could do so quickly and with a relatively high quality of levy.

But most importantly, my territory was soft. It wasn't highly urbanized, with defensible cities, but was spread out with insignificant villages. That's where the lowest tier of militia troops came in. They didn't have to be great to see off bandits, and if everyone in my territory was trained to fight it would be easy to spot and recruit the best for my army and reserves. Beyond that, I just generally believed people should know how to defend themselves.

However, training infantry would take a lot of time and effort on my part. So instead, I decided to go for a different option, one that would also take a lot of time but make my territory one of the best protected in the land. I decided to spread the practice of archery.

It wasn't very hard. First, I grew thousands of heavily recurved bows from the oaks in the godswood, ranging from light draw-weight pieces for children to medium and heavier draw pieces for adults. I also grew arrows by the thousand, their shafts falling down like rain from the tree limbs.

Then I drafted a proclamation. I laid out a number of different achievements that I wanted people to be able to manage, with different requirements for children and adults. These ranged from what I thought reasonable out of a militia archer, which most fit men and a number of women could manage, to what I wanted out of a reserve archer, which still wasn't overly difficult but would take a degree of time and dedication to training, to what I wanted out of the archers in my guard which would take at least a modicum of skill and more extensive dedication.

I added ranks, different colored badges that these achievements would allow and a sliding scale of cash prizes; the payout for truly top archers was enough that a master archer could be a person's profession. It wouldn't pay well without other jobs, but anyone that good could join my guard anyways, and likely as a sergeant of archers which paid well. There was both an active badge, which you had to qualify for yearly, and a historical achievement badge associated with each rank to drive competitiveness.

The most skilled archer in an area was offered the responsibility of Range Officer. This meant they had to organize for a skilled archer to be present each day for at least two hours to help student archers practice. They were graded on a point system based on how many archers they had of each skill level, and offered incentives for their students to perform well.

And then, for the real overachievers and ambitious people, there was horse archery. Similar to regular archery there were badges and prizes, but unlike regular archery any sufficiently skilled horse archer, regardless of age, could get an automatic slot as a squire at my castle with a knighthood to follow once their training was complete.

For richer landowners, that was the opportunity of a lifetime for their children. To make sure it was available to those of poorer backgrounds but higher skill, any child sufficiently skilled at regular archery would be offered a spot as a squire-candidate at my castle until they turned eighteen. That way, I could have them taught their numbers and letters during the training. At the worst, anyone skilled enough for a squire-candidate slot would make a great guards archer, and with some literacy would be likely candidates for positions as corporals and sergeants.

The bows and arrows I grew allowed me to offer them for free to anyone who wanted to try and qualify; the only requirement would be logging a certain amount of time a week on the shooting range or paying a penalty. Selling the bow would be considered theft from their lord; few were so stupid as to do so.

All children aged twelve to sixteen were expected to practice at least three times a week for two hours each time; part of the budget I assigned to this was earmarked for payments to the villages to offer meals to each of these children following their practices. To motivate higher practice, the children could attend practice and receive a meal every day if they wanted.

When tax wagons left my castle for my outlying lands, unlike in the past when they'd leave empty and return full of grain, now they left loaded down with bows and arrows. The project was crazily expensive; just the food for the children ran me four and a half thousand dragons. Overall, I budgeted thirty thousand dragons a year to it, and that was after I made the bows and arrows essentially for free.

It was incredibly popular, and my people ridiculously competitive over archery though, so the project was well worth it.

Chapter 28: Lord of the Beast

However effective it seemed to be, the archery program didn't address the issue that I was dealing with at the time; a small, underpowered guard force. For that, I turned to my general solution to problems in Westeros; magic, and animals. I used Green mana to send the ravens and the castle's hunting pack into a breeding frenzy.

Then I turned all the dogs into what I called a Gangari Guard Hound. The new Hounds were about a hundred and twenty pounds, and had similar upgrades to Togo apart from the size. They were further inherently embedded with loyalty to me, a sense of justice, and a pack mentality to induce order for military affairs.

In a few months, about as much time as it would take to train even the worst guardsman, I'd have about two hundred Hound puppies. In a year, I'd have about a thousand Hounds, and then if I wanted to their population could really take off. Each one was easily the match for a proper warrior, and they could stand watches and help on patrols as easily as any of my guardsmen. Already the twenty males were helping out.

Likewise, Gangari Guard Ravens were patterned off of Nevermore's enhancements, just without a comm link and with an embedded sense of loyalty and justice. They were designed to act as scouts for my guard forces, relaying messages, and finding and reporting crimes to their attached units. Unlike the Hounds, which were basically a soldier-substitute, the Ravens were an effectiveness multiplier, allowing each member of the Guard to be much more effective.

As part of that same effectiveness multiplier, I changed the horses into Gangari Guard Horses. These were modelled after Aethon. Since my guardsmen were unenhanced, the horses had a less powerful version of the Supernatural Physique enchantment. They were designed to be even more biddable and calm, and slightly less intelligent.

The soldiers riding them weren't always the best riders, after all, and really intelligent horses weren't exactly designed for combat. Unlike Aethon and Shadowfax, I wouldn't be around to ensure the horses survived, so I didn't feel comfortable making them that sentient. But still the horses were far faster, ate less, had better endurance, were tougher and easier to ride and in all respects superior to ordinary steeds.

The Gangari Guard animal variants all had a unique coloration; they were varying shades of grey, with a hand sized version of my house's Parthian shot horse-archer silhouette on their front shoulder in black. I thought it looked quite smart, like a natural uniform. They were modified to only be viable with each other, a specific sterility enchantment that could be temporarily unlocked by another animal which had the same enchantment. I didn't want the breeds to intermix with animals intended for use by others who weren't loyal to me.

Luckily the soldiers seemed to be adjusting relatively well to the changes, taking the magic in stride as it just being normal from a wizard and adapting to their new compatriots.

Having made animals for the Guard, it seemed natural to design better animals in general. Farms, even ones that mostly grow grain, depend on animals. Shepherding dogs look after animals and protect the farms from predators. Work horses pull ploughs and wagons. Cattle, for milk, meat and leather. Sheep, for wool, milk and meat. Goats, for fur, milk and meat as well. Chickens for eggs and meat. And bees, for pollination and honey.

My castle and the nearby farming villages that supplied it and Harrentown had all of these animals to one degree or another. I used those for my first experiments. Then whenever I finished with a design I had Steward Bridges purchase a quantity of each of the animals for me to modify and then begin to breed for future sale to my farmers.

I started off with the Gangari Shepherd dog. Basically a sixty pound version of the Guard Hound with weaker physical upgrades and inclined to be naturally gentle towards humans unless it or its family was being attacked. It was pretty easy to design and enchant those. I started off with a population of sixty.

Next were perhaps the most important aspect of any farm; the horses. Gangari farm horses were designed to be biddable, to endure heat and cold, to pull heavy loads without complaint, and to consume food efficiently. Unlike Aethon, they didn't emphasize extreme speed or intelligence, though because of the supernatural physical enhancements they ended up being faster than normal horses when they went full speed. As horses breed slower than dogs, I started with a herd of three hundred. It took me two weeks just to enchant them all.

After the lengthy period enchanting horses, I wanted to make something new. Pests are a massive problem in farms. I wanted an animal that would go after them, without damaging the environment in general. At first I thought of cats, but they don't do as good a job eating bugs, and they end up going off and killing birds instead of rodents. Dead birds don't eat bugs either, so that's bad.

Eventually I made what I called the Gangari Pest Eater bird. It was mentally modified to be drawn to orderly nature, in other words agriculture. They were designed to be voracious eaters when food was available, but enter into a low-energy mode when it wasn't to survive winters. They were both territorial and at the same time hesitant to enter another's territory. This was to avoid overpopulation, and to drive off encroaching rodents and other birds that would eat the crops. If a bird ever managed to be full for a few days, implying that there were too many insects, it would cease to emit its territorial aura, switching to one designed to attract free nearby Pest-eaters and go into a higher breeding rate. I developed them off of a sparrowhawk, and used Green mana to help build up an initial population of two hundred.

After that, I went back to the basics; the simple chicken. Apart from increasing food efficiency, reducing susceptibility to disease and improving biological efficiency in general, I focused on two designs. The first were egg-laying chickens. They would lay eggs more regularly, and lay better eggs. The other were meat chickens, which would have more and tastier meat available for cooking and grow faster than usual chickens. I made a hundred of each.

Since I'd been dealing with birds for so long, I decided to move back up to something bigger, and tackled the cow situation. Cows come in two main varieties: milk, and meat. Milk cows make milk, meat cows make meat. It's pretty simple. The meat cows were easy; make them bigger, the meat tastier and more nutritious, improve the efficiency of their digestion and tolerance to heat and cold, improve their health, make them nice and biddable, and I was done.

The milk cows were a little harder. Milk itself can be quite dangerous if it's not pasteurized. I wanted to come up with an inherent filter. Basically, something that would make sure the milk was safe to drink. It took a bit of doing, but a mix of White enchanted into the udders meant that the milk was sterile, at least when it left the cow.

Further, milking cows is a massive nuisance; I made the cows self-milking. They could choose to release their milk, and I made them a little more intelligent so they could be easily taught were to milk themselves into. Beyond that, the everclean coat that I was adding to all the animals would help keep their skin clean and disease free, but I also made them naturally tidy.

Other than that, they got the typical enhancements to efficiency of digestion, weather and temperature tolerance, disease resistance, and were made somewhat regenerative to increase the amount of milk they could produce.

Given all their advantages I was sure that my cows were going to be very popular, and I established herds of a hundred of each milk and meat.

Sheep were next on the docket. Sheep also have two purposes; meat, and wool. For the standard or meat sheep, I made them totally white in their wool, and made the wool itself somewhat higher quality and more consistent. I gave the sheep the same sorts of upgrades I'd given the meat cows. And then I made the sheep a lot more orderly.

There's a secret joke in the Bible that anyone who grew up in an agricultural community with sheep knows that far, far too few people outside of those communities understand. Every time Jesus was being called a shepherd, it wasn't just because a shepherd leads and protects the flock of innocent helpless animals. It was saying that trying to look after humanity was going to be like looking after sheep, which is fucking miserable.

Sheep aren't actually as stupid as some people think. They can recognize people and like some more than others, are pretty good herd animals, can anticipate events and some even come when called by name. That's already better than most cats.

But for how sort-of smart they can be, they are also just about the dumbest animals on earth. Leave forty sheep alone for a few hours, and one of them (at least) will have gotten themselves in some situation that'll kill them if you don't fix it. They're smart enough to get into trouble, and dumb enough that they can't stop themselves or get out of it. The biggest problem is that for a herd animal, sheep are far too happy to just wander off. Reinforcing the herding instinct saved about half the trouble the sheep caused, so it was well worth it.

As for the wool sheep, those were designed with one purpose and one purpose only; making wool. Instead of the animals that might eventually be eaten when they died, I decided that the wool sheep were a cash crop. Someone who wanted wool and a sheep could buy the standard sheep; its pure white coat was already highly desirable for merchants already as the white could dye easily and the wool was superior to natural versions.

But my wool sheep, those were designed to have no dye needed. Instead, I focused on two things. First, making the sheep take as little expense in food and care as possible. I used some of the Zorse-derived low-food and low-water requirement adaptations to achieve that. That meant the meat wouldn't be suitable to eat; to make sure no one tried, I made it toxic enough to be obvious, and made the meat black and slightly smelly to really drive the point home.

Second, I focused on the wool. These sheep came in vivid reds and scarlets, yellow and gold, blue and turquoise, green and grey and brown and every color between. Each sheep was a single, perfectly even shade save for a single tuft at their chin that was multi-colored. The wool was fine and strong and soft, the everclean coat a permanent part of the wool that would make the fabric stain resistant in the future.

The coolest part about the sheep was that they had a sympathetic coloring enchantment. If you took a locket of the hair from the chin, picked out a specific color, and tied a piece of that colored wool to a shaved sheep's neck then all the new wool coat would change to and grow in as that color. These were going to revolutionize the dyeing industry, and neither the initial herd of five hundred, nor their progeny would be resold.

I wanted a monopoly on the colors to keep prices high. There was one particular lapis-lazuli derived blue dye that was literally worth its weight in gold. And I could grow masses of wool that exact shade if I wanted. Without flooding the market, and making other attractive shades of fabric, I was looking at expected profits of about twenty dragons a year on each of those multi-hued sheep. It wasn't as much as my Valyrian steel, but it was nothing to sniff at either.

I did however make a herd of a hundred white standard sheep, which were still highly attractive to the populace as their wool could easily be dyed. Those would be available for sale in the future.

With the sheep done I was making a goat when I decided it was too likely to become an invasive pest species, and stopped. Goats eat everything and can live everywhere. Making them even better at survival could easily end up with a swarm of goats covering my lands.

Instead, I moved on to working with the bees. The bees were pretty easy; I reduced their desire to sting White-oriented creatures, which mostly included organized humans and their pets, unless said White animals were being really annoying. I increased their tolerance to temperature and weather, gave them the favorable winds enchantment to make flying easier and less energetically costly, improved their digestion, health and energy efficiency in general, and upped their breeding rate and lifespan. I had had a full twenty bee-hives and their keepers hired, so I used the enchantment on those queens.

All of the Gangari agricultural animals were given a marking, somewhat similar to how I marked my Gangari Guard animal lines. Because they weren't warriors though I didn't use my sigil. Instead I used an ornate, gothic G inside a white circle with a black border on their heads. Also similar to my Guard animals, they were designed to breed true.

And then I was finally done. Two and a half months of enchanting work on the farm animals, and some two thousand dragons spent hiring laborers, breeders, workers to make stables and buildings… It was a real project and strained by castle's staff to organize. Still, I would begin spreading them, first on my own personal lands, then my territory.

Soon the whole world would know my mark as that of the absolute champion of agricultural animals!

Ahem. The whole, unholy mixture of science and magic, creating new species thing might have been getting me in a weird headspace.

But that was okay because, suddenly, baby!

Daenerys was giving birth.

Chapter 29: Lord of Lands

I had wanted to be able to offer Daenerys the option of having her daughter be born under a different name, Drogo's perhaps, but I had told Robert how I killed Drogo before they were wed in the eyes of the Dothraki. Nor had the original wedding had a septon or heart tree, so it was not recognized in Westeros. Robert had added one more humiliation to Dany, one more nail in her family's coffin; her daughter was born a bastard.

Lila Rivers, she was named.

It was a pretty name, and she would, I'm sure, grow up to be a pretty girl. Drogo had been no dog, and Dany had the sort of fine cheekbones and pronounced bone structure you'd expect from generations of royals inbreeding and selecting only the finest beauties to mate with.

The birth was easy – I was there, how could it be otherwise – but even if I hadn't been there Dany would have been fine. I was relieved to find that because so many of the physical enchantments and upgrades were Green, and birth was natural, that the enchanted Dany had an easier time with birth, rather than a harder one. That meant I was off the hook for helping birth all of Robert, Robb, Jon, Sansa and Arya's children in the future.

With the baby born I was largely freed up from waiting around in the castle just in case there was a medical emergency. There was a six hundred square mile forest to the south east of Harrenhal, in between the God's Eye and the Kingsroad. A band of robbers had infested it, and though the Guard had improved greatly, they were still over-extended enough to have trouble searching such a large forest.

I needed to take a break and balance out my mana anyways. It had been getting a little White heavy, especially after I bound four more mana from Harrentown on my visits there. So I was going to head to the forest for three weeks to hunt bandits and bond Green mana. Then I was going to travel back slowly along the God's Eye and bond some Blue for two weeks.

After that was done I planned to check back in at Harrenhal, then go up to the North with Jon to visit and upgrade Robb, Bran, Rickon and Catelyn. I envisioned a stop off in the Neck for a couple weeks on the way south to balance out my Blacks. Then I intended to visit the foothills of the Vale's mountains for about a week to get some Reds and be back into a full balance.

I checked in with my projects before leaving to make sure there weren't any emergencies. The Valyrian steel project had stabilized at around five thousand dragons a month from the auction and a further fifteen hundred from the item. That meant a total of seventy eight thousand dragons a year in profit, which was great. My agricultural project was still mostly in the breeding stage, and would start to take real effect first on my own lands, then my territory's, in a few years.

The paper project under Wisdom Munciter was starting to bear fruit. They'd been experimenting with different ways to make paper from cotton, linen and hemp fibers and rags. The paper was still poor quality, but they were quickly dialing in on how to make better quality paper, and how to do so in bulk. I anticipated that by the time I was done with my mana-binding they'd have a preliminary paper mill design for me.

On the printing side, they already had an effective ink formula, and the smiths were slowly finishing a sufficiently large collection of metal rollers and type. Instead of the vertical screw press, we were using a cylindrical rolling press. They were a lot faster, and better to adapt into future designs which could be more mechanical. I anticipated that the printer would be done in time for the large-scale paper production.

The more generalized steel-works, with a blast furnace and Bessemer converter, were still largely in the planning stages. I had purchasing agents out collecting and storing enough raw ingredients and metal scrap to keep us running when the production actually started. The agents had a budget of fifteen thousand dragons, and had actually slightly inflated the price of iron goods throughout the Riverlands.

The archery project was going well so far. General enthusiasm was high, and a vast number of children were avidly practicing. I intended my first book to be useful for my farmers. It would include a guide to archery practice and some training exercises I used, information on hygiene, herbalism and nutrition, and a guide to four-crop rotation and companion planting to improve agricultural yields.

Hue was at Harrenhal. In case there was an emergency there, he would be able to warn me. Ned and Robert had a pair of my Gangari Guard Ravens to carry a message to Harrenhal in case the capital caught fire or what have you. Nevermore was still off in Winterfell, and so it was just Mu, Togo, Aethon and I going to the forest.

Everything taken care of, I set out from Harrenhal for my vacation in the forest.

Did I say vacation? I totally meant my dutifully lordly bandit hunt.

I was not a great woodsman. I hadn't trained much for it, and didn't spend much time stalking the woods for prey. Luckily I had Togo and Mu, so I didn't have to be a great hunter to find the bandits, and Aethon was surefooted and stealthily minded enough for the both of us. I ended up finding the bandits after about a week had passed. Rather than shoot them all with arrows, which I was tempted to do from habit, I gave chain lightning a test fire.

It was highly effective. Zapped humans smelled disturbingly like bacon though, which was a bit disturbing. I'd hardly kept my hands clean of blood since coming to Westeros, but the red burned flesh, vacant and exploded eyeballs, the rictus of horror on the faces of the dead…

It was quite the shock to the system, I thought. Gods, I was already using puns to distance myself. Talk about gallows humor.

Togo went off for a day to take out any of their scouts who had escaped my strike, and I finished off binding a total of more than thirty Green mana. It was a… heady feeling. All that nature, all that wild, joyful life and conflict and growth. I took a couple days to calm down a bit, just sleeping and meditating.

Then I went to the outer bank of the God's Eye, and did that same process all over again with Blue mana. It went somewhat faster than with the Green, and two weeks later I finally rode off to Harrenhal with an extra thirty Blue mana under my control.

Then Jon, Shadowfax and Ghost joined us to go to Winterfell. We decided not to waste any time, and made it to the Stark's seat in two and a half days of heavy riding on the Kingsroad. It was nice to see the Stark boys again; Robb had grown a lot mentally as the man of the castle, as it were, and both Bran and Rickon had shot up.

Perhaps most interestingly, Bran had a strong taste of magic to him. Jon had a fair bit of warg magic, Arya only a little less, but Bran was positively glowing with it. I had no idea how to use those energies, unfortunately, and no real desire to become a warg otherwise I might have been able to help Bran with his abilities. He had been having strange dreams involving a man in a tree with roots growing out of his skin, and three eyed ravens.

To be honest that sounded suspicious as fuck.

I mean, what kind of ancient sorcerer visits the dreams of a preteen boy with good intentions? This wasn't some children's book where the plucky boy hero has to save the day because reasons. This was reality; there was precious fuck all Bran could achieve that the good wizard of bloody roots couldn't do himself. And this guy didn't sound like he was made of rainbows and sunshine either.

I upgraded Robb, Bran, Rickon, and Catelyn with a full set of enhancements, much like Jon and Ned. I held the supernaturally strong and fast physique back from Bran and Rickon. Rickon would have driven Catelyn mad otherwise, and I wasn't risking a body I'd fully enhanced getting stolen by some potential body-snatcher.

I had hoped that the conceptual armor would be effective, but it proved to be less than useful in stopping the dreams. Which either meant that the armor didn't consider the dreams an attack, or sufficiently harmful, or something; I didn't know, and was hardly equipped to scientifically explore the parameters and functions of my poorly understood magic.

While I was there I could easily swat away probes coming in to Bran, their gossamer energies no match for my mana. But I couldn't figure out how to ward Bran's mind without also blocking off his ability to warg. I could use my comm link through the ward just fine when I tested it on myself. For Bran, the annoying dreams were worth it to be able to share skins with Summer, his direwolf.

I was worried. I decided to upgrade Ser Rodrick and two dozen other loyal, life-long Stark guardsmen with everything but for the Supernatural Physique, of which I only used a minor portion. I included the mental ward for them, as none were wargs. I turned their ravens into Gangari Guard Ravens, though with Stark markings, similarly warded. Frankly, this sort of mental-mage crap scared the shit out of me, and every single one of my Guard-variant animals back home were going to get warded as soon as possible.

I enhanced enough horses into Guard Horses to be able to provide mounts and spares for the Stark family and their enhanced guards, and turned every hunting dog they had into Gangari Guard Hounds. Again, I used Stark markings and mental wards for the horses and hounds.

Their direwolves were enhanced to match Togo. Nevermore was assigned to watch over Bran in particular, and to warn me if anything went wrong. And at that point I had to call it enough. Though after I knighted Jon in a year or two I'd definitely offer Bran a place as my squire; it was easier than worrying about him so much.

Apart from that oh-so-minor issue, and Catelyn's constant sniping at Jon, the visit was lovely.

Really, why didn't I go on vacation more often?

On the way back Jon declined to stay with me and meditate for weeks in the swamps and hills, which wasn't really surprising. He preferred to go back to Harrenhal, where he was respected and appreciated, and have his ego recover from the mauling Catelyn had subjected it to.

I couldn't blame him. Meditating in and around swamps for a fortnight wasn't exactly my definition of a good time either. But I sucked it up and bound my Black mana. I didn't use them for much, and wasn't really a fan of the style or concepts in Black magic. But I felt like it was important to be balanced.

After binding the Black mana I crossed back through to the South, then travelled along the foothills of the Vale for a week, bonding two mana each day.

With all that done, I was perfectly in balance. It was a good feeling, like when you step out of an airplane and pop your ears of that slight bit of pressure you couldn't get rid of, or when you stretch out and accidentally get rid of some tightly wound knots that were bothering you deep in your subconscious.

After a day of meditating on the feeling, it was time. Time to try and bind mana with a spell, rather than with my direct interface. I was excited. I sat down, reached out my magic into a sort of net, targeting the nearest mana-sources while adding in new mana in proportion to maintain balance. Then I cast the spell out.

And it worked! First time too, it was so easy!

No more spending large periods of time binding mana.

No more having to voyage long and far to find the mana needed to balance myself out.

Even better, after I tied the spell into an enchantment, set to keep a certain pressure of new-mana, it was basically automated! It wasn't a true enchantment, more a stable spell that was permanently looped into my mana supply with some controls added on, but unless I ran my mana totally dry, it would stay there forever. Even if I dried out, I could just recast the spell.

This was a true watershed moment. I bound seven mana that first day, when previously it was vanishingly rare for me to bind three, and that only when I was taking Blue with which I had the highest resonance. As my mana pool grew, and the relative impact of the new mana on the old became smaller, I'd be able to bind even more mana than that.

But even at just seven mana a day, over a year that would be two thousand five hundred and fifty five mana! Nearly ten times what I had when I achieved my balancing.

In fact, I needed a proper name for that moment.

The Great Balancing.

Catchy, right?

It even fell on the first of July. Or, rather, what my all-speak defined as the first of July.

I hoped my alchemists could make good graph paper soon; I needed to plot my mana growth and try to derive an expression for it in the future.

But this spell was huge. Huger than huge, even. I'd be able to grow in power at close to three times the rate that I did previously, and grow in power every day rather than just on days when I set time aside to bind mana.

At that moment, the Great Balancing, with two hundred and seventy six mana available, I could comfortably destroy a couple towers or gatehouses per mana cycling, which was down to about three minutes. Of course, that was if I basically converted mana to raw energy and tossed it about; backed up by better weight and cleverness of concepts, or working within natural laws of physics more intelligently I could do a lot better.

But twenty five hundred mana? That was more at the point of asking myself if I want a whole castle crispy, or extra crispy.

I really needed to figure out how to teleport, and find some piece of wasted land no one cared about my destroying. There was no way in hell I could test the sort of spells that would make full use of that much mana near to civilization, especially not civilization that I owned.

Come to think of it, teleportation might be a good first step to getting back home. I hadn't been able to manage it when I was starting out, and had given up on it pretty early.

I set my focus to a distant hill, and tried to teleport there.

I must have stood there contorting my face in concentration for a good hour before I gave it up for the day. But my instinct was that I could manage it, somehow. And I would keep trying until I succeeded.

After all, I had all the time in the world.

Chapter 30: Men of Steel

Back at Harrenhal and with a massive supply of mana, I decided it was time to go through all of my upgrades, cultivation and personal enchantments and improve them. It was, in fact, past time for me to do so, but there hadn't been a pressing need at any point and I had been focused more on breeding support animals than on improving my own person. It was probably because I'd been overly White at the time, which made me a bit selfless.

I first improved my thought acceleration to allow me to think about the spells better, allowing me to manipulate more complicated structures before they started to unravel. Then I improved my mana-sensing and mage-sight. I realized with that greater accuracy of sense that the thought acceleration could be further improved, so I went back and did so. That in turn allowed me to improve the mana-sensing and seeing patterns. Then I was at the limit that my connection to the concepts and power of Blue would allow there.

I really had been letting myself get behind, it seemed.

I similarly upgraded my combat "jedi" precognition, not once but twice. The rest of my Blue-aligned personal improvements were more difficult to increase in their efficacy. Favorable winds wasn't a structured spell that I truly understood, but rather something I had evolved and copied. The mental ward was more technical than instinctive, and needed research rather than mana insight to upgrade. The communications link was the same.

So I moved onto my physical Green improvements. I increased my supernatural physique qualitatively, then refined it a second time. My oakflesh spell went from something I could call stoneflesh, to graniteflesh, to bronzeflesh. It was incredibly hard but more importantly very, very tough.

My regenerative healing factor likewise grew in strength. Before, I used to have to use a bit of Green and White mana every day to inject myself with life-energy, preventing aging. After the upgrade to regeneration, I realized that my body was naturally no longer aging, fixing itself into an optimal state. I still wasn't wolverine, but I had easily reached the point of battlefield-relevant levels of regeneration.

I even managed to refine the structure of my dragon bone-derived skeletal structure, and used that to increase the natural strength of my body, the baseline on which the active supernatural enhancements were added. Green didn't just provide unnatural strength; it boosted the body's natural state too. Sort of like taking a number of small advantageous mutations and adaptations, and adding them without the necessity of waiting for evolution. Naturally I was near Captain-America levels of strength and speed, as good as or better than the best Olympic athletes back on Earth. With the enhancements over the top of that, I was truly a physical beast.

With my Green sorted, I moved onto Red. I further increased my reaction speed, making it so fast as to be almost instantaneous. I also improved my haste effect which made me faster in general, then refined the improved structure to get a second qualitative improvement out of it. Combined with my non-magical baseline and Green's more physically-derived strength and speed, I could do things like lunge faster than a hundred miles an hour from a standing start, and punch fast enough to start approaching the speed of sound. The increased impact at the moment of hitting something was improved a smaller bit.

I also added a new Red improvement: fireproof. I'd finally taken the time to test the enchantment lying dormant in Dany's blood. It was pretty good to start off with, but I even managed to improve it a bit. From my testing, it could withstand temperatures of about fifteen hundred C without issue, and even temperatures above that were much less damaging. It was enough to forge without any protective equipment, which made me feel like a boss, so it was well worth it. Higher temperatures were still an issue, and things like wildfire were still potentially deadly, but typical flames were no longer a real threat.

My White saw similarly impressive gains. The stored healing energy was enough to auto-repair getting my chest blown apart or some similarly extreme injury; my more extreme experiments with rabbits showed that depending on timing, it might even be able to repair my head getting blown off before my life-pattern and mana structures dispersed too much as they did when the creatures died. My conceptual armor was less like having a padded leather armor, and more like having full plate against physical attacks; more importantly, it gave a similar level of equivalent protection against any threat including spell energies, psychic assaults and the like. As a last line of defense it was great, especially if I came up against some threat I hadn't previously considered.

The projectile shield was improved significantly in both individual shield strength, and the number of shields layered. I also improved the linking effect, so other nearby projectile shields would not only help share the load of impacts, something I'd done before, but massive impacts would only impact the shield it hit. That way, something like a ballista bolt would take down a single shield layer on one person by overloading its concept of protection, rather than a shield layer from them and everyone connected to them. In fact, a ballista bolt may be a poor example; given the recent shield strength upgrade, a ballista bolt might not even take down one shield layer on an individual, let alone a group.

The problem with that upgrade to the linking spell was that if someone was hit with multiple of those heavy impacts in succession they could lose all of their shields. So I further improved the linkage, allowing people with full shield-sets to shift one of their shields to the party under attack. That meant that I had the best of both not using more shield than needed at any point in time, sharing shield regeneration through the group, and even sharing number of shields through the group.

Black, despite being my weakest color, also improved. My anti-disease and anti-toxin effects got stronger; I doubted that anything non-magical could hope to affect me. But the gains I was most interested in was in my improved consumption ability. Before, it harvested the possible nutrition near-perfectly. After upgrading it, it could substitute life and energy content for nutritional content; I could have survived on wood if I needed to.

Not only that, but with refinement my consumption upgrade even allowed me to gain some small benefit by processing the food for essences. If I ate strong things, I would – over an admittedly very long time – get stronger. Fast things, faster. Poisonous things would give any poisonous glands greater strength. And so on. It was very, very inefficient, and I suspected would reach levels of diminishing returns, but it was only the start.

With that done, my upgrades were complete. I did a similar process to Togo, Aethon, Jon, Ghost and Shadowfax over the rest of the day.

What I really needed to develop was a way to pass on these upgrades in large numbers though for my Guard animals. As it was, I had neither the time nor the patience to do upgrades to them on an individual basis. It wasn't strictly necessary, especially on Westeros, but I worried that if they were somewhere more advanced like Earth that my beasts would be less invincible.

While I was at it, I also added figuring out how to do the enchantments at long distance, such as for Ned and Ser Barristan.

I did however take the time to make my smiths fireproof. I guess I took that whole "Only You! Can avoid workplace accidents!" message to heart.

While I was gone, my alchemists had finally figured out paper. It wasn't the nicest paper I'd ever seen, but it was easily good enough to allow for decent quality printed books. They had a pilot paper mill already running, with ten workers preparing about five hundred pages a day each; it wasn't designed to be profitable, but to test new devices. More importantly, they had identified what they needed in a plant to make optimal paper with the least processing.

I grew a few fields of the newly designed and magically modified paper-fiber plants. They were pretty heavily enchanted, and it was basically as easy as walking along the rows of trellised vines and picking off the matted plant fibers. Regeneration meant they grew back practically overnight, and they basically consumed air, water, manure and dirt to balance masses. Those fields would be more than enough for my paper industry for decades to come.

The printers meanwhile had the first press fully functional. It could do six thousand pages of text a day, or four thousand if there were images involved. Again, it was mostly a prototype; the full production facility would be about twice as fast with trained workers, and the factory would ramp up to at least twenty such presses.

By the end of the decade I intended to have printed enough books for one to be in every home in the Riverlands. The initial investment I'd assigned of a thousand dragons should be enough that by the end of the year I'd have the factories established, and then reinvestment could take care of the rest.

There were going to be four books to start off with. The first, a guide for farmers with information on "cutting edge" farming techniques and tools, hygiene, health, and archery (in my province's edition, at least). The second, a booklet with pictures, letters and numbers to help people learn to read and do math from basic arithmetic through geometry and basic algebra. The third, a book on the religions of Westeros, including both the Seven-Pointed Star as well as essential teachings and writings by Old Gods philosophers. The fourth, a book on the history of Westeros with commentary.

If I could fully distribute all of those, I would do a lot to improve literacy and education in my little corner of the world. I'd also be making something like twelve and a half thousand dragons a year doing so. Compared to the profits from my Valyrian steel industry that wasn't much. But considering that was about ten times the yearly profit from my fief when I took charge, the perspective shifted.

Other than that, there hadn't been so many changes while I was off gathering mana. Valyrian Steel was still making a fucking fortune for me. The farm animals were still breeding. The peasants were still happily practicing archery.

As for the Steelworks, they now needed me to get involved and actually build the major installations of blast furnace and Bessemer converter; the test beds had successfully identified how much of each of the different ores and such we had to use, and meanwhile the storehouses were just gathering more and more ingredients as my purchasing agents went about buying up ore and shitty iron. But there were finally enough high-quality bricks and refractory material to get building.

And so I did.

Luckily for me, making the blast furnace and Bessemer converter was actually really easy with my magic. I had massive piles of bricks where the blast furnace was going to be, and the Bessemer lining material was nearby. I had used the stone-manipulating spells enough that I hadn't had much trouble making a generalized "shape stone" spell, and I used that to form the blast furnace and Bessemer converter.

Then I did something very clever. I developed selectively permeable gas filters using White based wards. The only real difference between a Bessemer converter and the more modern basic oxygen furnace is that the latter avoids issues from nitrogen in the steel by using oxygen gas only. It wasn't hard to get a ward to reject nitrogen gas, and the high heat and pressure easily overcame any entropic energy losses from unmixing the gasses. The nitrogen was used as secondary heating for the blast furnace, increasing efficiency.

To be honest, magic overcame so many materials difficulties. All the metal I used in the devices was Valyrian blessed, and could withstand greater stresses and temperatures because of it. Making things myself was very quick considering I could shape the materials with my will alone. Stone could be made highly heat-retaining through use of insulating White enchantment, which reduced fuel losses. And on, and on – every issue I might face, I easily magicked away. Even my workers were largely immune from risk of injury due to my magic.

It was fucking awesome.

Between the blast furnace and converter, my new steelworks could process ore and scrap into quality iron, and quality iron into high quality steel (extremely high quality compared to the general technology level), faster than I could acquire the necessary materials. Even given that limitation though, within a few months my steelworks was up to about two thousand tons a year of iron production and a thousand tons a year of steel.

In consultation with the smiths, I designed and built a massive foundry for all of the smiths flocking to my lands. It took me months. As the word spread, I must have had half the free journeymen in Westeros coming to my lands. Apart from the individual and shared workplaces, I had wind and water powered machines to make plates, bars, rods, pipes, wire, and nails, and some hydraulically powered hammers, grinders, drills, saws, mills and lathes.

Many of the tools worked almost entirely on magic, or if not entirely, still relied on it for much of the work transferring energy into motion, moving energy through the space, and so on and so on. Beyond that, the tools were made of valyrian blessed steel, and so would never rust or wear so long as they were used on regular iron and steel and could withstand higher temperatures which reduced issues from long usage times from friction on the worked piece.

In short, even a modern machinist would give their left nut to be able to use my gear.

After three months of making buildings, designing tools, and all the rest of it I was sick to death of dealing with the metalworks. I estimated that by the end of the year, it would be making me some obscene amount of profit, about fifty eight thousand dragons a year even if I reinvested about half the profit, and putting more and more effort into it seemed like a waste at that point.

I felt like Midas; everything I touched turned to gold, and I had no idea of where to spend it. The only real place I had to spend money was re-investing it, or my Guard. The Guard still needed to get bigger, but I wasn't ready to start a whole shift in training, doctrine and professionalism just yet. Nor was I willing to expand until I'd managed my military reforms.

It almost came as a relief when I got word that ice zombies were gathering beyond the Wall.

Chapter 31: Zombie Watch pt. 1, Arrival

Way back when I arrived in Winterfell, fresh off the dimensional displacement boat, I had all these worries about whether the ice-demon White Walkers and their ice-zombie wights might actually exist. After all, I was magic, and so there didn't seem to be any reason that other magic might not be waiting in shallow graves to spring up and gnaw my face off.

Now, all those fears had been validated.

Hearing rumors of Wildling migrations and intending to find some of their missing men including Ned's brother Benjen Stark, the Night's Watch sent out a great ranging. It was a reconnaissance in force, with everything that implied. They would investigate and scout. If necessary or given an opportunity, they'd raid and destroy the Wildlings. Three hundred men went out under the command of the Night's Watch Lord Commander Jeor Mormont ready to kick ass and take names.

After being attacked by the ice zombies and a mutiny, fewer than a dozen made it back. The Watch was gutted. Already understrength, they were now looking at an invasion of a hundred thousand or more wildlings, followed by fucking ice-demons (or necromantic winter-fey. I wasn't entirely sure). But what we did know was that regular steel basically did fuck all, and arrows were less than useless against the zombies unless the arrows were also on fire.

Suffice to say, it was bad.

The Wall itself was about three hundred miles long, just over half a million yards. Even with such a mighty fortification, it was unreasonable to try and hold it with less than a man per every hundred yards. The Watch really needed about twelve thousand men to properly patrol the Wall long term or defend it short term in a full-press siege situation. Then again, using the same common rules of thumb for attackers and defenders, for a full-press siege situation the enemy would need about two hundred and fifty thousandwarriors, and even that would be pretty light. It was a comfort that the Wildlings probably couldn't manage that, but I suspected the ice demons could with their zombies.

Even before losing those three hundred men, the Night's Watch was down to about a thousand men. Now, they had only seven hundred. A twentieth of what they really needed.

When Robb got this news at Winterfell, he immediately decided it was critical enough to call his bannermen up and to use Nevermore to get a message to me. I in turn had Hue, who was stationed in King's Landing, relay the message to Ned and Robert.

The timing could definitely have been better. It was officially Autumn, the transition from Summer to Winter years, and everyone was trying to get that last bit of harvesting done before the weather worsened and agricultural yields decreased. The word reached me in early October, right in the normal planting time for the fall-winter growing season.

Beyond that, it was the beginning of winter in general, and even during Summer years it would snow in the North. Southern troops were straight up not equipped to go on campaign in the winter months, and the North lacked the infrastructure to supply a large expedition of southerners.

For my own specific issues, it would have been much better if the fucking White Walkers had waited a year. By then I'd have had the first companies of my new model army ready, and I'd have had thousands of Guard Hounds and hundreds of Guard Horses ready too. As it was, my expanding support formations of Guard Ravens and Hounds were only just allowing my men to keep pace with the rapid population expansion around Harrentown's burgeoning industry, and I was forced to deploy Hound units that were younger than I'd have preferred.

On the plus side, I had just crossed over the one thousand mana threshold, and there was never a more legitimate target for extermination than an undead army.

Instead of gathering all of the Seven Kingdoms' armies and marching to war, I convinced Robert and Ned to have different houses gather specific amounts of supplies along the march. Others would be sending supplies to the North, to support the Northern mobilization. Troops from the Riverlands would march north in the spring, while troops from the Vale would sail to reinforce the Wall more immediately.

Unfortunately, it was next to impossible to move troops to the Shadow Tower by sea, the river there more of a gorge than something traversable. That just meant that the Westerlands and Reach would be more responsible for supplies, and would have to send their contingents overland to take sail from the east or to march up the Kingsroad.

It was a carefully considered and orchestrated logistical movement and mobilization designed to get up to seventy five thousand troops to the Wall if necessary. The initial wave, twenty thousand Northmen by land and ten thousand Valemen by sea would be there in time for winter to truly set in. In the spring ten thousand men would start out from the Riverlands and march for the Wall, while another ten thousand gathered from the Crownlands went out by sea from King's Landing. Should casualties prove too high, a final reserve of fifteen thousand from the Reach would march, while ten thousand more would sail from the Stormlands.

The real problem was what to do about the Others, or White Walkers depending on your terminological preference. Reports from the ill-fated expedition were that they had completely resisted steel tipped arrows, and their own blades of ice shattered blades on contact. Wights were totally proof against arrows that weren't on fire, and even those were less effective than one might hope in the frozen north against fresh, wet corpses.

Apparently a search of old documents turned up that obsidian, or dragonglass, was effective against the Others themselves; I could see why it would be against demons of ice and snow, what with the memory of a volcano's fire inside every bit of rock. The rock was being mined and shipped away for processing as quickly as they could on Dragonstone, a volcanic island. Even still the Walkers would face precious little of that fell material, and we had no proof that it worked.

For my own part, Harrenhal was mostly tasked with logistics. I would be providing nearly twenty five thousand dragon's worth of food and equipment. But in return my military would not be overly stressed; of Harrenhal's Guard and levy, only Jon and I were obligated to attend to the Wall's defense.

That said, as both Jon and I had horses capable of making the Wall in less than a week and I represented a strategic force all on my own, we had to set out right away as part of the emergency reinforcements. I was appointed Robert's envoy in dealing with this situation at the Wall itself. Hue flew me the scroll proclaiming such in barely dry ink a bare day after we got the news, and I set out for the Wall.

With me were Togo, Aethon, Jon, Ghost, Shadowfax and Mu. We were accompanied by one of my two companies of Guard Ravens, and the three oldest companies of Guard Hounds. They were still young, puppies in mind if not in body, but would be invaluable for patrolling the Wall and detecting any forces thinking to sneak up onto the Wall at night, in bad weather or the like.

We made quite the procession on the Kingsroad, two riders in shimmering mail going faster than most had ever seen. Jon bore aloft a banner of grey with the silhouette of horse archer performing a Parthian shot in black. Behind followed the three blocks of massive grey hounds running in formations four abreast and twenty deep. Above our flock of ravens flew in orderly ranks, keeping pace with the men and animals below.

We made three hundred miles a day. As we grew closer to our destination we often had to leave the road, going cross country as we passed slower moving blocks of infantry and cavalry from the North headed to defend the Wall and their homes. The troops were obviously regulars, the core of different lordly houses' professional retainers sent out as first responders. It had been too short a time for the levy to have been called and dispatched.

On the morning of the six day we arrived, and found the Night's Watch in chaos.

The Night's Watch was unique in many ways from other Westerosi institutions. One of the ways it was unique was in the way it selected its leadership. It was a democracy. One man, one vote.

It generally worked. Over the past eight thousand years and despite having a large portion of the realm's convicts, there had been only four recorded instances of men who were corrupt or power-hungry enough to get the Watch involved with matters beyond their remit.

The problem with that method however was shown during our arrival. With no clear successor, the men of the Night's Watch were gridlocked over who the next leader should be despite, or perhaps because of, the looming crisis.

I went to meet First Steward Bowen Marsh, the acting Lord Commander. When my small army of beasts arrived he had been in a command team meeting with the people who I later learned were his political opponents, because defending a three hundred mile wall with some seven hundred men against over a hundred thousand wasn't complicated enough already.

They rushed out of a tower, gaping at the sight of my three centuries of Guard Hounds and Ravens.

"Acting Lord Commander Marsh," I greeted him. "I'm Lord Odysseus Gangari of Harrenhal. His Grace sent me north as soon as he heard." He was a ruddy, red-faced man with a large rotund belly, which had earned him his nickname of the pomegranate. I presented him with the scroll that gave me authority to coordinate the Realm's response.

He looked up at me, then over my combat contingent, then back to the scroll. "I sincerely hope we're getting more than animals," he muttered under his breath, erroneously assuming I couldn't hear him, "no matter how well trained."

Then he spoke up, loud enough for a normal person to hear. "Lord Gangari, it's a pleasure to have the first of what I hope will be many responders to the Watch's call for assistance. But if I may, my lord, how did you get here so quickly? I doubt the ravens have even managed to reach King's Landing yet, let alone give you enough time to bring yourself and so many animals north."

I smiled politely at him. "I am, as you may have heard or guessed, somewhat skilled in the magical arts. I had a raven of my own design at Winterfell who got word to me as soon as they knew of the fate of the previous Lord Commander and so many of your sworn brothers. They have my gratitude and prayers for their sacrifice.

"But when I got the word, and sent it to his Grace, King Robert, and the Lord of the Hand, Lord Stark, they asked me to come and help deal with the situation. Twenty thousand northerners are already gathering and coming here, as are ten thousand southerners by sea. In the spring, another ten thousand will march from the Riverlands, while ten thousand come by sea once more. A final reserve of twenty-five thousand will await word as to our progress."

I was speaking loudly so that the word might spread and improve morale. "As for my own presence, it was not just the color of my hounds that I changed, or their size; each can run at thirty miles an hour for ten hours a day. We set out the day after hearing about your plight, only six days prior."

They were visibly stunned at that performance. Making it from Harrenhal to the Wall in sixty days would have been a feat worthy of admiration and of interest to all future students of war and logistics. Making it in six, as far as they were concerned took magic; they were right, but luckily I was a mage.

I smiled widely. "And my hounds are not just fast; they are far tougher, stronger and smarter than any hound I have not improved. You will soon see that each is a match in combat for a trained man with mail, shield and sword. My ravens are likewise stronger and faster than natural ravens, and can scout from the air then return to their attached unit and give a verbal report on what they saw."

Impressed and fearful mutterings broke out at my claims until one of the men behind Marsh challenged my statement. "Hah. I'll believe that when I see it for myself," he mocked.

Still mounted on Aethon I looked down at him. "Very well. Captain Poe," I called out, turning to the lead raven of the company. "What is the combat strength of the men in this yard?"

It flew up into the air, did a quick circle of the yard and came down. "A hundred warriors in black my lord, normal humans. Three companies of your Guard Hounds. One of the Ravens. And yourself and Jon Farstark."

Everyone was looking at us stunned. A talking, counting raven; would wonders never cease?

I grinned harshly. "Now, my good brother of the Watch, you said you wanted to see one of the hounds fight? Perhaps it would be better for you to experience it first-hand. First Captain Fritz," I called out. "Show this man your worth. Just be careful not to injure him," I mocked. "The Watch needs every man right now no matter how foolish."

The lead hound gave a quick bark and broke formation, coming to stand in front of the rude man, then crouching and preparing to lunge with bared fangs. The man quickly drew his sword, a small measure of cautious fear in his eyes, his mouth set in a hard line as he prepared to try and kill my war-beast.

"I will give a count of three, then call begin." I called out. Brothers were already gathering around in a wide circle, betting on having extra duties. "One. Two. Three. Begin!"

Like a shot, Fritz lunged forwards, getting inside the arc of the swords swing where it wouldn't have the leverage and power needed to injure him. Fritz didn't slow down, but smashed into the Watch's man. A blur of movement later and the man was caught by the back of the neck.

Fritz gave a low growl announcing his victory, then threw his head back and howled. As one, the other Guard Hounds pointed their heads back and followed his lead.

"Aarrooo! AARROOO!" rang loudly, bouncing off of the walls and echoing in our ears. Once they stopped I looked down at the man who was lying on the ground.

"So, does that make you more confident my hounds can keep the wildlings from you?" I asked cooly.

The man refused to answer, spitting to the side and walking over to stand next to a man I recognized; Janos Flynt. And judging by Flint's rapidly paling face, he remembered me too.

Marsh cleared his throat. "Well, shall we enter inside and have a word, my lord?" he asked.

"Of course, it would be my pleasure."

It really, really wasn't.

Chapter 32: Zombie Watch pt. 2, Politics and Preparations

Marsh went back inside, followed by the people that he had previously been meeting with. As I was introduced to the men, I realized that not only were they the officers of the Night's Watch, but also those trying to get voted in as Lord Commander.

First Steward Bowen Marsh was acting Lord Commander, but it didn't seem likely that he'd manage to take the seat. That piece of shit Janos Slynt, the corrupt gold cloak I helped remove, was also bucking for the position.

So were: Ser Alliser Thorn, the much-hated, ever-unpleasant Master-at-arms of Castle Black who had just been humbled by First Hound Captain Fritz; Cotter Pyke, the former Ironborn and commander of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea; Ser Denys Mallister, who has commanded the Shadow Tower for over three decades; and a few others who didn't really have a shot at winning anyways. Thankfully the shit Joffrey had had an "accident" at some point, otherwise I'm sure he would have been in the running too, just to make my life more miserable.

Both Pyke and Mallister would be decent choices; they had, after all, successfully commanded castles of their own, and were popular among the men at the Wall. The only problem was that they fucking hated each other. Thorn was already out of the running; I didn't know what he'd been promised, or what sweet lies he'd been told, but he'd thrown his support to Slynt. Luckily that support was worth less now after everyone saw Fritz maul his ass. Acting Lord Commander Marsh didn't look like a fighting man, and was known for a bean-counter by the men at the Wall; he had, after all, held the position of chief bean counter for many years. It was unlikely that he'd be made Lord Commander, as the men didn't see him in that way.

It was looking increasingly likely that Slynt, fucking Slynt would end up winning as the compromise candidate. I just couldn't trust a man like that at the head of an organization that was at least half full of thieves, murderers, rapists, bandits and other crooks. But it was looking increasingly likely that I wouldn't have a choice, and something needed to happen to break the gridlock. Not to mention it was insane to leave the two castles meant to hold the flanks unattended by their leaders in this time of crisis.

So I took a different option. I decided to try and half-shame, half-bully the Watch's leadership (after all, Slynt had no shame to begin with) into deciding that since the vote was not deciding the matter of the next Lord Commander quickly enough that Marsh would stay acting Lord Commander, and everyone would get back to doing their fucking jobs.

Even at the Wall they had heard about how I'd killed the Mountain. Between that, fear of my magic, Robert's appointment as his envoy, and the two hundred forty Guard Hounds I'd brought with me they were willing to listen.

Given any luck, Marsh would prove himself a successful commander, or some other man would rise up out of the ranks. Failing that, I'd see to Slynt's tragic accident myself.

After that dick measuring contest had been decided, I turned to Marsh and asked a simple question. "What are the strategic and tactical situations?"

He grimaced. "We are light on the stores needed to feed such large armies as you say are coming, Lord Gangari, and bringing large amounts overland will be difficult as the weather cools. However, Eastwatch remains accessible by sea in all but the coldest months of winter, and that normally during years of Winter. For the Watch's current numbers, our supplies are reasonably extensive, and we have large stores of arrows, flammable cloth, pitch and other necessary items for a siege."

I nodded. "That is about as good as I could have hoped for, Lord Commander," I said, showing him my support. "Clearly you did well as First Steward to see the Watch so well prepared."

He puffed up a bit, his gut moving forward ponderously as he smiled. "Thank you, Lord Gangari. As for the tactical situation, we are most pressed. We have barely seven hundred men in the Watch now. It is difficult to carry out the necessary maintenance and repairs with so few men, let alone to turn back an invasion by a hundred thousand wildlings. Should even a small band of raiders slip past, it would be a dire threat to our castles.

"As for the threat of Wildlings, there are four main routes of attack. Furthest to the west, there is the Bridge of Skulls. It is the only way past the Gorge. The nearest castle, Westwatch-by-the-Bridge, is more a gatehouse than a true castle. Although easy to defend, a sufficiently large band may be able to force their way through. We have too few men to guard it as well as I would like without weakening the Wall elsewhere.

"The second threat is less localized; the wildlings may attempt to climb over the Wall at any point along its length, and attempt to take our castles from the unprotected southern sides. This is again an issue hard to defend against without many more men assigned to the task of patrolling.

"The third threat comes from Castle Black. Other than the path that leads over the Bridge of Skulls and through Westwatch, it is the only tunnel through the wall at present that we have not filled. Should the Wildlings be attempting to truly force the Wall and move their entire people through to attack the Seven Kingdoms, they are most likely to come here.

"The fourth and final threat comes from raiders taking ships and slipping by Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Luckily Wildlings make for poor shipbuilders and sailors; though the Watch's naval forces are small, I doubt that the Wildlings will be able to sneak too many by. That said, should they be willing to endure extreme casualties a massive raft-borne invasion is possible there, and there is the risk that raiding parties might get through to attack us from behind."

I considered for a moment, thinking about how to best employ my forces. "Very well. I think that my forces can help in three main ways. I will send out a platoon of twenty five of the Ravens to each of the three main castles. They will patrol for Wildling movement, watch for ships and give warning for forces that target the Bridge of Skulls. Two of the companies of Hounds will be set to patrolling the wall. They will run along it, day and night, and ensure that no wildlings make it up undetected. Finally, I myself will remain at Castle Black with the last company of Guard Hounds as a mobile reserve. Should it prove necessary, I can split the company and send portions to reinforce all three locations as needed."

Marsh nodded thoughtfully. "That would free up the vast majority of the men I have patrolling the wall, and allow me to send extra forces to both Eastwatch and the Shadow Tower," he agreed. "I will reinforce the Shadow Tower with a hundred men due to the risk of the Bridge of Skulls being attempted by the Wildlings, bringing the force there up to three hundred strong. Fifty will go to Eastwatch, bringing them to two hundred men, while the remainder will stay here at Castle Black."

A bunch of much happier officers began to work out the details.

All that hustle and bustle to get there, and after I arrived we had little to do but wait. So I buckled down to magical research. There were three priorities that I worked on. First, analyzing the Wall; there was a shit-ton of magic through the thing, after all. Second, figuring out how to apply and update enchantments in mass numbers and from a distance. Third, I wanted to finally figure out how to teleport.

The Wall was an impressive structure. Despite being some eight thousand years old, it was still in good repair, and had stayed frozen and seven hundred feet tall the whole time. I had anticipated White mana being involved; the wall was ice, which was a structured crystal, and it warded against the undead. There was basically no more obvious a sign of White magic than structure and anti-undead. But that didn't explain the eternal, unchanging, self-repairing nature of the Wall. Not with the Wall being so far away from civilization.

The secret, surprisingly, was in the use of Green mana. The effect that made the ice permanent, slowly dying down before I revitalized it, was copyable with White and Green. It made the ice have some essential aspect of life energy to it. Then there was the spell to make the ice truly "living" in its ability to self-repair. Last, there was an enchantment that made the ice sacred, for lack of a better word. It basically gave it a localized anti-undead ward.

The coolest thing about the ice was it was self-powering; the ice counted as alive enough and certainly sufficiently a part of civilization to generate high amounts of White mana, while being in the frozen and wild north meant it had high amounts of ambient Green at hand too. There was a highly efficient feedback loop, and if properly staffed the Wall was naturally self-powering.

I learned to reshape the ice without much difficulty; I suspected I'd use the set of spells, or minor modifications thereof to make highly efficient cold-box devices that recharged when exposed to towns and cities. I looked forwards to having iced fruit juice in the south.

Meanwhile the anti-undead field was something I was interested in investigating further; it would likely lead to anti-undead beam attacks and a more generalized ward-undead that I hoped to use with some of my animals.

Because fuck zombies.

Luckily, it was ridiculously easy to modify into an anti-undead enchantment. It basically had to be attached to something with high concentrations of white and green. Which included all my animals and myself. Unlike Valyrian steel, which I suspected would work against the undead by applying conceptual cutting damage, the aura was more of a shield, working against allowing undead energies within that space.

Unfortunately, it was still pretty weak. The effect on the Wall relied a lot on being a massive, three hundred mile long, seven hundred foot tall, fifty foot wide chunk of ice. My animals were individually a lot more magical than the ice, and the anti-undead aura enchantment was powered by that, but the efficiency was still low enough that on an individual basis all I expected it to do was prevent my animals from being raised as wights, and to allow for impacts with their flesh or blood to harm the White Walkers.

That was good, to start, but not really satisfying. Luckily, the aura was linkable much like the projectile shields, and so blocks of my troops would cause nearby undead to be weaker and suffer damage over time. It wasn't enough to make a fight a foregone conclusion, but it did serve to make my troops more efficient.

For myself, it was more useful. I could use the structure of the enchantment to serve as a spell, then dump colorless mana into it to flare the size of the aura, strengthening it with more White and Green. It should be as effective as setting every undead near me on fire with sufficient mana, without the issue of a pile of actually burning bodies to menace my allies. I also figured out how to fire beams and bolts of the anti-undead energies.

The latter technique was easily adapted to send packets of healing life-force energy as well, the energy signatures of anti-undead and pro-life being quite close to each other. It wasn't really that useful; most injuries were either too severe for a basic life-force infusion to work fast enough, or too minor to need my attentions, but it was an application nonetheless.

Since I was messing about with attack spells, I figured it was time to set up a continuous version of chain lightning. Chain lightning was mostly a one shot attack; the bolt could be guided a bit after I shot it, but the size and strength of the bolt was defined when it was cast in the first place.

But that was from a time that my mana regeneration was slow. When I arrived at Castle Black with over a thousand mana to call on, I could have a used mana bond ready to go again in a little under two minutes. I basically had ten mana a second to spend before I started drawing down faster than I recovered.

It was worth making a spell that I cast once, then kept channeling through as opposed to making multiple instances of the same spell. It was easier on my concentration, and it meant that I could save on the mana required to build the spell-pattern every time I cast it. For chain lightning, that was a full four mana to structure the spell and provide a minimal effect, but with the bulk of the power coming from the extra colorless I imbued the spell with. Continuous chain lightning was only one colorless more to start off, and after that the power depended entirely on how much magic I was feeding it. It was effectively my magic machinegun.

Figuring out the Wall, developing an anti-undead aura, and gaining the ability to shoot anti-undead beams and continuous lightning only took a little over two weeks.

As for my progress in enchanting, it took me about a month to be able to be able to lay the same enchantment on multiple people or objects at a time, and it wasn't until two months later in mid January that I figured out how to cast enchantments at a distance.

At first I was overly focused on casting the same enchantment multiple times simultaneously. It was like trying to write the same word with both my left and right hand at the same time; in theory understandable, in practice very, very difficult. The trick that I eventually figured out was that I could cast the enchantment, and then when I went to tie it into the animal could instead send tendrils out to tie it to multiple animals at a time.

The problem was in keeping the enchantment stable while subjecting it to those stresses, which required a fine control of mana; by adding mana into the enchantment at the same rate that it was flowing to the targeted beings, I could keep the enchantment stable. When enough mana to enchant all the beings was finished, the enchantment would separate and flow into all the creatures.

The advantage was that I could process as many as a dozen animals in the time it used to take me to process one, and that improved processing factor kept increasing as I kept getting more mana and more skill controlling it. The disadvantage was that it wasn't possible for me to add the top level of what I could accomplish with enchantments; those were by definition cutting edge, at the very limit of what I could achieve and needed all my skill and focus.

But that top level kept reaching higher and higher, with what used to be the apex suddenly something I could distribute to all of enhanced friends and forces.

Which brought me to the topic of how to enchant people at a distance. I started in mid November, and was pretty close to a solution when I realized it was once again coming up on Christmas. I was depressed; every year my family would gather, everyone from all the over world coming to Florida for our family celebration.

I knew that I wasn't there, that I'd be kept in the Christmas eve and New Years prayers. That my mother would be all tense, waiting for someone to say something about how I was probably in a better place or whatever so she could jump down their throat, insisting that I was fine, that I would be fine, that I'd make it back someday to be with them again.

They were heavy thoughts. I'll admit, despite all the blood I'd shed, the things I'd done, the thought of that scene, my parents in the family setting, the specific idea of their faces and reactions to my being brought up after being missing for almost two years, for the second Christmas in a row, as everyone just prayed that I'd get home but secretly feared I wouldn't… It was tough.

I spent a lot of time in private for those few days.

But then Togo came along, picked up my wrist in his mouth, and dragged me to where I'd been doing experiments. I had talked to him about my problems, taking comfort in his quiet support, and he knew what I needed to do. I needed to work. To make progress with my magic. And to one day make my way home.

It seemed that jolt of motivation was exactly what I needed to make progress. Through meditation I found these slight links between me and those that I'd previously enchanted. I had a habit of taking a perfect memory of people before and after I did an enchantment so I'd be able to diagnose and fix whatever damage was done in the event of some sort of enchantment failure or rejection. When I thought about those memories while meditating, I found ever-so faint links between me and them. I could use those links to pass my spells without issues of distance.

It wasn't great at letting me put in place entirely new enchantments, at least not yet, but I could easily upgrade the ones that were already there and with significantly more time and effort add new ones.

Then, after spending enough time practicing, meditating, and upgrading the Guard animals back home to a higher standard, I made another breakthrough. I gained the ability to track all the magic I was responsible for. With deep focus I could suddenly feel out not just the animals that I had enchanted, but all of their progeny, at least so long as they were touched by my magic.

The Guard Hounds, with a pregnancy period of about two months and litters of several puppies at a time had been expanding particularly rapidly; there were over four thousand of them in the Guard, patrolling my lands to maintain peace and order, with thousands more too young or pregnant to be part of the active units. It took me six days just to get all of them up to the latest standard.

Judging from the fact that they were almost as good as Togo, mostly just lacking his size and experience, I could probably upgrade myself again; I had over twenty-eight hundred mana by the time February came and I was finished upgrading my Guard variants to their latest standard, so I certainly had the extra power to spare.

But teleportation was, I considered, of slightly higher priority.

A pity I didn't get to work on it just then.

Chapter 33: Zombie Watch pt. 3, Human Refugees

Things were looking up by February.

The Wall was beginning to repopulate. The North had responded in force under Robb's leadership, and Vale houses and their troops under Ser Brynden Tully's command were coming in at Eastwatch to reinforce the Wall and its castles. There were feasts and other events that I went to, but I had mostly stayed tucked away working on my troops. The Blackfish was an able commander, and he and Robb needed little input from me as to the disposition of his troops.

I decided to increase my own forces at the Wall; I hadn't realized how quickly my hounds would be breeding, and had Hue, who was posted as part of my communications network in Harrenhal, relay the order for fifteen companies, a full twelve hundred hounds as well as another two companies of Guard Ravens to come north to the Wall.

When they arrived, I formed them into three battalions of six companies each, with a company of the Ravens as aerial scouts and human/animal translators.

I had decided to model my human army roughly after the Romans, with eighty men or thirty cavalry to a company (century), six infantry companies or twelve cavalry ones to a battalion (cohort). It didn't make sense for me to use a Legion sized structure though, as a single one would probably end up including every man in my army even after I finished expanding it.

Instead the largest sizes, still entirely hypothetical, were Regiments; these were designed as combined arms formations, and had a minimum of eight foot companies, including at least two of archers and at least four of pikemen. A Foot Regiment had no integrated cavalry element, while a Mixed Regiment had eight companies of cavalry attached. A Fast Regiment used mounted soldiers who would then dismount to fight as well as the integrated cavalry unit.

Romans had similar units: the Equitata Cohort, which included a cohort of infantry with an integral cavalry element, and the Equitata Milliara Cohort, an over-strength Equitata Cohort with ten infantry companies and eight cavalry. They were often made up of auxiliaries and used in the provinces when a full Legion would be overkill.

I planned on having a Guard Hound for every man in the Regiments, as well as two companies of Ravens attached to each Regiment. The Hounds could fight from beneath the pikes, screen the archers, and support the cavalry, while the Ravens would scout and carry messages. Because of that planned integration, the Hounds and Ravens were already assigned to companies of eighty animals each back at Harrenhal. I had trained the first of them to keep organizing themselves in such a manner, and the hierarchical pack-instinct I created them with further reinforced their training.

It made it easy for the Hounds to organize and deploy along the wall, that was for sure. The Northmen and Valemen took a bit of time to get used to organized packs moving about in formation, standing watch, and otherwise doing all the military activities they could. Some inquired about acquiring some for their own armed forces; I mentioned to them that I was selling shepherding dogs as the population of those grew, but that the Guard Hounds were not for sale. The fact that the Starks had some became quite a point of envy.

Although I wanted to I did not get to work on my teleportation, I couldn't. The Vale and Northern forces had arrived just in time.

We had to deal with the Wildlings.

We were fairly lucky in how long it had taken the Wildlings to move. It may have seemed incredibly slow, but their horde often made as few as three miles a day. The massive amount of foraging required, the lack of roads and mounts, the need to carry all their tents and furs, the slowing due to the children, and the difficulties presented by walking through the snow and over the ice… It all meant that the Wildling advance was less a military maneuver than it was a slow meandering migration.

As for the Walkers, they were either slowed by the desire to raise every corpse in the lands beyond the Wall, or were wise enough to let the Wildlings test our strength first. Either way, I was glad that we were dealing with merely human foes, especially since the stocks of obsidian were not so much low as they were non-existent. Though Robert assured me they were coming soon. I was assured. But I'd believe it when I saw it.

We weren't sure of what exactly the Wildlings intended. Some believed they were coming to escape the White Walkers. Others thought that they were merely the first wave of human servants sent by the Walkers to open up a path through the Wall.

I didn't particularly care; the Wildlings had a culture of rape, robbery, murder and general barbarism. Westeros wasn't nice or pretty, especially by modern standards, but they were a damn sight better than the Wildlings. Hell, Volantis was better than the so-called free-folk, and they practiced massive amounts of slavery. Letting Wildlings through the Wall, assuming they wanted to escape rather than serve the White Walkers, would be saving their wicked lives at the expense of all the innocents they would go on to harm.

I wasn't willing to do it.

The Wildlings would be given a simple choice. Surrender, bend the knee, accept the King's laws, the Stark's rule, and peacefully settle in the Gift, a stretch of land owned but not particularly used by the Night's Watch. Fight, and be destroyed by my sorceries and the gathered armies of the Seven Kingdoms. Or run back into the chilly embrace of the White Walkers.

No other options were acceptable.

I just had to hope the Wildlings were clever enough to accept it. Failing that, that the Wall was high enough I didn't have to worry about the scent of burning flesh.

The first to show up were their scouts and outriders. My ravens reported that they were visibly dismayed at the number of banners on the wall. The scouts then turned to the sides, moving along the Wall for tens of miles in each direction, growing more and more bothered by the fact that the Wall was once again properly garrisoned. Other scouting parties approached the wall in other locations, though with a similar lack of success and growing consternation.

A number of my Ravens followed them back to the Wildling host. The reports of it reminded me a bit of the Dothraki khalasars, just without the horses and with more clothing. The Wildlings were no army, more a collection of tribes, villages, clans and warbands which had decided to wander in the same direction. That must have been part of the reason why it took them so long to arrive at Castle Black; foraging for food for that many people was a gargantuan task.

There were a few things I wanted to get a better look at.

They had giants, which modern Earth would claim inefficient and ponderous due to the square-cube law; I wanted to get a good scan of their biology and any magic they had.

And they had Wooly Mammoths; I wanted some to modify as line-breakers and mobile archery/artillery platforms for my Guard. I had always loved the Armored Elephants in Medieval Two Total War, after all.

Other than that, the Wildlings were a collection of hardscrabble barbarians and I wanted little to do with them. Unfortunately, I was the one assigned to treat with them by Robert, should they so choose.

My raven scouts had marked their leader, and one of my spies had heard his name: Mance Rayder. The traitor of the Night's Watch turned King-Beyond-the-Wall.

I gathered together Marsh, Robb and the Blackfish in case I needed to consult with them, then I sent Mu out to begin negotiations.

Watching from Mu's eyes, I saw Rayder's massive pavilion of a tent approaching quickly. It was very barbarian chic, made from the white pelts of Westero's version of polar bears and adorned with antlers from a great elk, but I thought he might have been trying a little bit too hard to stand out from the crowd.

Mu flew right past the guard in a flash and into the tent, interrupting a meeting between Mance and a number of other wildling leaders. They recoiled in shock, even their leader, though his face was neutral again so quickly I would not have caught it with ordinary human senses.

Other than the mid-sized and relatively non-descript Mance Rayder, there were three other men and three women there. One man was a massive bear of a person, with a long white beard and engraved armbands of gold. Another, tall, bald, lean and earless, wore heavy bronze scale armor. The third was in a shirt of bones. For the women, one was squat and round and stunk of blood. The second, a pretty young blonde woman, sat by the third who was pregnant.

"Greetings," I relayed through Mu.

"Oh by the hells it talks!" shouted the white beard.

Mu turned his eyes to look at the man dismissively. "Indeed. I talk. Surprisingly, so do you," Mu replied before breaking into caws of laughter. The seven wilding leaders' puzzled stares stood testament to their confusion and shock.

The blonde girl guffawed. "See, Tormund, even ravens think you more animal than man."

His face darkened. "Aye, well we'll see who ends up in whose belly, and who has the last laugh then," he muttered.

"Peace, Tormund," Mance said. "I would hear what our feathered friend has come to say."

Mu turned to look at Mance and looked him up and down. "Clever," Mu noted, then began to relay my words again in a somewhat different voice, the tone and timing shifted to match my own.

"Mance Rayder. I am Ser Odysseus Gangari, Lord of Harrenhal and Envoy of His Grace King Robert," I introduced myself.

"I didn't realize they made ravens into lords in the south," Tormund said sarcastically.

Mu laughed, a trio of sharp, strident caws coming out of his beak.

"No," I said through him. "Though I suspect Mu here could do a better job than most, I am speaking through him from Castle Black."

The bald, earless man frowned. "I think that wargs can not do this?" he asked in somewhat broken common.

"I'm no warg, but a sorcerer of a sort that has not been seen for an age," I replied.

Mance raised his hand, drawing the wildlings back into line. "And what does the envoy of the southern king have to say to us free folk?"

"I am here to tell you some facts, ask you a question, and offer you a choice," I answered via Mu. "The Night's Watch is aware of the White Walkers; their Great Ranging was slaughtered, but all accounts of those dozen that managed to escape agreed that the dead walked as wights and their commander was a white man of beautiful but inhuman form and power.

"In response to this and your own movements, the armies of the Seven Kingdoms have mobilized. Already thirty thousand men have gathered to defend the Wall, twenty thousand more are on their way, and twenty five thousand are available should they be needed. Dragonglass is being sourced and processed into daggers, arrowheads and spear-tips. We are ready to meet any and every threat from beyond the wall, living or dead."

I could see their expressions grow dark at that. A good fortress, with strong stone walls and towers, required around ten times as many men to attack it than to defend it. Something like the Wall, with seven hundred foot walls, was far, far harder to assault. It wouldn't be unreasonable to assume a fifty to one combat multiplier for the defenders so long as their supplies of arrows were maintained, and even a hundred to one or more was quite possible.

The Wildlings may not have been experts in siege warfare, but it was clear that their plan for a lightning assault to break through the Wall and into undefended North had failed before it had truly begun.

"What we do not know is why you come south," I continued. "It could be you are fleeing the White Walkers. It could be you are aiding them, a first wave of humans to break through the Wall that would stymie their fell magics and undead. So which is it?"

Mance looked at Mu seriously. "All men with warm blood in their veins are enemies of the White Walkers," he said. "And we are no exception."

I had Mu give a jerky up and down nod. "That is good to hear. So now, I offer you a choice. The first, if you wish to enter beyond the Wall, you must bend the knee. You will accept the King's laws, and whatever communities you form will accept both the Starks and the Night's Watch as their overlords. You will peacefully settle in the Gift, and only those invited to settle further south will be allowed to do so. Further, you will be responsible for providing a number of your warriors to help man the Wall during the present crisis.

"The second, you may fight, and be broken on the Wall by the gathered might of Seven Kingdoms. Or, the third option, you may turn and flee, running back into the chilly embrace of the White Walkers.

"I will come again tomorrow to hear your thoughts."

As Mu turned to leave, Mance asked a question. "What if we agree to kneel, then go back on our word?"

Mu transmitted my laugh, turning it even harsher and crueler. "Did you think Mu was unique?" I asked, mocking. "That I only practiced my art on ravens? The hounds I breed are as smart as men, can run three hundred miles in a day, tear through plate armor like it was parchment, and have flesh as tough and hard as bronze. Fifteen hundred are already with me to protect the Wall. By year's end there will be fifteen thousand to patrol these lands." Mu copied well my voice as I continued, its cold harsh tones and promises of violence ringing clear.

"Should individual raiders test their mettle, they will die," I promised. "Should the former free-folk prove too irksome as whole, or march south again, I will come north again with an army of men and beasts. We will kill everyone that carries a weapon, and drop the rest off in chains outside Volantis. Perhaps their slavers would have better success in teaching those oathbreakers to kneel."

Mance snarled at the idea. "I did not realize the king's laws on selling slaves had changed."

Mu cawed, transmitting my bark of laughter. "What did I say of selling? No, what the slavers do to traitors all the way in Essos is beyond our concern. Mind me well, Rayder. You will have to live with the consequences of your decisions. Or not live, as the case may be. Till our next meeting."

Mu leapt off the table, flying out of the tent and quickly winging his way into the air. I broke the link, coming out of it in a stone room in Castle Black. Robb, Marsh and the Blackfish were all there, and had heard my side of the conversation.

Robb's face was worried. "What do you think they will do?"

I shrugged. "I have no idea, but if they are wise they will kneel."

But everyone who's watched a zombie show knows that the human refugees are just as great a threat as the zombies themselves.

Chapter 34: Zombie Watch pt. 4, Ending the Threat

In the morning it seemed that we received the Wildling's answer.

It wasn't what we had been hoping for, and came in the form of a raid on Castle Black just after dawn. Of course the ravens had spotted it, and it was thus no surprise. The troops were prepared. And atop the Wall I waited with Jon, Robb, Brynden and Marsh, Togo and Ghost at our sides.

The Wildling wave was fifteen thousand strong, significantly outnumbering the defenders. Of the three hundred Night's Watchmen, five thousand Northmen, and three thousand Valemen, a little under half, some four thousand men, were on duty that morning.

Still, given the advantages of fortification, training and equipment, and the lack of Wildling siege engines, those four thousand could have easily held against ten times as many Wildlings. But I doubted our men would be necessary at all.

As the Wildlings left the edge of the treeline some five-hundred meters distant, they gathered then began to run at an extreme archery range of four hundred meters, shields upraised around those carrying logs to use as battering rams at the gate.

They were no risk. I was tired of holding back, and defending the realm against Wildlings and White Walkers was certainly the best time from a public relations perspective to reveal the full extent of my magics.

I raised my hand for dramatic effect and intoned three words. "Continuous Chain Lightning."

With a mighty *CRACK* a think bolt of lightning jumped out from my hand, smashing into a group of better dressed free folk. I dumped twenty mana a second into that spell, the majority of my regeneration dedicated to destruction, and watched in disgusted awe as the so called Lord of Bones and his entourage jerked and charred as I swept them with my lightning.

The men on the Wall were staring at me in shock as I singlehandedly broke the Wildling attack. Men dropped their weapons in their haste to make the sign of the seven pointed star, or simply forgot to keep hold in their awe.

The Wildlings, meanwhile, at least those closer to the impact, had dropped their weapons for an entirely different reason; they were fleeing as fast as they could.

A minute later and the Wildlings were in full rout, running as quickly as they could for the trees while my lightning played over them. As the began to enter the tree-line, slowing in the belief that I was finished, I sent out the finale.

I had been casting with twenty mana a second, and still had a full half of my mana pool when they ran.

In a fit of theatricality, I threw my arms wide. "Firestorm!" I called out. A hundred fireballs of wildfire, each with ten mana added to give it force and explosive heat formed and shot forwards, impacting through the tree-line, starting a fire and causing a great slaughter to those caught in the area of effect.

I looked out on that field of the dead and dying, the screams of the terrified and injured ringing in my ears. It was awesome and awful, terrific and terrible. It was the raw and naked exercise of power. My magic's power over reality. My power over the Wildlings.

With that single move, a truth was made evident to all the men there, guardians of the Wall and Wildling alike.

The Wall would not fall. The Wildling attack was over, but for discussing the terms of their surrender.

This time Mu found a much less energetic and optimistic group in Mance's tent. Mu glided in and settled into place on the table. The bone-dressed man was absent, dead in yesterday's assault, and the squat woman who smelled of blood was gone as well, whether dead or simply absent I didn't know. The people that were there looked at Mu as if he might be a bomb.

"Here to accept our surrender?" Mance asked somewhat bitterly.

Mu cawed in laughter. "What, no thank you? After all, didn't I just do what you wanted?" I asked.

The men in the tent looked at Mu with narrowed eyes and questioning faces.

"What do you mean?" Tormund rumbled.

"Please. Mance knew all along that there was no chance you could take the Wall," I explained, "not with it actually defended. Ten to one, with equal quality of warriors and siege engines. That's what you need to take even a normal castle, let alone one so impressive as the Wall. And your men are hardly as dangerous as the men the North has gathered. You never stood a chance.

"But some of your people were too savage and violent to understand that; they had to be taught the hardest lesson, so that the rest of your people might learn the futility of struggle. Of course, he was hoping they'd cause more damage first, improve your negotiating stance a bit."

The bald man frowned. "Rattler was not of my people," he emphasized.

"Nonetheless. The point remains," I replied.

Mance's lips were pursed. "And now our negotiating stance is even weaker," he sort-of agreed, then sighed. "Very well. I assume you can take our surrender?"

"I can. Though those from the attack will not be allowed south of the Wall," I replied.

"What!" Rayder shouted, rising from his seat. "You can't just leave them for the Walkers!"

Mu shook his head in a strange parody of my own gesture. "And why not? I offered peace, and they spat on it. Such actions cannot be rewarded."

"There will be others who refuse to enter if such a circumstance comes to pass," he warned. "Perhaps as many as forty or fifty thousand, a full third of my host is related to or allied with groups that were part of that attack."

"Then they too may choose to die. You seem to misunderstand a simple fact, Rayder. I do not fear the Walkers, but I lack the patience to hunt down tens of thousands of rapists, murderers and other ne'er do wells throughout the North. I care not if your people see me as the very devil himself; those that enter the Seven Kingdoms will be peaceful."

Mu moved forward a bit, fixing him with unblinking eyes. "I would rather all your people dead and burned than have a single northern girl raped, a single northern farm raided," I said coldly. "I owe your people none of the protections and services I do to the Starks, and by extension the Starks' people. Your people have lived by the power of their arms, have killed and stolen by it, and have no right to complain when they die by it in turn. Those prepared to kill must be prepared to be killed.

"The only reason I am treating with you at all is that Lord Stark is far kinder, and wanted your people offered shelter, and convinced King Robert to agree with his plan," I said. I couldn't have them think of the Starks poorly, after all. "That, and the possibility I might not be able to burn all of your corpses and thus strengthen the Walkers' forces. But to be honest, I doubt a few thousand extra corpses here or there will make such a great difference compared to how many corpses the Walkers will raise against us."

Mance had been losing energy throughout my speech, sinking deeper and deeper into himself, cradling his head in his hands. "Is there nothing we can do to convince you?" he pleaded.

"What do you have that I could want?" I asked rhetorically.

The blonde woman grimaced and spoke up. "If you would forgive them, I would give you myself," she offered unexpectedly. With other people it might have worked; she was very pretty, and had that whole badass warrior-woman barbarian princess vibe going on. I could have dyed her hair and called her Xena; that might actually have been pretty fun, come to think of it. But I was not there to make friends, or gain a paramour.

Mu burst out into cawing laughter. "I have no interest in those who are with me out of anything but desire. But beyond that, I am lord to some four hundred thousand people. I am one of the richest and most powerful in Westeros, only arguably below the Lords Paramount, and have the ear of the King at court. I am a handsome and powerful young man, with numerous heroic deeds to my name. Do you honestly think, for a single second, that having one girl is such a prize?"

It was cruel, and her face showed it hurt. But I needed to be domineering; the free-folk were like vicious, wild animals. Worse, even. Give them an inch and they'd take a mile, then come back in the night, slit your throat, steal your boots and eat your corpse.

"Now, Mance Rayder, King-beyond-the-Wall, what is your answer?"

"We will swear our peace and surrender," he sighed. "And I will do what I can to convince people to leave behind wives and husbands, fathers and mothers, and pass through the Wall."

Back at Castle Black I grimaced at the reminder of what I was dooming people to, but they were truly the human equivalent of hyenas, vicious opportunistic predators. I had no desire to fill the North with mad dogs who thought to assault such a fortification as the Wall with so few people. It spoke to an inherent aggressiveness and lack of understanding of consequences that was unacceptable.

Hopefully those wise enough not to charge to their doom would be wise enough to keep my peace.

If not, my hounds would turn them to shit.

Literally.

But only after eating them alive.

A month later and the majority of Wildlings had finally finished trickling through the wall. I had had to be present for a dozen arguments and disagreements, my very presence serving to quell tempers and remind the no-longer-free folk what mercy they had been shown. I took hundreds of oaths in Robert's place, as did Robb in place of his father, and the Gift's population increased a hundredfold.

I had called for more and more of my burgeoning Hound population to come north. Eventually a full ten battalions, four thousand eight hundred hounds were there, helping ensure that the Wildlings didn't leave their reservations without approval. Ten companies of ravens supported them. Poe, the eldest of the Guard Ravens, was placed in overall command, while Fritz supported him.

I inverted their coloring from their ears and neck back, their coats a flat Night's Watch black and their markings, including my horse-archer sigil, in whites and light greys. They looked somewhat like giant Australian shepherds in their coloring afterwards. On their right shoulders they bore the words of their unit: "Watch-Force North." They were detached for semi-permanent support of the Night's Watch and peacekeeping with the free-folk immigrants, so I thought it would be appropriate that they bore the colors. That said, I wasn't giving the animals to the Watch, they were a loan.

Unfortunately none of the mammoths had had babies recently, and the giant's weren't willing to just give me some of their adults. Nor was I feeling cruel enough to just take them. In the end, we came to an agreement. I gave the mammoths and giants a few fixes to ensure that their genetics wouldn't deteriorate due to inbreeding from the small population that was all they had left, extended their lifespans to help repopulation, and ensured that the giants would get extra support from the Starks and Night's Watch getting established. In return they promised me some of the more genetically disparate calves once they were born. It might take a while though; mammoth pregnancies could last as long as two years.

As for the giants, they didn't have much magic; it was more that their biology was radically different, adapted for size and strength, sort of like a gorilla's as opposed to a man's. Nor were the mammoth's magical. All in all it was quite the disappointment.

I spent most of my spare time in February fruitlessly pursuing teleportation. Then in March I got sick of it, and decided since I lacked any idea of what to do with regards to teleportation, I may as well improve my mana cultivation and personal upgrades. I had more than enough mana to do so, with about a full order of magnitude more than I had had when I last upgraded myself.

Similar to last time, I found that my increased ability to manipulate and condense mana as well as spell structures meant I could improve both the efficiency, concept and sheer power behind my effects.

In Blue I once again improved my mana senses, thought acceleration, and then each again. Truly those were some of the most important enhancements, allowing me to manipulate mana more finely and quickly to create more complex and effective patterns, whether for enchantment or a more temporary spell.

Then I improved my precognitive ability, seeing a wider band of possibilities a longer distance into the future. I was getting more and more control of it, able to use my precognition to further speed up my thinking and problem solving by finding the answer that I would have found had I spent seconds to minutes thinking about it. I could anticipate in the future being able to keep multiple parallel mental processes by simultaneously being precognitively aware of different mental states that I could be having. What was even better was that the gains I made by clever application of precognition were multiplicative onto gains I made with spells.

I had been using the Mental Ward spell long enough, playing with ways to break through, that I was able to fix many of those issues for both subtle and overt attacks. I also took the time to really work out a variable form enchantment with the communications link; now it was effectively an integrated telephone capable of contacting individuals or groups, while preserving prior functionality. I still had to act as the relay, however, which wasn't optimal; I wanted my hounds and ravens to be able to contact each other without my being involved, but couldn't quite get that part of the enchantment working.

For my Green effects, I grew massively stronger physically, now able to quite easily bend and tear sheets of metal with my bear hands. My oakflesh went past being like bronze into being like iron then steel, making me incredibly hard to harm. The strength of the regeneration was powerful enough that it was like looking at the wound being re-round in time. Still not the perfect regeneration of someone like Wolverine, capable of healing literally anything, but it was getting there slowly. Even my transformed dragon-based bones improved, becoming more magically powerful and conductive, while being naturally more difficult to damage even before the oakflesh effect was added on top.

In fact, the combination of subtle optimizations I had been doing, and the straight-up biological upgrades I had experienced pushed my natural state, without any magics, over the edge of the utmost human performance. I was, in short, Captain America even without any magic at all; with it, I was far more powerful and tough, and healed much, much faster.

Within Red I continued to push on my speed, the idea that I was free of the usual constraints of time, that I could move as fast as I wished. It was reaching the point that when I really pushed my speed I could break the speed of sound with my fastest punch. The increased impact effect on top of that meant that a full speed and power punch that I stopped about a centimeter into a tree would cause the trunk to shatter and splinter, sometimes even enough to bring down the entire tree. I also managed to upgrade the fireproof effect, bringing the allowable temperature up to two thousand degrees C and making it slightly resistant to magical fire.

My defensive effects got a big boost with White. The stored healing energy was significant, enough to stave off most every life-threatening injury that didn't kill you all at once. The strength of the conceptual armor had gone from similar to being in a suit of plate armor to being inside a lightly armored vehicle. On top of that, the projectile shield would need to be hit by extended bursts of high caliber machinegun fire, or successive light cannon rounds or something similar to break through. I was a big fan of survivability, and glad that mine was increasing. Furthermore, I figured out how to make the Anti-Undead Aura a good bit stronger and larger; I suspected that wights would only be barely effective against large concentrations of my troops when I upgraded them with it.

From Black, the anti-disease and toxin effects got stronger, as did my ability to derive benefit from consuming things. I still couldn't consume objects that didn't qualify as food. However, where before I got all the nutritional value, chemical energy, and a very small amount of essence from my food, I was now getting a significant amount of essence and an as-yet negligible rate of adaptation based on whatever natural advantages my food had over me.

That last was extremely exciting, as it meant my natural physique could improve a lot more in the future, providing a better baseline for my magical effects to build off of. I was generally wary of doing too many biological experiments to myself or my friends, for fear of harming them, which meant that a slow but steady and most of all automatic improvement would be a god-send.

Green did make some natural as well as supernatural improvements too, but that was more extremely sped up evolution than adoption of others' mechanisms. There was even synergy between the two; when my adaptation rate got better, I could evolve creatures with Green to improve their own natural state, then consume them to get those advantages myself.

To be honest, my mana was increasing faster than my skill at that point; had I spent more time practicing and pushing the envelope on my magic, I might have eked out another level of performance when doing my upgrades. Still, I was growing so fast, and so much in advance of any threats that I faced, that I wasn't overly worried.

With that sorted out, I applied similar upgrades to Jon, Togo, Aethon, Ghost, Shadowfax, Nevermore, Hue and Mu.

That took long enough that the Wildlings were pretty much processed. More would arrive over time, fleeing ahead of the White Walkers, but my presence at the Wall became unnecessary. Now any of my Guard-tier animals that needed to could contact me, so if and when the White Walkers and their zombie armies arrived I would hear about it and be back with plenty of time to spare. I didn't even need to leave Hue or Mu behind for communications. It was awesome.

I left for Harrenhal with Jon at my side and peace in my wake.

Chapter 35: Fief-Up

We arrived just after it became April. As we were now entering into Winter, it was cool for spring, more similar to English weather than I had grown used to. Namely, wet and cool. The plants didn't seem to mind, luckily.

In my absence, Harrenhal had been growing well. The paper and printing production had been allowed to reinvest all the subsidy money that was equal to what they would have been getting had I been selling my basic guides to my people, rather than giving them away, and all of the proceeds they were getting from selling my Farmer's Guide and blank books for notes and documents.

Once all of the new facilities came online and the workers were trained and experienced I hoped they could manage a full half-million pages a day. That would let me print enough guides on country living, religion, and literacy/numeracy to put one in every family home in the Seven Kingdoms within fifty years.

They were already building half a dozen new halls to fit everything in. Between that and my expanding metalworks I had had to get the Tullys and Robert on board with allowing me a charter for a city to account for the burgeoning population of workers.

That said when I got back there, I realized there was still a lot to do. After being in the cooler and thus less pungent North, I was assailed by the scents of humanity. I decided to do something about, to look after my people properly after being gone for so long.

It was early April, nine months after I had Balanced and developed the mana-bonding spell. I had a massive quantity of four thousand mana in my pool, and a cycle time of just under a minute.

After charting it out, I had figured out the rules governing my mana growth. The daily growth to my total mana was a constant plus a coefficient times the mana I had raised to a power. The coefficient was related to how well I resonated to a color of mana. If I were to define resonance on a 1-10 scale, then every mana color with a resonance above 5 added 0.2 to the coefficient, while every mana color with a resonance below 5 subtracted 0.2 from the coefficient.

For the power, it seemed to be related to a function of the resonance minus five that added up the integers greater than zero for that number. In other words, function of two was equal to three (one plus two), of three was six (one plus two plus three), four was ten, etc. This function was then divided by the sum of the possible resonance, or fifty (maximum resonance of ten times five colors).

The mana growth was thus exponential, but only grew at ridiculous speeds when the color resonance was high. The fact that I cultivated all colors was actually a major limiting factor for my growth. But necessary to avoid shifts in personality. Luckily it seemed that when my mana within a color was greater than that color's resonance raised to the power of that resonance (eg, if resonance is five, then five ^ five), then the resonance would increase.

Given sufficient time, my mana growth would become explosively exponential, just as with a single mana color, but the diversity would give me greater flexibility while avoiding mental contamination.

In short, the TL;DR…

My mana in April was more than enough to play Sim City in real life, and would only grow from there.

I always liked Sim City.

I drew on the dirt, forming it into stone and then that stone into a foundation for my town. The roads became like concrete. Beyond the original boundary of the town I continued to expand the system of roads, round-a-bouts at each intersection. I laid out enough ground for my city to grow an entire order of magnitude, though I suspected it would be some time before that occurred.

Below and to the side of the streets were sewers, with points for people to put in their liquid waste, and storm-drains to channel water to rinse the sewers. I modified a toad to live in the sewers, with Black enchantments to make it impossible to sicken and a White driven compulsion to stay in the sewers and keep them clean by attacking anything that stuck to the walls or began to pile up.

I raised a thick wall around my city of seamless stone. There were covered parapets with arrow slits. They overhung the walls with murder-holes to allow my defenders to drop things on those who were attacking. Towers were spaced along it, and double-gated gatehouses raised at the corners for entry purposes.

Then I extended the road to the main gates of my castle, and grew more walls to turn that space between castle and city into a ward where I could establish more factories, greenhouses, fields for horses or whatever else I needed.

Then I went into my castle, my people's somewhat terrified gratitude still ringing in my ears, and I got to work.

I decided I was going to work on five things. First, I would learn smithing to the point I could make the true form of Valyrian steel without assistance. My people had been getting by in my absence by using the special Valyrian forge I had made. It allowed them to process ingots of metal I had already enchanted with the Valyrian Blessing.

The blessing actually added all the magic to the metal that the full Valyrian steel enchantment needed; the rest was shaping the enchantment itself. In Qohor they used blood magic to loosen the enchantment from the steel, allowing them to work on both; I had a special spell built into one of the furnaces to do the same thing. But I wanted to be able to make true Valyrian steel products on my own.

Second, I realized that it would be incredibly useful to get a glassworks in operation. Not only were jars great for storing food, with enough sheet glass I could have greenhouses to keep my people well fed even in the harshest Winter.

Third, I wanted to upgrade the plants that my people farmed. Better vegetables like tomatoes, onions, carrots, and leafy greens. Better crops for the four-field rotation of wheat, barley, turnips and clover. Better legumes and other beans to act as nitrogen fixers. Better apples, berries, and other fruit. Better farming tools, and produce processing tools would likely be useful as well.

Fourth, I wanted to figure out teleportation. It was driving me crazy.

So I portioned out my days, and I got to work.

Every morning I spent with my top smiths, getting them to teach me how to do everything they knew. They started me off with the very basics. Surprisingly, a lot of smithing was figuring out what blend of materials to use to get good quality steel. My basic oxygen furnace/Bessemer converter took away a lot of the difficulty from that, but it was still an issue for them. The difference between a common smith and a good one was knowing how to pick out and combine the right materials in the right ratios.

Of course, my visual acuity and image processing was much stronger than a normal human's after all of my upgrades, and that helped a lot. But I was trying to push my magic whenever possible, so along with developing the basic skills, I developed a spell to tell me the composition of the materials.

I called it, of course, Structural Grasp. I had no idea if it might lead to some sort of artificial reality marble if I could perfectly grasp and memorize objects, but it seemed like a good thing to aim for.

With that, I quickly learned how to balance impurities, carbon content and iron to get good batches of iron and steel.

My teachers skipped over a lot of the mechanics of the forge; I had had to learn those to build my metalworks in the first place, after all. So I got to skip pumping bellows, and move right onto manipulating metal. Here again I used magic as much as possible, Grasping the materials to know how stressed they were, heating, annealing and quenching with fire magic to affect their hardness, manipulating the metal with telekinesis.

They didn't say much, but I could tell my smiths wished they had had my advantages when they were learning.

Finally they moved me onto the apex of skill in Westeros: plate armor, and folded steel blades.

Plate armor is difficult because it has to be closely fitted and carefully worked. A bad fit can wear at the user, put undue stress on their body, catch when making certain movements and cause other issues. Beyond that, the plates need to be treated carefully to avoid having overly brittle work-hardened areas where an enemy's attack could penetrate. Building a full suit of armor was thus a difficult endeavor, and a mark of the maker's skill.

Folded steel blades had two hurdles to success. First, the smith needed to select up to five pieces of good but different carbon-content steel to work. If any of those had impurities, extra particles, a poor steel composition, or any other issue it could cause the whole blade to fail. Unlike in the modern age, where I could have ordered these billets with precise metallurgical composition, that selection took real skill. Luckily, I had structural grasp.

Second, there was a lot of work to go into one of those. The steel had to be beaten out and folded back in on itself, doubling and redoubling in layers until it might be over a thousand layers thick. There was heating, quenching, and annealing to do as well, all of which were difficult to control without high temperature sensors to take the temperature. A single mistake in any of these processes and the blade may be damaged. Unlike a blade made of a single piece of steel, once the steel was folded the billets of metal were no longer recoverable.

Days turned into weeks into months as I worked on smithing in the morning. Sometimes Jon would look in on me, but he had no real interest in smithing. Instead he focused on leading the training for the twenty odd boys and half-dozen girls who had qualified as squire-candidates from my archery program, and got to know the two actual squires who had qualified via horse archery. Dany was mostly focused on little Lila; I saw little of her save at mealtimes. She haunted the library mostly, reading to herself and her daughter, played with the animals and helped teach the squires and squire candidates their numbers; she was quite popular among the young men.

Then I was finally pronounced the equal to any of the smiths in my employ. That day I forged my first Valyrian steel blade on my own. The experience was entirely different from doing so as part of a group, my understanding of the conceptual cutting effect far improved when I applied it myself. I could tell that there was something more to the effect now, a possibility of applying that same impossibly effective edge not to a blade, but to a telekinetic structure. A vorpal blade projection, one might call it.

It was still beyond me, but something I might research in the future; it could easily turn into one of my more potent evocations.

While I worked on smithing in the morning, in the afternoons I worked on a glassworks. My territory had a decent supply of clean sand near the lake, and by June the alchemists were able to come up with a mixture that produced a reasonably strong and clear variant of soda-lime glass. The glassworks had two sides to it.

One side used a tin-float system under positive pressure of nitrogen gas to make large quantities of sheet glass for windows and greenhouses. There were ten workers there, and they could make a total of a quarter million square meters of glass a year. Each square meter of glass sold for five silver stags; I had wanted to make it two and a half, but was told that was simply too cheap. Even at five stags I had to restrict the amount that foreign merchants could buy; I wanted my people to get the glass for their windows and greenhouses first.

The other side of the glassworks had a full sixty seven workers, trained by Myrish glass workers stolen away from slavery at great risk and expense. While some work on colored glass and other luxuries was done, the shaped glass side mostly worked machines to blow out glass jars. I had taken a bit of the rubber from the boots I was wearing when I arrived in Westeros and made a magically modified tree to produce rubber. That let me have gaskets put onto the jars, making air-tight seals. It wasn't perfect vacuum sealing, but it was a massive improvement over what the previous technology was capable of. It used a production line was at two million jars a year, and already there were plans for three new shaped-glassworks to be raised and occupied when enough extra workers could be trained.

Of course, none of it would have been possible without magic. I used magic to form shapes for machines, to enchant parts to have superior performance, to heat, cool, and move objects, to partition gasses, and on and on and on.

By June I was done with metal. By July the glassworks needed little of my input, and I had transitioned away from metal and glass. Instead I worked on improving agricultural yields again, this time by improving my plants. I didn't want to cause too much ecological upset, or create invasive super-wheat or some other disaster, so I kept the modifications mostly within reason.

I gave the plants the sorts of things that were pretty obvious, but would make a massive difference for my farmers; after upgrades, my plants were somewhat more resistant to heat and cold, too much or too little water, and less likely to rot. The yields were more bountiful, and individual fruits, vegetables and grains had higher concentrations of nutrients. They were just generally better, rather than trying some crazy idea derived from genetic engineering's hopes for true super-crops. I guess that's why I wasn't so interested in them; compared to my animals, my plants were just too mundane.

I still transformed many of my fields; once the harvest was in anyone in my territory would be allowed to trade their seed grain in at a one-to-one ratio. In a year or three I had no doubt that my farmers would see massive improvements to the quality of their crops. Which meant healthier, happier peasants, and more tax income.

Other than that, I formed a working group of some of the more innovative and mechanically minded to improve processes, create new machines, and turn my half-remembered descriptions of tools into reality. They managed to get a few prototypes of mechanical reapers and seed drills built, and full production of those would begin soon. That would allow for a lot more land to be farmed, improve yields per acre, and increase productivity per capita.

I had noticed one problem caused by the Pest-eating birds; they had driven mice, rats and other vermin out of the fields and into my castle and city. I really needed a cat to go after them, but didn't want to end up making some super cat that would drive all sorts of birds and other prey to extinction. Then I had a clever idea; I made a cat which was scared of the outdoors.

More specifically, I made a cat with a high degree of White to it. It could manage to be out in orderly areas, farms, villages and roads, but was really happiest indoors. But it had an aversion to Green, to avoid nature, and a hatred for Black, to kill vermin. The cats were made smaller than normal, just a little larger than the rats that they were designed to hunt, but with physical improvements and increased toughness. They were absolutely adorable serial killers, their metabolism linked to how much they ate. Destroying vermin made them happy, and so they would kill and kill and kill. Then when no vermin was present, their appetites would diminish and they would be happy to laze about someone's home.

My house-cats proved extremely effective, and quickly had my castle clear of pests. I had some of my tax-collectors bring them out to distribute to farming communities and turned dozens of them loose on my little city.

The humans were well under control as well. A hundred and twenty companies of Hounds kept it that way, though many were still puppies and the companies were still coming up to full strength. Thirty companies of Ravens supported them.

I had decided that I would begin to grow my human forces relatively soon, and had sent out agents to purchase six hundred mares and a hundred and twenty stallions all of a quality to be used by a knight. As they arrived I transformed them into Guards Horses, suitable to be used by my future soldiers. I drove them into a bit of a breeding frenzy; in the future the front line units would use the stallions and geldings which were less valuable for reproduction.

Chapter 36: Travel

I had noticed while riding to and from the fields where I made my enhanced produce that the roads in my territory sucked. I wanted to do something about it, something other than wandering about the place slowly raising roads using my magic. But on the other hand, I had no patience to design and oversee the building of a British industrial-revolution era style highway. Not to mention the time – Britain's roads had sprung up over decades, whereas I wanted results within months. At some point I would start some rail lines, but that wasn't needed yet.

No, like I did so often, I turned to biological manipulation to solve this problem for me. Using Green, White for order and some Blue for calculation, I designed a plant which would drop road-seeds. These road seeds needed to be activated by an acid like vinegar or citrus to grow. After being activated, they would rapidly grow a system of roots, anchoring the plant. These roots would connect to other nearby plants' roots, allowing them to communicate and share information.

The plant would spread a network of sprouts to detect the lay of the land. Then the plant would grow a platform that was gently curved to connect to the neighboring platforms, conform to the land, and otherwise be as flat as possible with a slight convex shape for drainage. The platforms were all raised a half-foot off the ground, so that drainage to the side of the road wasn't an issue, with bands of waist-high brush help keep traffic on the road and act as a central divider.

Once the platform reached a certain size which depended on how much acid was used to activate it, maxing out at about a four-lane highway, it would stop growing. The platforms themselves were just rough enough for a good grip, photosynthetic and tougher than steel with a natural toughness enchantment strengthening the already hard wood. The root system removed issues of the road's underlying surface being washed away.

To remove a section of road, you could dig around the side to be close to the roots, then treat them with salt mixed with a base such as soap. The plant would die and rapidly rot away. The same method could be used to remove the brush to allow entrances and exits. To make a new one, you needed a seed which only I produced.

I had the Ravens coordinate with the Hounds to plan out improved road routes throughout my territory, then sent them out with leather water-skins containing vinegar and baskets full of seeds. My greenroads grew like weeds across the map of my territory. It made it far easier for goods to be transported across the land, and soon I was selling my seeds at about eighty dragons for enough to grow a mile of highway. The Seven Kingdoms had some ten thousand miles of major roads, and I had no doubt that in time all would be grown from my seeds.

By August my roads were spread across my land and I was entirely sick and tired of playing estate manager.

Teleportation was proving more difficult than I had expected, and no matter how fast and strong Aethon was, or I was for that matter, there were issues with physical force and the physics of how to move much faster than we were going, especially over rough ground. Flight would take care of those issues.

Furthermore, there was the basic question: can any land-bound mage truly call themselves a proper wizard?

I thought not, so flight was essential.

I had thought about all the different ways I might do it; running on telekinetic platforms, blasted about in a bubble of air, changing the direction of gravity, and so on. I also had the dragon eggs, still waiting to be hatched, and whatever bit of magic it was that dragons used to keep their massive bulks aloft.

But I didn't want to bring dragons back, not yet. Not while I was still unready.

When I had dragons, I needed for them to be able to be my sole focus. I needed to be able to watch them, see how their minds formed, ensure that they would be obedient to me, that no other could steal them from me, that they would not grow in power to challenge me. Dragons were mighty enough, the local equivalent to the atom bomb.

After I was done with them, they would be upgraded from city-killing fission bombs to country cracking fusion bombs though. I needed to be absolutely sure of my interactions with them, and free from all distractions.

Honestly, I didn't even want the distraction of getting home to be there when I woke the dragons. Optimally, I would figure out a way home, reunite with and upgrade my family, and then return to achieve my childhood dream of being a dragon-mounted mage-knight.

So in the end I went with a simple telekinetic field as my flight mechanism.

I say simple, but the enchantment was anything but. Based mostly on Blue for the active control and intelligent reading and reacting to my physical signals, the enchantment made a skin-tight telekinetic field around my body. Then with a lot of fine tuning I had the field react to my movements, small instinctive twists of the hips and shoulders to spin about, movements in the torso that on the ground would help me dodge to get lateral motion, leaning forwards and backwards to accelerate or slow down.

The outside of the field was actually a lightly armored reactive shell that hugged my skin. It counteracted most of the force of wind-pressure so I didn't feel like I was getting blasted by a tornado while I was whipping about. At higher speeds a teardrop shape would form for better aerodynamics, though the movement-driven inertia responses would still send me moving about as I wanted unless I turned it off and went into cruise control.

There was a backup mode that let me use set amounts of force in specific directions, but that wasn't as intuitive to use especially while doing other things.

If all this sounds easy, trust me, it wasn't. I had to stop practicing in the castle after I hit an interior wall hard enough to crack it. It took over a week just to design a prototype of the spell, and I was still fine tuning this and that months later. Still, by the end of August it was functional if not perfect, and I had learned a lot about simple forces, my body, and control-reaction loops in enchanting.

It gave me the idea to develop magically-motivated power armor someday, but the idea of doing more of that fiddly work at the time was anathema to me.

There were two big issues with the flight enchantment. First, I saw no easy way to apply it to Jon, let alone the different bodies of Aethon, Shadowfax, Togo and Ghost. Instead I developed a flight ride-along, something to keep their relative position with regards to me the same so I could carry them about on a flight if I wanted.

Second, the enchantment was only the structure of the spell; much like an airplane, it still needed to be actively fueled to fly. That was fine for me, but even for those as heavily enchanted as Jon and the others there just wasn't enough mana available for continuous or high speed flight.

If I wanted them to be independently flight capable, I really needed to look into ambient mana gathering, mana storage, and mana generation. I was sure all three were possible, just probably really difficult, at least in the quantities that I needed.

I wasn't too bothered though. I always loved my dreams of flying, and being able to do it for real was awesome.

Buoyed up with my success I decided to turn my hand once more to teleportation. Previously I had tried many, many failed methods to instantly transport myself. As failed teleportation seemed potentially dangerous, I tested it with a combination of precognition and small animals. I killed a lot of small animals named Science! in the process.

But Science! the First through Eight Hundred and Seventy Fourth would not die in vain! That I swore.

The closest to an actual teleportation I managed was to project the pattern of their mana onto a slightly distant spot and then force the body to move there. Sometimes Science! didn't even explode on the other end or disappear into the aether, just coming out horrifically disfigured. Then progress slowed once more to a crawl.

One day I was feeling particularly bored and lazy. I had been trying and failing to manage teleportation for all of August. I had no new ideas to try. And so there I lay in one of my labs, trying to summon the motivation to get some work done. A large number of Science!s were in cages against one of the walls.

Without really thinking about it, I reached out to one of the Science!s, a squirrel in one of the series which had been pre-treated for toughness in the hopes that that would help to survive teleportation (it didn't). I tugged on that faint, nebulous link between us, provided some mana, and wished he was in my hands.

Science! the twelve hundred eight first disappeared from his cage and into my hands.

I blinked down at Science! the 1281st, and he blinked his eyes us at me. A wide, wide grin spread across my face. I tossed Science!across the room (it's not animal cruelty when the animal is literally tougher than the stones) and tried again.

Science! the 1281st promptly exploded all over me.

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" I screamed. Then I ranted, raved, tossed my chair against the wall, swore like a sailor and screamed a bit in my rage.

Eventually I got it out of my system. Panting and once more calm, I looked at Science! the 1282nd and teleported him.

It worked!

I laughed and laughed and laughed in my joy, and didn't stop until my stomach hurt.

It was far from what I needed to return home, but every journey begins with a first step.

For the rest of September I practiced with my new skill, which I called Calling (since it called animals to me). I investigated the important questions: why Science! would sometimes explode; how much mana it cost to transport Science!; whether distance mattered for possibility of transportation, exactness required of mana manipulation or quantity of mana supplied; what happened if I used a little more mana than needed; what happened if I used a lot more mana than needed; whether I could teleport something twice at the same time to make a duplicate, etc.

I found out a few things. First of all, the mana required to transport Science! did vary. It started off as what seemed to be the exact amount of mana that was bound in all the active enchantments plus the animal's own essential manna pattern, which was basically the energetic description of that being. Then it approached a maximum of two times that much energy. That maximum was asymptotically approached, so after a few hundred miles the extra mana was pretty negligible.

Both too much and too little mana were deadly. Too much and the pattern would be distorted when it arrived. If the animal was lucky, the corpse was merely mangled and unrecognizable. Unlucky, and it fucking exploded, spraying blood everywhere. Too little and the animal would just disappear, poof! Gone, disappeared into the aether. I tried tracking them with a sympathetic bonding, but the bonding just straight up disappeared.

This actually led to the development of one of my most powerful spells yet. I called it Exile. It used a single White mana to seize hold of a creature's pattern, then a single colorless to initiate teleportation to a preset destination; I used the Wall. It was a simple, clean, eradication of any target. The only ways I could see them blocking it was if they could either avoid my mana senses, or prevent the forceful teleportation.

Then, because that wasn't effective enough, I came up with Mass Exile. Basically, instead of just using White to target a single pattern, it used multiple Whites and targeted multiple patterns at a time. I added a Blue refinement to auto-target patterns within a certain area as well, making it area-of-effect rather than multi-targeted.

It was a fucking terrifying magic. I knew I sure as fuck couldn't survive it if someone tried it against me, and it was cheap. So very, very cheap. If I'd done the right research, I could have been casting it weeks after arriving in Winterfell, after waking my magic. So I came up with a defense against it. I called it Stability, and its purpose was to break apart anything that tried to take hold of my pattern. Failing that, it tried to siphon off the energy from the teleportation effect, storing it or dumping it into an aura of light, heat, electricity; anything to bleed off the power.

The exactness of the mana manipulation when I wasn't purposefully miscasting teleportation to kill shit was a bit difficult, especially over longer ranges. I ended up making a buffer spell, a construct that I could slightly over-charge and then have it feed the mana required. Ironically, that buffer spell was based on and inspired by the Blue area-of-effect spell-component from Mass Exile. The buffer drastically reduced mistakes with long distance Calling. When I added a bit of wiggle room on the exact location where the called would appear, it ended the mistakes. But I was still having issues with short distance calling.

Every now and then, things would disappear or explode after the pattern became unstable when doing short distance calling, and I couldn't figure out why. Eventually I figured it out when I was trying to do a duplicated teleportation. By calling the same object twice, or really providing twice as much mana and then splitting the pattern, much the same way I did to cast multiple enchantments at once, I was hoping to be able to get a second creature on the other end.

It would be awesome; I could grow my army as fast as I could Call, make more wooly mammoths for the giants and then take some of them, and when I figured out how to duplicate items literally make permanent copies of materials. It was a grail technology, one of those things that are just at the very, very edge of what's possible, and something that if you can achieve it has an utterly transformative effect on life.

When I got it to work, it explained why the short range teleportation kept failing. Copies always cost exactly the amount of mana as the creature's basic pattern plus all enchantments and active magics. The teleportation for short ranges where the mana for teleporting and copying was the same meant that the magic wasn't sure if it wanted to teleport the original, or to make a copy.

The copies also weren't exact. Instead of the exact same song, it was like someone else singing the song in a different key, or a rock band doing a cover of a jazz song. Recognizably the same, but also different. There was a limit to how many copies I could make of a pattern, four per actual animal. I could tell that as I got better at magic, I might be able to make more finely defined, cleaner copies which would allow for more than four.

I decided that I didn't like the word copies, and would instead call them summons. Making a summons was summoning, while teleporting an existing creature was calling.

It was also important to note that summons weren't the originals. They had much of the same skills and knowledge, but none of the same experiences. In other words, a human summons might know fire was hot, because the original once burned themselves, but wouldn't have any memory of that event. Furthermore, they were literally made from my magic, something that I had an inherent control over, and that control persisted into the summons.

They started off as something in between an automaton and a true copy of the creature they were based off of. I imagined that it was sort of like using clone troopers; obviously intelligent and human, but lacking a certain essential something that made them aliveinstead of just living. If I didn't want them to change, if I wanted to keep them as semi-static mana patterns, they didn't even need to eat. Just absorb enough ambient mana, or get topped off enough by me to avoid their mana patterns from slowly falling apart.

On the other hand, if I fed them food, allowed them new experiences, and basically just wanted them to then over time they would grow more and more alive. I had a few long-term experiments running to verify my suspicions that given enough time, enough life, they would eventually become true creatures which could serve as originals to call or summon off of.

It was far easier to perform summonings at a distance than it was to teleport a creature to a place where I wasn't. The trick was that I had to use a bond to target it. In other words, I could summon a creature to me (via the original's bond to me), next to the original (ditto), next to a different creature (via that creature's bond to me, though that was difficult) or to one of my bonded lands (though the exact location wasn't too accurate for that last one).

Once I figured out how to do that, it didn't take too many Science!s to figure out how to Push not just summonings but callings as well. Pushing, of course, being the term for summoning or calling to a place where I was not located, as opposed to a simple summoning or calling to where I was.

This allowed another defense against Exile. Should someone manage to get past the Stability defense, there was a second layer, a spell I called Asylum. It was a dual-buffered pre-prepared teleportation spell set to send the creature on which it was applied to Harrenhal. Basically, it had both an empty buffer to accept any extra energy that the enemy who tried to exile them was applying so the teleportation couldn't get overly full, and a full buffer to perform an immediate teleportation to a land inside the greater territory of Harrenhal.

Once I had that working on the Science!s, and had upgraded all of my friends and loyal creatures to defend against enemies who could exile them, I felt like I might be able to teleport myself without too much fear.

I just had some preparations to do first, just to be safe.

Chapter 37: Final Preparations

I knew that despite all of my testing and everything else that the teleportation was going to be risky. I wanted to make sure that if anything happened to me my lands would be fine. I officially made Jon my heir, and took care of everything that I needed to within my fief.

It had been a while since I last worked on upgrades for myself, about eight months, and so it was time for a new set. As was usual, I started off with mana sensing and thought acceleration. Those more than anything determined how good my spellcasting was, as the thought acceleration let me manipulate mana faster, forming it into finer patterns before the mana structure started to fray, while mana sensing gave me more fine mana control and precision.

Then I improved my precognition; it was really getting to the point where if I devoted some time to it, then it could start opening up secondary powers. For example, mental partitions by simulating multiple precognitive points of view. I was fairly sure I was capable of that, with some training. I just had to find the time for it.

I continued to improve the mental ward, preventing telepathic intrusion or assault. I also took a few days to finally iron out the kinks in the communications link. Part of the teleporting buffer structure that made calling my creatures to me safe enough to use had involved coming up with a better way of storing mana. With that, I was able to make the communications device self-powered. Creatures could register a specific number, and then be contacted via it.

Honestly, that was one of the most impactful enchantments I'd come up with. It turned my Ravens into a cellular network. I had no idea what long term implications that would have. How it might change and stifle innovation into electricity, for example. But I did know that it meant Robert, Ned, and Westeros as a whole had an unparalleled military advantage.

After finishing with my Blue, I moved onto Green. I improved my supernatural physique to even more ridiculous heights, my unrestrained strength capable of treating steel like particularly dense clay. My oakflesh also improved significantly, to the point where my body was more like tungsten or a super-strong steel alloy. My regeneration factor got stronger and faster, practically remaking whatever part was injured as soon as it happened. Not that that was easy, now; only Valyrian steel wielded with my impressive strength was capable of causing practical levels of damage. I further improved my skeletal structure, making it stronger, tougher, and more able to take the extreme stresses I put it under.

In Red, I continued to enhance my reaction speed and haste effects, applying the concept of freedom from time ever more strongly. I could easily break the sound barrier with my blows by this point, destroying trees with even light contact given the upgrade to my increased impact effect. I also improved my heat resistance, now keeping me safe up to around twenty-five hundred Celsius, about the same temperature as an incandescent light bulb filament, or twice the temperature of lava.

White continue to show good improvements in defensive effects. I upgraded the energy I kept in the stored heal, and applied some of my new knowledge in summoning and teleportation to allow it to try and return a heavily damaged mana-pattern to the original. In Science! test cases, it showed effectiveness in returning a destroyed head with only a moment of memory loss; it looked creepy as hell to watch though.

My conceptual armor had improved from being similar to the protection offered by an armored car to being similar to the protection offered by a Bradley armored fighting vehicle. It didn't just help against physical damage, but really any incoming attack would have to deal with that level of conceptual resistance to harm. Thinking of it in terms of vehicle armor was just a way of understanding that in a less abstract form.

The projectile shield saw similar levels of improvement. The level of damage needed to break through it was getting insane. A sustained cannon barrage might manage it, or a massed artillery strike, but short of that I doubted I'd have much of an issue. It was, honestly, excessive for Westeros. Even for modern Earth it was getting to the point where, given my speed and everything else, I doubted I had much to worry about.

Other than that, I managed to continue to develop the anti-undead aura, making it both larger and more powerful. I had no doubt that if the White Walker's wights tried to close with a tight-packed formation of my hounds that the wights might suffer too much damage to fight just from the aura. It made me feel much more confident in the future of Westeros.

Black continued to allow some significant gains in disease and toxin immunity. I suspected that it would take not just a magical disease or poison, but one intended to defeat magical countermeasures to have a chance at harming me. My ability to consume improved a significant amount. Now I could strip food for nutrition, energy, and essence, as well as incorporate a significant amount of whatever natural advantages that food had into myself. My muscles, tendons, ligaments, nerves, organs, sight, hearing, smell; all of those began to slowly improve themselves. I could do a set of upgrades to animals now and then incorporate them via consumption, eliminating the risk of biological rejection and poor matching in biological subsystems that would reduce effectiveness.

After I was done with my own upgrades, I began to push them out to Jon, Togo, Aethon, Ghost, Shadowfax, and all of my other friends, adopted family, and loyal Guard beasts.

As October came to a close and I finished with the latest round of upgrades, I had one more preparation left: to make sure my army was unbeatable at least in the short term. There was an easy way to do that; I summoned a full half of my maximum summoning limit, instantly tripling my Guard's complement of Hounds, Ravens and Horses.

It took a truly obscene amount of mana, nearly a million all told. But I had a pool of over nine thousand, and my mana-recharge time was under forty seconds. I had a mana supply of over eight hundred and seventy five thousand mana per hour. With my lands safe and secure, Jon warned of the possibilities, letter written just in case, I was ready.

I tried to teleport to one of the staging grounds where the Hounds of Watch-Force North lived.

It was a total success. I was one step closer to getting home.

The next step was to figure out one of two things. Either I had to learn how to make a bond with a distant land, and use that as a teleportation target, or I had to learn how to send a creature to a place where I didn't have a bond, and use that creature as a teleportation target.

I spent a few weeks working on the first option before giving up. It just wasn't working. Oh, I could use my mana-bonding spell, and with relative ease have it target somewhere far away. With the amount of mana I had available, I could send it all the way around the world. I just couldn't get it to leave the world.

I was starting to get a little disheartened, so I decided that it would be better to take a break and do something I knew I could manage. Specifically, adapting summoning, calling and pushing to provide and store equipment. It didn't take long, merely being a mildly different variation on the teleportation spells. It did mean that I had the next best thing to an unlimited inventory though; while things weren't stored on me, I could easily send them to a storage room in Harrenhal or retrieve them from the same.

Reassured that I could, in fact, make progress with teleportation I dug back into it. Remote land bonding wasn't possible, but I figured that pushing a creature to a location that I wasn't truly connected to might be possible.

I had an idea that I might be able to use a search spell to create a temporary location marker to push a creature to. I tried a lot of things; spells meant to identify specific geographical features, spells meant to home in on specific mana patterns, matching blood, matching features, matching astronomical signs even, and on and on and on. None of it worked consistently on Westeros, and there were zero successes in managing to get to another world at all, let alone the world that I grew up on.

November came to a close, and it was looking like this would be another Christmas where my family had no knowledge of my whereabouts or even survival.

Fuck that, I decided.

I was resolved to figure out a way.

The answer literally came to me in a dream.

Dreams.

They were naturally nebulous, thought to link humans on a mental and spiritual plane that transcended distance and even time. Beyond that, they fell under the domain of the mind, which was Blue, the color of magic that I had the greatest affinity to.

I hadn't been able to cast a curse through a sympathetic blood link a couple years ago, when that shitty Lannister incest baby Joffrey and his wicked bitch of a mother were being so problematic. But that was a long time in the past. I was a much stronger mage now; it was like comparing Monet's first finger paintings as a child to his later masterpieces.

I offered a gold dragon to several members of the same families who worked in my castle. Many were nervous, but enough took me up on the offer. Within about a week, I could form a sympathetic link between immediate members of the same blood family.

I worried that my upgrades might make it difficult for me to establish a link, so I tested that out with drops of Jon's blood and that of Daenerys and Lila. Interestingly, I only had problems with establish a link between Jon and Ned.

It made me suspicious as to his true parentage, but I didn't say anything. Whether Jon was truly Brandon's, the dead older brother of Ned, and had been arguably denied his birthright, or whether Jon was Lyanna's and thus truly a Targaryen, I saw no potential for good coming out of an investigation, and much potential for harm.

With that done, I just needed to learn how to enter someone else's dreams. Luckily it only took a few days to manage a sort of astral meet-up where I specifically targeted Jon while sleeping. The trick to it was in the state of mind. I had to be at peace, meditating, and almost but not quite asleep when I cast the spell, while Jon had to be not just asleep but also dreaming. It was a good thing I'd gotten so much practice meditating, concentrating and spell-casting because that whole combination was pretty tricky to pull off at the same time.

Once I could enter dreams and do sympathetic magic, I just had to combine the two. By December twentieth I could manage it, and on the twenty first I could finally make contact with my family.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 38-A: Phoning Home

I wanted my family to be able to prove that they had had a true dream of me, which meant I needed to pull them all into the dream at the same time so they could compare notes in the morning.

I caught them as they entered their dream states; I pulled them one by one into my prepared space. I let them experience a memory of flying as first my youngest brother, then my mother, then my middle brother, then finally my father joined us.

I slowly ended the dream, fading in to a sitting room I had in my castle with a comfortable fire, thick carpet and plush chairs.

I stood in front of them grinning stupidly and opened my arms wide. "Tada!" I announced proudly. "It took me a fucking age, sorry about that, but better late than never right?"

"Dude, I hope this isn't some beyond the grave thing," my middle brother, Damien, said without really thinking about it.

I clasped my hand to my chest theatrically. "What, no confidence in your older brother, Damien? You think I'd die so easily?" I asked teasingly, as if that wasn't a real and serious danger throughout my adventures. "No, this is a spell. An astral sending. A shared dreaming. Now, don't everyone hug me at once."

With that, the stillness was broken. I quickly ended up in the center of a massive group hug. After all the I love you's and I missed you so much's and Bro, what were you thinking, you know how upset you made Mom?'s were passed around we took our seats so I could explain everything that happened.

"Right, so let me tell you all what I've been up to, then you can catch me up, and then we can plan about what to do next," I suggested to a chorus of nods. "Save the questions till the end, if you can; I don't know how long the dream will stay up for."

"Alright, so where do I start… I guess at the beginning. I was meditating in one of the courtyards at school, but when I opened my eyes I was somewhere entirely different. Not being a dumb-fuck and having read proper fairy tales, I knew how dangerous that was and tried to get back home. I couldn't.

"I was found by Ned Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Lord Protector and Warden of the North. He's basically a duke, and in charge of one of the nine provinces of the country I ended up in, the Seven Kingdoms. Imagine all of medieval Europe under a single kingdom, and Ned ruling Denmark, Sweden, Norway and the UK all rolled into one cold, wet place and you're not too far off.

"I decided to change my name, in case magic could target me through it; I'm Odysseus Gangari now. I proved my bonafides to Stark with math and a bit of other knowledge; they didn't have any calculus before I got there so it was pretty easy. Then I spent the next eight months effectively as a courtier. I learned to fight, practiced archery like crazy, told them about four field crop rotation, and told stories to the Stark kids. That sort of stuff. I also realized I could do magic, and I began to develop that as fast as possible in secret. Fast forward eight months and life got more exciting.

"Ned grew up fostering with Robert Baratheon. About twenty years back they rebelled against the former dynasty, the Targaryens, which had basically gone batshit insane from inbreeding. Robert ended up as king after all was said and done. The previous Hand of the King, basically the prime minister, was this guy, Arryn, the one who they fostered with. When Arryn died, Robert came fifteen hundred miles north just to get Ned to be his new Hand.

"Not an insignificant journey, given their technology," Dad noted.

I nodded. "That's right. Especially since he had his bitch queen with him, and her stupid fucking carriage… I'll get to her in a bit. But they were making twenty miles a day, and that with the king pushing for as hard a pace as he could. Just the travelling was five months round trip. While they were staying in Winterfell someone cut the climbing gear that Bran, the middle Stark boy, was using and pushed him off a wall."

"Did he survive?" Ender, my youngest brother and the rock-climber in the family asked.

"Ya, he did. Kid was only ten too. He saw something he shouldn't have, we found out later. Anyways, I wasn't going to leave Bran a cripple when I had magic, so I healed him up, revealing myself fully to the Starks in the process. I investigated but didn't find anything tying anyone to the crime.

"The king and company left to go south. Ned and his two daughters, Sansa and Arya, ages thirteen and eleven respectively, went with him. Sansa was betrothed to the prince, Joffrey. Meanwhile I stayed behind to make sure Bran healed up right then caught up to them on the road. When I finally found them, I ran across Joffrey, Sansa, Arya and some servant kid Arya had made friends with.

"Arya was a total tomboy, and at eleven wanted nothing more than to learn to fight. She'd been playing with sticks with the kid. Joffrey, that fucking psycho, comes up and starts cutting the kid with his sword. Arya hits him with a stick, Joffrey fucking loses it. I came into it when he was about to stab her. I was a moment from putting an arrow into him when Arya's wolf just fucking tackles him.

"Oh, that's right. I forgot to mention; the Stark kids found these direwolf puppies and adopted them. Five or six hundred pounds of ferocious beast when fully grown, but the wolves love the kids and are pretty tame." I saw my family's eyes light up. We were all big dog lovers. I grinned. "I can't give you direwolves when I finally figure out the transportation, but I can give you what's basically huskies enchanted to grow that big and strong."

Mom rolled her eyes at our antics. "I'm glad you haven't been wasting your time then. Just know, if you all get dogs, this won't be like last time; I won't be the one in charge of walking them."

We chuckled.

"Anyways, so Joffrey's a little mauled and crying like a brat," I continued. "I bring the kids back to camp, and the queen throws a hissy fit. Her family, the Lannisters, were a real piece of work. She ends up getting Robert to agree to have the wolf put down in some petty vengeance. I told Arya to have a trial by combat; they still did that shit there.

"Cersei, the queen, is championed by her brother, Jaime Lannister. He's part of Robert's Kingsguard, seven knights sword to have no children, inherit no land, and basically die protecting the monarch. Jaime was meant to be one of the top knights in the kingdom.

"Arya was championed by Togo, my dog. Togo had been a testbed for magical enhancements. He was about as big as a large-ish tiger at that point, and his skin and flesh was as tough as oak-wood. Togo tore Jaime's face off.

"There was a lot of bad blood between Lannisters and Starks before that, but after it got worse. There was a whole bunch of bullshit. In the end Tywin Lannister, the head of their house, sent his fucking monster after me."

I paused for a moment in the memory of that fight. "Gregor Clegane. They called him the Mountain that Rides. Dude was eight feet of rage, hatred, and murderous strength and skill. He tried to take me with forty men in an ambush."

"Holy shit. How did you survive? Did they not know about your magic?" Damien blurted out.

"Nah, I used horse archery. I was faster than them, and I just killed them all by firing arrows while running away. After, to make a point, I went back after and took their heads off. I walked into the royal feast and confronted Tywin, dumped the heads of his creatures out for all to see. We fought a duel the next morning and Tywin died."

I saw Mom about to say something, and just shook my head. "Trust me, all of this was totally necessary. And I wasn't really at that much risk, I didn't even need to use a lightning spell or anything. I was already crazy fast and strong from my magical upgrades.

"So after Tywin's dead and the Lannisters are pretty much broken, it comes out that Cersei, the queen, had been fucking Jaime. All the kids that we thought were the princes and princess were their little incest babies. When Arryn, the former Hand found out they killed him. When Bran saw them fucking, they cut his rope and threw him from the window.

"The capital was, generally, a fucking cesspit. Of the small council, basically the top ministers, three of them were traitors. One, the Grand Maester, basically the royal doctor and advisor on all things intellectual, was in the Lannister's pockets. I killed him before all of this, after he poisoned the king, who I healed. Another, Varys, their chief spy, was plotting to bring back the Targaryens from exile. He jumped a long way onto rocks rather than let me capture him. The third, Baelish, who was the Master of Coin had defrauded the government to the tune of millions of golds, threatening to send the country into economic collapse. He's still in hiding."

"How did it get so bad?" Dad asked.

I grimaced a bit. "Much as I like the man, Robert was a very disinterested king. He's a bit better now, but it was pretty bad for a while, and the corruption just built and built. Ned has it under control though. I helped him clean a lot of that shit up, got the realm out of debt by restructuring their finances, and generally kicked ass and took names."

"I'm proud of you, Bro," Damien said with a grin. "Showing those primitives what's what," he mocked.

"You kid, but basically," I admitted with an abashed smile.

"So things were stable again. Partially on my advice Robert was betrothed to Margaery Tyrell; her family controls the Reach, which is the most populous of the major provinces, and that bought their loyalty. The Vale is ruled by the Arryn family, who are loyal. Ned and Robert are best friends, which means the North is loyal. The Riverlands are ruled by the Tullys, and the two daughters of their Lord Paramount are respectively Ned's wife and Arryn's widow, so they're loyal. Robert was originally the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, and his brother still rules it.

"That left three regions that weren't too loyal, but knew better than to do anything about it. Dorne, who hate the Lannisters a lot and Robert a fair amount for some warcrimes the Lannisters committed during Robert's Rebellion. The Westerlands, ruled by the Lannisters, who weren't too happy with everything that had gone down. And the Iron Islands, populated by a bunch of would-be pirates who need smacking down once a generation or so."

"Did you have to smack them down?" Mom asked.

"No, or at least not yet," I replied. "But about two years ago Robert heard that Daenerys Targaryen, who was fifteen at the time, had just been married to Khal Drogo. Drogo was a Dothraki Khal or warlord; they're basically no different from a Mongol warlord, even more savage maybe. In return, he was meant to lend his army of forty thousand cavalry to help Daenerys' brother retake Westeros.

"Robert wanted to send assassins after Daenerys and her brother, but Ned thought that was dishonorable. I ended up going over there instead to kill Drogo and Viserys Targaryen, and see Daenerys either installed into the gathering of the widows of Dothraki khals, or returned to Westeros and Robert's keeping. I took Jon, who is both my squire and Ned's bastard, along with me, as well as Togo and Ghost, his direwolf. We rode Aethon and Shadowfax, our enchanted horses."

"I'm not sure if I'm happy about this quest," Mom objected.

"It was better than the alternative," I replied. "The Targaryens were fucking insane. Burning people alive at the slightest provocation, not cutting fingernails or hair for fear that anyone with scissors was an assassin, they just went nuts towards the end. But I'm sure there are some people who would follow them, and that would cause war. It wasn't like the Targaryens were living a nice, peaceful quiet life. They were gathering an army."

"No, I get that part," Mom agreed. "I'm not sure I'm happy you volunteered to risk yourself."

Ah, that's Mom for you. The world can burn so long as her kids are safe. I missed her so much, I thought with a fond smile.

I chuckled. "Ok, that's possible. But it got me out of wedding preparations, and I was looking for magic. I needed to accelerate my learning, to gain the skills and techniques that might eventually help me get back home. Riding across a whole other continent was part of that. And I really wasn't at risk. I don't think they had anything that could hurt me, at that point in time. I was just too much faster and stronger than they were, and could outrun anything I couldn't outfight. As proved by my killing Drogo and getting the survivors of his leadership cadre to give me Daenerys.

"After that, I brought her back to King's Landing, the capital, and got made Lord of Harrenhal for my troubles. Harrenhal was a shit-heap, the biggest fortress in all Westeros, but also cursed and half ruined in the past by dragons.

"I was finally strong enough with magic at that point to be able to beat just about everyone in a war if I needed to, so I said fuck it, and stopped hiding my magic at all. I used stone-shaping magic to rebuild the castle. Since then I've made my fief the most profitable in the entire country. I have a semi-modern metalworks, a glassworks, paper and printing factories, even an extremely profitable enchanted sword business. I started a program to spread agricultural improvements, including magically enhanced animals that I designed, and that should start showing improvements in a year or two."

Everyone looked at me with this odd expression. "So, you've basically been playing that game you like, what was it, Medieval Total War with cheat codes but in real life, huh?" Damien asked, articulating what everyone was thinking.

I laughed. "That's it exactly," I admitted. "I actually had that same thought a bunch of times."

"How many people live on your lands?" Mom asked.

"About four hundred and fifty thousand," I said. "I'm not in the top ten when it comes to population, but I am in the top twenty."

"That's big," Dad noted. "How did you end up getting given that fief?"

"Well, I did all that shit for Robert, and then the last remaining member of House Whent, the people that used to own Harrenhal died, so he gave it to me," I answered. "I've had it for almost two years now, and other than my magic it's been eating most of my time.

"Except for earlier this year when I had to go off and fight again. There's this huge, eight thousand year old wall in the North. It's seven hundred feet tall, and one of the few instances of magic that survived into the present. Imaginatively, they call it the Wall. An order of convicts and volunteers called the Night's Watch guards it, preventing Wildling savages that live north of the Wall from raiding the Stark territories. The Night's Watch has been getting smaller and smaller. After a recent disaster when they tried a reconnaissance in force beyond the Wall, they only had seven hundred people to try and defend about three hundred miles of wall.

"Even worse, the Wall wasn't built to keep out Wildlings, but to keep out these winter-fey ice demon creatures called White Walkers. The Walkers and their undead wights were driving all the Wildlings south, so the Wall was looking at an attacking force of over a hundred thousand. There was a massive mobilization, and I ended up getting sent to be Robert's Envoy until the situation was resolved."

"So what happened?" Mom asked.

"Obviously he killed the Wildlings and the ice demons, Mom," Damien answered.

"But then the corpses would get turned into wights," Ender objected.

"Why don't we just wait and hear the story?" Dad asked exasperated. "Seriously."

I chuckled. "Right. Well, we killed the Wildlings that attacked, but those that didn't and were willing to swear fealty were allowed to immigrate. I've got fifteen thousand of my magical Guard Hounds up there, each one capable of running over three hundred miles a day and easily the match for a man in plate armor. If the Wildlings try and leave their territories to raid, they get eaten."

Damien burst into laughter. I looked at him questioningly, and he shook his head. "No, no. It's just, I was so surprised that you were willing to let the savages somewhere you felt responsible for. I was surprised until you told me that you've basically prepared to wipe them out if they cause trouble."

I scratched the back of my head sheepishly. "Their culture literally makes no distinction between capturing a woman and raping her, versus making her your wife," I explained. "The ones we killed represented the warriors for something like a fifth of the population, and they were so fucking stupid and aggressive that they decided charging a seven-hundred foot tall fortress, with a single gate, was a good idea. And this is after the fortress was fully garrisoned. So, no, I do not trust the inherent goodness of a society of raping, murdering, anarchists."

Mom started laughing then. "I'm glad that you haven't changed that much, honey," she said.

I rolled my eyes. "Anyways, if everyone's done giving me shit for perfectly reasonable actions, I'll finish up. After I dealt with the crisis at the Wall, and saw to its reinforcement in the event of those Walkers trying to start a zombie apocalypse, I went back to Harrenhal, where I've been working on methods to try and teleport back home for the past year.

"I figured out a lot about teleportation. I'm pretty sure that it's impossible for me to return; I just don't have a strong enough anchor on Earth, and there are probably an infinite number of places I could end up other than Earth. But I might be able to use our shared blood to get enough of a fix on you that I can bring you to me. That's a little bit easier, magically, and it already worked well enough to get this dream space functional."

"What are the downsides if we do?" Ender asked.

"Well, much in the same way that I can't follow you home, I can't send you back either. There is some risk in the teleportation, though I'll do extensive testing before trying anything with you. Beyond that, it's basically the middle ages here. I have running water and toilets in my castle, but the rest of the world is filthy." I could see they were getting turned off by the idea, so I hurried onto the advantages.

"But, I can offer a lot of benefits if you come. I can't teach you magic, at least not yet, but I can make you into at least a top-grade superhero. Tougher than steel, strong enough to treat metal like clay, regeneration that will make you the next best thing to immortal, improved cognitive abilities, precognition, increased speed, conceptual armor against damage as strong as a heavily armored vehicle, a shield against projectiles that would need a battleship to get through, and that's just what I have working so far. Flight is pretty close to being functional, for example.

"And Mom will be happy to know that I have horses. Really awesome horses," I enticed. Mom loved to ride. "On the less personal benefits side, you can help rule my lands. I'm about to start expanding my military; I only have something like two hundred humans in it, with fifty thousand Hounds and Ravens, so if you want to be a medieval general, that's possible. After I do that, I was thinking about maybe conquering Essos. It's full of slavers, barbarians, and all-around bad guys. Even the eastern part has nine major city states; you can rule one of those if you want. Or, you can do basically anything else that you want to. So, what are you thinking?"

"I'm going," Ender declared. I was pretty shocked that he had decided so quickly. "It's easily the best shot I have at leading a full-length life," he added, clarifying his position. "You can heal basically everything, right?"

Ah. That made sense. Ender had a host of medical conditions. He was a tough kid, but he was eighteen and it was a minor miracle he'd survived high school. I nodded in answer to his question.

"Well, we might as well," Dad agreed with a shrug. "I mean, why not? We'll be immortal and powerful. The food's probably really fresh and tasty. And otherwise we won't be able to see Odysseus except for our dreams. The only problem is a lack of books, but I'll just download a few computers worth, and Odysseus can magic up a charging system for the computers and kindles and everything will be fine."

"As a note, I'm pretty sure I can find some modern Earth-equivalents, it just might take a while," I said. "So don't think you'll be devoid of entertainment forever."

"Fuck it, I'm in." Damien agreed with a shrug.

Everyone looked at Mom, who rolled her eyes and snorted. "Please. As if I wouldn't want to go wherever my kids are," she said.

"What about the rest of the family?" Ender asked.

"You can offer the option to them too," I said. "I can pull in our aunts and uncles via Mom and Dad's blood, then get their kids, then get the parents who aren't related to us."

"I doubt many of them will go for it," Mom replied. "They're all pretty invested in their communities."

"And it's a bit strange," Dad agreed. "Trust us, teleport into the great beyond, we had a dream. A bit difficult to go for."

"Alright, well I wanted to hear everything about what you're doing, but I can feel the spell slipping away," I said hurriedly. "It's pretty damned difficult to cast, so I think the next time we'll see each other is when I summon you. I'll try and do so in about two months, so you have that long to get your affairs in order. Love you guys!"

"Love you too!"

"It was great to hear from you, sweetheart," Mom said.

And then the dream broke.

It was time for me to get to work.

Figuring out how to call someone to me with just a blood link was difficult but not impossible. I had a method that worked every time I tested it within a month. I still couldn't expand it beyond immediate familial relations, but that was fine; that was enough.

That gave me a month to play around with. I decided to play around with ultra-high quality clothing for enhanced persons. Back on Earth, there are these techniques to make cloth out of very thin metal wires. I once wanted to make a steel-cloth scarf, just as something to have.

But with magic I could go further. I made the thin steel wire, then gave it the Valyrian blessing. After that, I had my tailors process it for me into sets of clothing for myself and my family.

I still had more time to spare, so I figured out how to cast a magical projection of a Valyrian sword. I called it the TK Cut. Since it relied fairly heavily on my conceptual understanding of "cutting," I suspected that in the future I would be able to develop more and more functionality for it. Cutting across space, for an instantaneous attack and teleportation. Cutting against concepts for offense and defense. Really, there were a lot of pretty cool applications even among the most obvious and off-the-cuff ideas.

Finally, it was time to bring my family over.

First, I summoned Ender. Then Dad, Damien and Mom.

I had finally done it. I had reunited with my family, and though it was unlikely I would make it back to the Earth of my birth anytime soon, I didn't care.

I was simply happy.

Chapter 38: Dreams and Reality

A word of warning on the subject of Dream magic: when it fails, you still end up with a magical dream. I saw my family, reunited with them, then I woke.

And I realized it had not been a success, that my magic had merely shown me what I wanted rather than what I intended.

There was no link. No communication. No possibility of using the dream as a focus for a summoning.

I admit, I did not take my failure well.

But when I finished tearing apart a few barren hills in the Vale, I decided I had gained something valuable. A sense of closure. I had no more avenues of investigation to find my family, no way of changing the reality of our separation. It was something I now had to accept, and I endeavored to do so.

Did I still have hope that one day I'd manage a reunion?

Of course. Hope springs eternal, after all.

But I no longer had an expectation of it. I saw it as a fruitless task to continue my directed research into magics that might accomplish a meeting. I would continue to grow in magical talent and strength, and maybe one day I would have some inspiration, find some obscure practitioner, and manage a solution. But I had no idea as to what that would be, how it might be accomplished.

Random searching was, of course, a possibility but it seemed vanishingly unlikely. As far as I could tell, travelling between different realities as I had done was not like moving between layers of a cake. It was like being a bug on a bouncy ball in a large box full of other bouncy balls that was being shaken. Each bouncy ball a reality; when two were close together, a jump was possible, but the position of the balls in relation to each other was not a constant thing.

That was why anchors were so important. I needed a marker, something to fix on with my magic, to have any hope of going to a specific location that far away; a simple vector wouldn't suffice.

Of course, as I got more powerful, I could jump further. But that meant that more and more balls, or realities, were within my range. And as time went on, my original home, my original Earth got further and further away, the probability of finding it lower and lower.

But finally, I had to accept that as reality. I couldn't go home again. At least, not without some fortuitous accident or occurrence.

Which meant I was truly stuck on Planetos.

The time for fucking about was over. If that was to be my new home, I needed to start making some changes.

I had a large number of irons in the fire, and with my increased seriousness that only grew.

Perhaps most critical were the ice zombies beyond the Wall. Luckily they seemed content to remain there, like due to my recharging the magical protections of the Wall and the fact that it was re-garrisoned by a mixture of Westeros' soldiers and the former Wildlings.

The other extinction-level threat I decided to address was the comet. It had come and passed, but it did make me worried; I had no desire to go the way of the dinosaurs. I used a slightly modified version of my shield enchantment, and applied it along lands all over my territory to create a regional anti-bombardment defense.

With the only real serious threats taken care of, I was left with more mundane concerns.

Economically, my lands were in the early stages of an aggressive Agricultural Revolution. Beyond that, I was quickly becoming a massive financial power. I had a virtual monopoly on printing, industrial metalworking, and glass-making. My more magical valyrian steel production was sucking in phenomenal amounts of money that the other noble houses had saved, while my road-seeds were transforming transportation and my multi-colored wool-sheep allowed me to corner the market on high quality fabrics.

All in all, I had more money than I knew what to do with. I started a large budget for the arts, particularly literature (I loved to read, and wanted a thriving fiction and fantasy selection for the future), as well as a fund to increase healthiness by spreading knowledge and hiring Maesters and healers, but that only accounted for a percentage of my yearly profit. My peasants, especially early adopters for my agricultural reforms, were thriving, so there wasn't any real point to decreasing taxes.

To put things in perspective, even with all of these expenses, I was running at a yearly profit of about a quarter of a million dragons. The Seven Kingdoms had a yearly profit of about three quarters of a million dragons during Summer.

I decided that it was time to reform my military. I mostly organized it along Roman lines, at least at the small-unit level. Eight men to a squad, three squads to a platoon, and three platoons plus a command section to the company gave good tactical and organizational flexibility. It let my men use a wide variety of formations built on units being divisible by three or four, and I could have mixed companies by replacing a platoon of swordsmen with pike-men. For cavalry, thirty men formed a company.

Equipment wise, the infantry were a mix of Roman-style infantry and pikemen. The Roman-style infantry were equipped with a chainmail tunic, leather lined steel helmet, shield, sword, and javelins. The pikemen also had chain and helmet, but used a long pike with a short-sword as a backup. Archers used the heavily recurved bows with a minimum draw-weight of eighty pounds, had leather armor, and backup heavy long-knives similar to a seax.

Apart from their own war-gear, the men were well (one might even argue over) laden with all the peripherals. Including a healthy amount of combat-engineering equipment, and the training to go with it. I was a fan of field-fortification doctrine; whenever possible, my men should be faster and better supplied than the enemy. That meant they should be able to pick where and when battles happened, which meant they should, whenever reasonable, be able to force the enemy to attack ground that was prepared with stakes, ditches, holes to cause tripping and the like.

The cavalry came in the variety of light and heavy. Light cavalry were armored in padded leather vests and leg-guards, and equipped with lances and swords. Doctrinally, they were intended to harass, raid, scout and chase down broken forces, but not engage directly. Heavy cavalry were mostly drawn from knights and professional mounted men-at-arms, including a healthy leavening of sell-swords and hedge-knights drawn to my land by healthy purses and the assumption of magical support in any conflict. They were armored in a mixture of mail, scale and plate, their chargers barded in padded mail as well. All horses used were Gangari guard horses, which meant the units were ridiculously quick and had effectively inexhaustible stamina.

Needless to say, this equipment was expensive. As was the men's time. Over a year's time, I trained a cadre out of my guard and some of the squires and squire candidates that had come through the Archer-program. These men then trained the first class of recruits, overseen by Jon and myself, and then a second class of recruits with some assistance from the first.

By the end of that, I had sixty companies of infantry, sixty of archers, and twenty each of light and heavy cavalry. I even had a provisional company of horse-archers made up of those who had graduated to full squire in the Archery program, with three hundred more boys and girls under training. It was about sixty thousand dragons a year to maintain the army, and had cost a full year's income to form it. That said, I hadn't had to dip into my reserves, or take a loan, or magically generate gold so it wasn't that expensive.

Of course, it wasn't complete yet. The troops were still only operating at the company level. On the one hand, that was terrible; the logistics and command for a larger force was much more complicated, and there issues with tactics, formations and movements that the officers would need to internalize to be properly effective. Beyond that, my men needed a lot more experience and a good blooding.

On the other hand, it still compared favorably to the other medieval forces. Most armies in Westeros were formed from different feudal levies. The training, equipment, unit size… nothing was uniform for those forces. At the very least, two companies of my troops were roughly equivalent, and with the initial army at least basically trained, I could move on to higher level organization.

That second year, that's what I focused on.

Six companies of infantry, or twelve of cavalry, formed a battalion, the general organization unit for my armies for pure-composition organizations. But for the most part, Westeros and Essos weren't dealing with large armies; I didn't need battalions of a single type of troop, so much as I needed regiments of combined formations that could operate semi-independently when needed.

A foot regiment included four companies of infantry, four of archers, and added a Gangari Guard Hound for every man as well as two companies of Ravens for scouting and communications. Considering a Guard Hound was easily the match for a powerful warrior, that gave a fighting strength of just under thirteen hundred men and beasts, better trained to fight as a unit and better equipped than just about any other force, and with unparalleled scouting and communications thanks to my Ravens.

Mixed regiments added four companies each of light and heavy cavalry, while the fast regiments not only included a cavalry detachment, but gave every man a horse, turning them into mounted infantry rather than simple foot-sloggers. Those units were ridiculously fast, able to make three hundred miles a day even without roads. To put that in perspective, they could advance at a rate unmatched until the modern era of warfare. And by modern, I truly mean modern. Unless a force was fully mechanized, they wouldn't be able to keep up.

Once all was said and done, I had ten regiments of foot, three mixed, and two fast for an active army of about twenty thousand, though I'd have backed them against five times their number of the typically disorganized, poorly trained, doctrinally inept local forces. And I still had some fifty companies each of Hounds and Ravens patrolling my territories, backed up with twice their number in summoned animals.

Then, at the end of those two years I had a general review of the army, and gave every man basic upgrades to physique, toughness, health, cleanliness and reaction speed. I kept the bonuses fairly minor, at least for that first time. It was a first taste, sort of like a drug. Although it improved their combat potential, that wasn't the only, or even the primary drive behind that decision.

I had decided that gold was good, but my lands would at some point enter post scarcity. I already had plans to leave the planet, ideas for magically rather than technologically driven space-craft that could serve not just as ships, but as villages, towns, even countries. Unlike on a planet, where living and construction happens a bit above and below the surface, a space ship's living space increased with every extra floor.

That meant that a four kilometer long spaceship could have a living area of about eighteen hundred square kilometers, easily enough to house and feed a metropolis of two million people. With a hundred kilometer long ship, it would have twenty eight million square kilometers of land, easily enough for a population in the billions. And that's if I built the ship with an aesthetically pleasing ratio of length to width to height based on the golden ratio, allotted five meters height per floor, and gave forty percent of the volume of the ship over to armor, weapons, and other equipment. Given the realities of my magic, I doubted that would be needed.

But if I was going in that direction, of serious expansion and a departure from the realities of Planetos' medieval economy in the long term, I needed a different type of payment. Preferably one that was highly valuable, with no real cost to myself, but that I had a natural monopoly of. Naturally, I thought of magic. My enchantments could do everything from make a man into a super-man, allow for immortality and more. While my men had been training, I had spent part of my time figuring out how to make items that could apply enchantments, and how to make enchantments have an expiry date to stop people from wanting to permanently retire once they were satisfied.

My men would not just be paid in gold, but in points. Points that allowed them to purchase further enhancements for themselves and for their loved ones. There were some restrictions, especially higher tier combat enhancements for civilians, but the program had been very well received by my soldiers. I planned on rolling the program out to the general populace in the near future, with a baseline of points available for those who maintained good behavior, paid taxes and the like. Further points could be earned by taking on more civic responsibilities, achievements in academic tests, mastery of useful skills including archery, etc.

But that was for the future. With that first crop of soldiers, I was not only prepared to defend myself, but had the military backbone necessary to start some conquering if I wanted to. The only problem was, I didn't have the administrative basis to conquer, not if I wanted to keep the locations I seized and begin the work of converting them into loyal Gangari partisans. That would take administrators and educators, neither of which I had available.

I needed a university. So I set aside a piece of undeveloped land about a dozen miles away from my castle along the bank of the God's Eye lake. On that land I raised a small university, and bordering it (leaving room for expansion) a small town. I had little desire to teach myself, and it could take years to evolve the types of thinking that I wanted naturally. I wasn't patient enough to just wait during that, and would otherwise occupy myself, but that meant it was crucial to find a good Chancellor, one who could not just inspire the students and staff, but do so on my behalf.

Luckily, I found one such man.

Looking across the table at the man interviewing for the position of my first Chancellor, I saw a fairly incongruous sight for an academic. The man was an archmaester, effectively a department head and leading scholar from the Citadel, but it would have been more believable if he were introduced as a sailor, or perhaps a bouncer.

The man was middle aged and balding, with a nose that had been broken more than once. He was short, but had that stocky, muscular build that inspired Tolkien when writing about dwarves with a chest like a barrel and large, strong hands. His skin was red, still sunburned from his most recent journeys. On the table he had placed his mask and rod, both of Valyrian steel for the study of magic.

"It's a shame, Archmaester, that you cannot help me much with my magic," I sighed.

He gave a quick snort of laughter. "My lord, I have searched for decades to find magic. And, unlike most others, I have succeeded. I daresay no other in Westeros, and very few in Essos, know more than I. But comparing those magics to you… It's like comparing a candle to the sun." There was a gleam of fanaticism in his eyes, a near-religious ecstasy brought about by the culmination and validation of his life's obsession.

"Yet even a candle is useful," I noted.

He grinned. "That's right. And even if I can't help much in teaching you, or studying the magic itself, I've found more experience and knowledge during my searching and travels than most. You won't find any more interested or more learned than I for your place of learning. And even if I have to wait a decade, or three, I suspect I'll learn more of magic with you than I ever could otherwise."

I nodded decisively. "Then, Chancellor, the position is yours," I said. Then I grinned. "And don't worry, Marwyn. I've started a program in my territory where those who serve me can earn points and redeem them with magical enhancements. Your position will afford you more than enough not to worry about age."

His brows rose. "Truly?"

I just smiled and nodded slowly.

He shook his head incredulously. "Your abilities seem somewhat more akin to the gods than otherwise," he marveled. "Luckily, I have seen no evidence that the gods, at least the Seven, are at all active, and for the others I have never seen more power than could be ascribed to a practitioner among their priests."

"Well, with that, let's start talking specifics. I'd like you to focus on useful skills to improve industry, the understanding of the natural sciences including mathematics, physics, chemistry, biology, etc. Of course, any developments in understanding magic or alchemy are interesting as well. But most importantly, I need loyal administrators. I am transitioning my lands from feudal leadership to a more bureaucratic state with myself as the undisputed leader who gives direction and guidance for progress. I also want teachers to be trained who can go out into my lands and help educate the more intelligent among the small-folk. And in the future, I intend to expand. To claim the lands beyond the Wall, perhaps, and to do away with the practice of slavery."

His eyebrows rose. "Ambitious, my Lord. And what is the timeframe for this?" he asked cautiously.

I smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, Chancellor. I won't ask the impossible. If it takes a decade, I can find other things to occupy myself with until then."

He looked relieved. "Very good. What about budget, and facilities?"

"For facilities, I have already established a small town and buildings for the university about a dozen miles west of Harrenhal. There is space sufficient for sixty professors or lecturers, and twelve hundred students, and room for expansion as needed. I have allotted fifty thousand dragons a year to the budget. At least initially, students may attend on credit, even given an allowance, with the provision that afterwards they enter into my service for a term of no less than ten years."

He boggled at the amount of gold I assigned. "Fifty thousand a year!" he gasped.

I smiled. "You don't have to spend it all," I noted. "But, yes."

"With that much, in a decade or two we'll be doing a better job at education than the Citadel," he promised. "Can I hire from outside of the Maesters? Outside of Westeros?"

"So long as it will help you provide results, you may hire from whomever you like," I replied. "Buy slaves, if you think they're clever enough, so long as they are freed and given the chance to leave for elsewhere. I want able, learned, and most importantly loyal men and women. And if you need more gold than that, we can discuss it."

"It may be a year before we can properly start," he warned. "I'll need to go and chase down some of the men I've met, and send letters to others."

"That's fine. I'll assign four of my Paragons to your protection, and gift you with some enhancements, if that is acceptable."

"Paragons?" he asked.

"My personal bodyguard," I explained then began to boast of their abilities. "Each one was an elite swordsman before being further enhanced to the utmost of my ability. They are strong enough to smash through stone, fast enough to cut arrows out of the air, tough enough that their flesh can turn blades and axes, immune to every toxin I've been able to test, and with enough endurance to fight for a week without sleep. Each is accompanied by a dog as large as Togo," I motioned towards my pony-sized companion who lay next to me, "which is as tough, strong, and fast as they are. They also have a pair of similarly enhanced ravens which are both intelligent and capable of speech, and a horse capable of running a hundred miles in an hour. They and their mounts are armed and armored with Valyrian steel. Suffice to say, you will be safe."

And he would be. The Paragons were all created by mana, copied off of Ser Barristan the Bold's template. Then, after the first four were sufficiently different, I took a template of them, and made sixteen more. Recently those twenty had all diverged sufficiently to make another copy, bringing my guard up to eighty men. Each had been as skilled and strong as Barristan to begin with. Then I de-aged them, and upgraded them with all of the latest magic, to the point that they could beat Captain America as easily as a professional boxer could beat a fifth grader. Finally I finished it off with the best equipment I could manage, and supported them with copies of Aethon, Togo, Hue and Mu.

The zenith of skill, magical enhancement, equipment and (like all of the summoned) a fanatical degree of loyalty combined to make each of my Paragons a one-man army. Literally. Between a modern tank battalion and one of my Paragons, I'd be betting on the man in armor with a sword. Watching them spar was like watching an anime as they blurred about the place hacking and slashing.

Having eighty of them was, honestly, somewhat excessive. I was frequently sending them on tasks that were, frankly, beneath their capability. I didn't want to be taking any risks with my life though, and for occasions like this they were useful. Both as a surety and token of my esteem, and a quiet demonstration of the reach of my power.

Marwyn bent his head. "Thank you, my Lord. Both for the protection, and for this opportunity."

"No, Chancellor Marwyn, thank you. I believe we will accomplish great things together," I replied.

Chapter 39: The First Step

With the University taken care of, I was at something of a loss with regards to my projects.

Really, that was an advantage of running a feudal fiefdom; so long as there wasn't some serious issue, a lot of the lower level management just happened, and I got taxes. As for the things that were my problems, well, those were all running very smoothly.

My Ravens and Hounds had reduced crime and corruption to practically zero, and any violations were recorded, tabulated, and forwarded for my rubber-stamping by my legions of feathery, furry justice. My peasants pretty much had to try to starve given the recent explosion in agricultural productivity from better grain and farming, and all the micro-loans I'd made available to buy new and improved animals. There were hundreds of maesters and healers to protect against illness and injury. Business was booming. And any of my neighbors would have to have been idiots to pick a fight with me; I was not only a KYAG (Kiss-Your-Ass-Goodbye) level sorcerer, but I was also the King's favorite. Plus I had probably the best army in Westeros under my banners.

Suffice to say things were going pretty well. But I had a lot of time on my hands. There were two possible projects I had scheduled. My dragons, which I had yet to hatch, and beginning to explore other planes. I decided to go for the exploration, mostly because I'd had enough of Westeros. As awesome as having dragons would be, it was sort of like having a child – a massive responsibility. To steal an RSPCA slogan, dragons are for life, not for Christmas.

I wanted a vacation though, not a new magical pet (no matter how awesome it would be). So I started Sending out pairs of summoned Ravens to scout planes that I found nearby. Unfortunately the active communications link didn't work over the inter-planar distances, but I could still Call one of the Ravens and then review its memories. The second Raven provided a beacon I could teleport myself to if the world proved interesting.

It didn't take long for me to find a world that was basically science-fiction, with hovercars and spacecraft. It was a fairly green, unpolluted world, with a lot of swampland and water coverage. The people seemed happy and healthy, the government unobtrusive – really, things seemed almost worryingly paradisiacal.

The locals called it Naboo.

I had my vacation spot.

I had to make some last preparations before leaving. Jon was used to being put in charge of things, and was already my military commander. He had done well during the war games, was a knight, the bastard son of the Hand, and I trusted him; in short, he was the perfect candidate to be my right hand. But this time, he wasn't staying back. I was going on vacation, but that's always more fun when there's a friend to share in the adventure.

Instead, I was leaving Nevermore in charge. He was my normal diplomatic envoy, messenger, and voice; people were used to assuming that I was speaking through the bird, and he was clever enough to keep up that pretense. Not to mention as my Director of Intelligence, Nevermore did more to run things than I did. I'd check messages from him via Raven a few times a day in case of emergencies, but I wasn't anticipating any issues.

Before I left though it was time to improve my enhancements. I had grown massively in mana stores over the years, with about sixteen times as much mana capacity as I had had last time I upgraded. I was reaching the stage of being inhuman rather than superhuman though; issues with the passing of time when using an accelerated mental state and the like could make the experience of having superpowers uncomfortable, so I was also adding in an adaptive scaler. I'd be able to feel like I was fully committed in a physical endeavor with a more human-level partner, but all of the power would still be waiting for when I called on it.

As per usual, I started with improving my mana senses and thought acceleration. I moved onto precognition, which had boosted enough that I could use it to simulate other potential mental states by precognitively predicting them in real time. That stacked further with actual mental partitions that I could run via my improved cognition and thought acceleration. When I chose to devote true focus to an issue, I was as much a mentat, a human supercomputer, as I was an ordinarily (highly) intelligent person.

It was just a shame that I mostly thought faster, clearer, and more, as opposed to more creatively or better. Improving baseline thought metrics was something I had shied away with for fear I'd do myself some damage.

With that done, I updated my mental ward to be as effective and powerful as possible, and improved the finesse and reaction time of the spell that was meant to rescue me from hostile magics which were able to shunt me into some hostile dimension or location.

Next I turned to my Green based boosts of Physique, Oakflesh, Regeneration and Dragon-Bones. By the end of the upgrade cycle, I was a the point that my unrestricted full strength made steel feel as weak as jello. My flesh when attacked was ridiculously hard, not quite as much as diamond perhaps but close, while still maintaining the toughness and ductility that you get out of steel. It behaved strangely as well, soft and supple until stressed. The speed and completeness of regeneration was approaching that of Wolverine or Deadpool from the comics. Meanwhile my skeletal system was effectively a magical superconductor and supercapacitor, while beyond any natural material in strength and toughness. Even without the magic active, I was twice as strong and fast as a professional athlete. With it active, I was well within super-hero range.

The Red upgrades gave me the instant reaction speed to take full advantage of my improved physical potential. Beyond that I could hasten, breaking free of the constraints of time to the extent of near instantaneous movement of limbs, seeming to teleport short distances when seen by an outside observer. I estimated my fire-proofing at four thousand degrees Celsius, hotter than molten tungsten or boiling uranium. When I allowed my blows to have the full increased impact, they hit more like artillery shells.

White's defensive upgrades increased as well. My stored heal, when tested on some Science! animals, proved capable of healing from two vaporizations. The shield spell was improved both in strength of each individual shell, as well as the number of shell layers to the point that I doubted a modern military could defeat it. I suspected a spaceship's armament might still be able to though. The conceptual armor that lay underneath was, as far as I could tell, equivalent to the more armored section of a battleship, or perhaps a reinforced bunker. My anti-undead aura would likely destroy any zombie before it got within striking range, and my defense against being exiled was further reinforced.

From Black, I improved my defense against disease and toxin. I doubted that even a magically enhanced disease or poison designed to harm me specifically would be effective for long. The improved ability to consume meant that I stripped anything organic that I ate for all of its possible benefits, whether nutrition, energy, essence, or even natural benefits from different types of biological mechanism.

The highly efficient strength of a chimp, speed of a cheetah, eyesight of a hawk, reaction time of a spider… all of these were mine naturally as I stripped the food for its benefits and incorporated it into myself. Soon I would be able to do similar to concepts, eventually even to inorganic materials. Similar to the protagonist of RE: Monster, I would be able to gain the conceptual advantages of everything. I was looking forward to it greatly.

With myself upgraded, and similar upgrades pushed out to Jon, our animals, and my Paragons, we were finally ready.

I Walked to Naboo's main spaceport in their capital, Theed. Walking is… indescribable. There literally aren't words in the human language for it.

Mechanically, I think of it as moving in the direction of not, passing through the interplanar chaos, and then coming out the other side into some local reality. It's sort of like being on a soap-bubble, with lots of other soap bubbles all occupying the same space but shifted just out of phase so that they normally don't interact with each other. Any soap bubble, or plane, that happens to have part of the soap, rather than the air it contains, in contact with my own part of the soap is close enough to easily reach. The further the soap surface is though, the harder it is to reach without a beacon to jump to.

But that doesn't express the sheer awful, terrible, majestic wonder of passing through the space between. A thousand times more hypnotic than watching a dancing fire, more visually impressive than watching an exploding volcano, more pressing down on the sense of self than zooming out and seeing the earth in relation to the galaxy for the first time in a planetarium.

And then I was back in reality.

What a trip.

I pulled Jon to my side. He was pale, sweating, wide eyed.

"Are you alright, Jon?" I asked. No reply. "Jon!" I barked out, startling him from his daze.

"Bloody fucking hell," he muttered. "What… No, I don't want to know. Just, lets avoid doing that as much as possible, alright?"

I laughed.

He scowled. "It's not funny."

I just laughed harder at his grim, stony visage.

"What in the Gods' name is so funny?" he burst out.

I was in stitches at this point. "It's just," I gasped, "it's just your face. You look just like a young Ned, when he's scolding Robert! It's too funny!"

His eyes widened in horror. "No. No! I refuse. I will not spend an eternity being your responsible adult, Odysseus."

I just laughed harder. "It's too late! You're doomed already."

As this was going on, we were walking into one of the customs offices arranged around the spaceport. The customs officer we approached just looked at us and shook her head at our antics.

At first I'd been worried about how to infiltrate Naboo, but the scouting from my Ravens showed that to be unnecessary. One of the Ravens had daringly flown into the customs and immigration hall, then spent days perched unmoving on the wall. Humans don't tend to notice things like that, and it was days before the Raven was detected. Afterwards, the person who did so assumed that someone was playing a subtle prank, and left it unbothered, too happy to be in on the joke to risk disrupting it.

Security wise, Naboo was a joke. But it made sense. The Galactic Republic that it belonged to was huge. Naboo itself was the capital world of its sector, Chommell, which included over forty thousand systems with some sort of sentient presence, even if it was just a prospector who was mining unclaimed asteroids. More heavily colonized over the past thousand years, the sector had a relatively low population of about fifty billion. The Republic had over a thousand sectors, and at least a hundred trillion citizens.

Keeping track of that many people was next to impossible without being a complete technological police state; the Republic was somewhere in between the EU and the UN for its collective influence and effectiveness, and couldn't manage that.

Beyond that, there really wasn't much of a reason for Naboo to have strict policies for visitors. Terrorism wasn't really a thing. Naboo had extensive welfare for its citizens. As long as a visitor wasn't trying to get welfare benefits, and didn't commit a criminal act, they were happy for people to be there. Even then, it was relatively easy to immigrate, especially if you were willing to get an education and join the workforce. And if you were a criminal, Naboo's philosophy was that you'd eventually be caught and dealt with then; that was, after all, the purpose of the security forces. I assumed there were automated face-readers, or the like, to catch those who had been banned from Naboo, but visible security was very light.

The world had less than a billion human permanent residents, and reminded me quite of bit of a very cultured, architecturally beautiful New Zealand. Philosophy, art, and architecture were some of the most common fields of work – note, I don't say employmentbecause many of the people doing so lived purely off of the state's money. Luckily for Naboo, they had vast reserves of high quality plasma. Like Saudi Arabia with its oil, they got a lot of money from the Trade Federation. But there was still work to do, a populace that didn't see much need for it, and a lot of spare land, so immigration was easy.

Thus, customs officers on Naboo were as much greeters, facilitators, and tourism bureau as they were actual law enforcement officers.

"Good morning," the customs officer greeted us perkily. She was wearing a neat uniform in friendly, pastel colors. "How are you today?"

"Very well, thank you," I replied with a grin. "Happy to be on your beautiful planet." It always pays to be polite and friendly in these situations.

"Yes, Naboo is a lovely place. May I ask what brings you to Naboo?"

"My friend Jon and I are planning on doing some independent study, then perhaps study at one of the universities."

"Oh, that's great!" she replied. "Let me give you these pamphlets about free educational resources, higher education on Naboo, and the work scholarship program. The work scholarship program allows just about anyone to study for free; they even pay you a stipend. After you graduate, you owe a year of work per year of education. You do get paid for that work, pretty well actually, and afterwards its very easy to get Nabooian citizenship. I did the program myself, and its just been fantastic!"

This is what I meant by their customs process being easy.

"Now, if you can just place your bags on the scanner. It automatically checks for any restricted chemicals and biologicals; we don't want to ruin the environment, after all!" she chirped. "Did you have any other luggage, by the way? I noticed you each only have a carry-on."

I grimaced in mock pain. "Unfortunately, we lost it halfway through the trip. We'll need to replace most of our clothing and toiletries."

"Oh, that's terrible!" she gasped. The scanner turned green. "Well, it looks like everything's good. You can use the information terminals to show a map to the spaceport's shopping centers. There are also money changers in case you need to exchange currencies. I hope you have a nice day, and welcome to Naboo!"

"Thank you, you too," I replied. And that was it. We were through.

Chapter 40: Hotel Naboo

After going through customs, I changed a number of Peggats, a gold-based currency used in Hutt Space, into Galactic Credits. I'd sent a summoned pickpocket over earlier to acquire a sample to copy; unlike the crypto-currency credit, the Peggats were something I could simply magic up. I had no doubt that after changing a literal bag-full of Peggats that I was on a watchlist – it was worth more than one and a quarter million credits after all, and was shady as fuck.

Still legal though, so that was nice.

With a nice, fat bank account, Jon and I checked into arguably the best hotel in Theed, the Solleu Gardens. Jon wasn't a fan of the flight over, at least until he got used to being in an air-car, but for me it was the culmination of all too many sci-fi dreams. The hotel itself was beautiful, the beds comfortable, the furnishings palatial. But Harrenhal was no slouch after I got done with its renovations, I had built some of the finest baths imaginable with my magic, and after improving my body so much, beds didn't matter as much.

No, the really good thing about the hotel was the food. Don't get me wrong; with my improved ingredients, Harrenhal had the best steaks, roasts, smoked meats and fish, excellent cheese and amazing fresh fruit and vegetables. But my cooks made medieval food; they did it well, but it got a bit boring. At the Solleu Gardens' restaurants, a whole Galaxy of haute cuisine was available, from examples of the finest, cleanest tastes, to the most complicated molecular gastronomy and everything in between.

Jon and I shopped from the hotel's stores, purchasing full wardrobes in the local fashion as well as the most cutting-edge electronics, blowing a small fortune on things that we probably didn't need. I was just so happy to be somewhere modern. Well, in this case futuristic, but that just made it better. Television, movies, books… I was going to be alive for a very long time, and while I was having a blast playing Medieval Magician over on Westeros, I could do with a bit of a break.

But there was something about all this that was bothering me.

Something that seemed familiar. The alphabet they used, how the droids looked, the way certain words translated.

That night, reading through the galactic version of Wikipedia, I realized what it was.

I was in Star Wars.

Everyone back on Earth knew about Star Wars, had watched in the original trilogy as the amnesiac Revan defeated his treacherous former subordinate Malak before shacking up with Bastila. And most people had seen the prequel trilogy, where Revan fought the Mandalorians before falling to the dark side. I'd heard that there was a sequel trilogy in the works, but that wasn't released by the time I'd ended up on Planetos.

The big problem with this being Star Wars?

The fuck-off levels of firepower. Planets were sort of like Pringles; no one stopped after eating just one. Between Force users like Nihilus who were capable of literally consuming all the life on a planet, superweapons that could do weird things to local physics or cause suns to go supernova, and just plain old orbital bombardment, Star Wars was hardly a safe setting to be in.

Luckily, it seemed that the events that I knew about had happened around four thousand years ago. Ever since the last dust-up between the Jedi and Sith was resolved nearly a thousand years prior to my arrival with the "total and complete destruction of the Sith," (something I didn't believe for a second) the Galactic Republic had been fairly peaceful.

I wanted to jump back to Westeros until I was laser-proof and could tank hundreds of megaton-range blaster impacts.

Except.

Except I couldn't.

It wasn't that my access to my mana was limited, thank all that's holy. No, it was more that I was too heavy, metaphysically, to do so. I could still Summon copies, Call and Send originals, but all of those operations were sort of like sending someone down a zipline over a ravine. It was just that the zipline was attached to the massive mass of lands I had bound on Westeros, and on Naboo it was attached to me. Until I'd bound enough mana, I wasn't sure what would happen if I tried to cross back. Just that it wouldn't be good, and would likely damage me, or my lands, or my bonds. I might end up somewhere else entirely, somewhere not as conducive to life.

So for now, I was trapped.

Which meant it was time to get serious about my safety.

Luckily, Naboo seemed like a reasonably safe place to be. The military, consisting primarily of a small but elite Starfighter corps, was strong enough to dissuade pirates and the like, while weak enough that any real invasion could roll them over. As a sector capital, anyone wanting to invade and conquer was likely to actually conquer rather than make an example of Naboo, because otherwise they'd be left administrating a sector where they'd just blown up all the administrative records (not a smart idea). And while Naboo didsupply a large amount of plasma, it wasn't the kind of industrial giant that would make it an attractive target for spoiling raids, nor would these hypothetical raids have to cause widespread damage other than to the plasma refineries.

Further, one of the largest Trade Federation bases was basically next door in the Enarc system. They were effectively an East India Company analog within the Galactic Republic, exploiting the Outer Rim and making phenomenal profits doing so. Last year the Trade Federation managed to get significant concessions on the level of armament on their vessels, giving a further boost to their company's armed forces. I doubted they'd let anyone interfere with their plasma supply.

That wasn't to say things were perfect. Naboo had recently elected a teenager as their queen, and her policy of renegotiating their deal with the Trade Federation to get better payment for Naboo's plasma seemed somewhat naïve in outlook.

Did the original deal suck? Yes, definitely.

There was a loophole that allowed the Federation to purchase significantly more plasma than expected, then sell the surplus on to other entities at a multiple times markup. Rather than causing Naboo to become a center of industry and a crossroads of trade, the planet was making only a modest fortune supplying top quality plasma at cut-rate prices.

But was this Queen Amidala likely to be able to renegotiate a fair deal?

Sort-of. Honestly, the TF was a company, and profit driven. The ridiculously uneven deal was likely to be renegotiated, because the alternative risk of a breakdown of plasma supply was too dangerous for their shipping. But Amidala's belief in a totally "fair" deal was unlikely. In the decades between making the deal and when I arrived, Naboo had grown used to Trade Federation goods, and Trade Federation droid labor. This dependency had extended to Naboo's agricultural sector which I found particularly foolish.

There was an interdependency, and Amidala's people were pampered, sophisticated artists at heart. They weren't like the Russians, willing to freeze and starve, fight and die for national pride. Nabooians were barely willing to work at all, let alone make a real sacrifice. But that just meant that the Trade Federation had a stronger negotiating stance; the political fallout, including in other sectors, of being too strong-handed should keep the Trade Federation from being too dirty in their tactics.

However, there were some disquieting signs. Within the Federation there seemed to have been a quiet coup last year. Though they were blaming terrorists for wiping out the non-Neimoidian representatives, a few hours of research showed a quick and decisive consolidation of power in Neimoidian hands in the following days. Beyond that, the same bill that saw the TF gain the right to arm their ships more heavily removed some of the reduced taxation and tariff-free import rights that the Federation took advantage of.

Honestly, those allowances should have been eliminated centuries ago; they were introduced initially to motivate industrial development and trade route establishment in the Outer Rim. But those days, when the Outer Rim was effectively undeveloped, were long past and the TF's trade concessions were giving them an unfair advantage against other companies, stifling growth in the inner systems. At the same time, it allowed the TF to fully leverage their greater development, preventing locals in the Outer Rim from making use of tax and duties laws that favored local (for a given definition of "local" at least) industry to have domestic growth.

The TF was still pissed off about it, of course, no matter that the newer laws were fairer. But there wasn't much they could do. The Republic may have lacked much of a military (the morons), and crime may have been on the rise, but the powerful Core and Inner-Rim sectors that formed the swampiest part of the Galactic government weren't vulnerable to even so powerful a company as the Trade Federation. Nor was Naboo – a peaceful, prosperous world in a peaceful, prosperous sector – threatened by the gradual slide of the furthest reaches into barbarism.

The Republic may have been on the wane, potentially even sliding into its twilight years much the way that Rome once did, but I estimated Naboo would be insulated from the impact of such for many a decade yet.

I was glad Jon and I didn't have to leave the planet; I liked it there.

It did however mean I needed to get a home, and get cracking on just-in-case preparations.

The first step in getting ready for what the Star Wars galaxy could throw at me was getting access to truly fuck-off levels of money. I had a million credits and change which was, admittedly, a lot. Credits had about ten times the purchasing power of a dollar, after all. But I wanted to buy and fortify an estate, hire enough starship designers to make full use of my magical abilities to redesign a small ship into something capable of taking on capital ships, and generally live in luxury.

Peggats weren't going to cut it.

Looking up valuables on the datanet, I found a few likely materials. Nova crystals, rare but highly reactive when non-stabilized, were used in some electronics and weapons systems, and worth about fifty credits a gram. Crystalline vertex, even rarer, was used by the Corporate Sector to back their currency and worth between ten and fifty thousand credits a gram depending on quality and color. Most valuable was Aurodium, typically seen in small quantities on the rarest and most expensive jewelry, at over a half-million credits per gram.

I was able to get the pattern for all three at various jewlers, and soon enough I traded twenty kilos of crystalline vertex for a half billion Republic credits with the local banks. With that, I was in business.

I purchased a large estate, and brought over two dozen Paragons to run site and personal security. I had three different security companies install shields, independent power sources and datanet connections, and defensive systems. One of those security companies was from Eriadu, a major planet a few sectors away. A local luxury audio-visual company put in better-than-cinema sound, flat-vid and holographic entertainment systems.

These installations were then checked over by at least a half-dozen droids, three purchased with each from different suppliers, and three summoned copies of those droids. Both the hardware and the software was examined. More teams of droids swept the property for bugs – to my surprise, none were found. I guessed others assumed me paranoid enough to check, or there weren't any local spy-masters who felt me important enough to watch – at least not yet.

Jon was impressed and horrified at the level of paranoia. Then I showed him videos of orbital bombardment, and he was just thankful.

While my new home was being set up, I headhunted an engineer for my starship project. I ended up hiring a young woman called Sola Miran, a twenty nine year old weapons system designer who had worked for Theed Palace Space Vessel Engineering Corps. TPSVEC was a specialist designer which made ships for the Naboo government, including the Royal Yacht, and the N-1 Starfighter. Unfortunately they didn't intend to make any new armed ships for a while, and so Sola was left mostly adrift with her work.

Intelligent, somewhat obsessed with weaponry, and socially oblivious she jumped at the possibility of managing a refit and upgrade with an unlimited budget. I had her sign a magical secrecy contract, then demonstrated my ability to enchant metals. I'm fairly sure she'd have married me if I'd asked.

On her advice, I ended up ordering a Corellian Engineering PB-950 patrol boat. Thirty seven meters long, twenty three wide and fourteen tall, the stock ship was relatively heavily armed with a quad-laser cannon, a pair of medium ion cannons and a concussion missile launcher. It had space for four crew and eight passengers, as well as up to a hundred and eighty tons of cargo on top of three months consumables. Double hulled and armored, the ship had good odds of surviving hits that penetrated through the shields. Contrary to its stocky, blocky appearance, the designers focused on speed, and it came stock with a class 1.0 hyperdrive.

The ship was pretty old, having seen at least three centuries since the first left dock, but that just meant that there were a lot of variations you could purchase. Corellian Engineering focused on having modular designs, which meant they could provide customized ships without long wait times.

I went in for what was basically the "very paranoid tycoon" model. It combined luxurious interior furnishings, a larger, better equipped kitchen, and top of the line entertainment system with more expensive, higher-functioning armor, improved sensors and communications gear, and a power-plant nearly three times as powerful and twenty times as expensive to supply the improved shield generator and sublight engines.

Of course, there was a cost to this; the supplies space was halved, and between one room with a king sized bed and another with a bunkbed there was only space for up to four passengers (and that if two were sleeping together). Not to mention the monetary cost; for the same price, I could have purchased a brand new CR90. But the patrol boat was much less assuming, practically ubiquitous, and a fraction of the size. For my travelling and emergency-evacuating vessel, it was perfect.

Naboo had strict environmental controls, and manufactory licenses were difficult to acquire, so I had to buy a defunct factory that was mostly driven out of business by cheap imports. While the ship was being finished and delivered, Sola was busy getting a research agreement with TPSVEC that would classify my ship as a "research prototype" and give an allowance from Naboo's weapons control laws.

With that in place, Sola starting seeing how quickly she could burn through my money, buying an absolutely cutting-edge high accuracy manufacturing system, droid workforce, top-quality materials and specialty parts. I fully expected my spaceship to go through a number of refinement and optimization cycles, transitioning from mostly off-the-shelf products that I improved, to products designedwith my potential magics in mind, to a ship that incorporated specially designed and optimized magics in critical components. Eventually, it would be a perfect fusion of techno-magical badassery.

I couldn't wait.

Then my home was finally ready for me to move in. I magicked the place to hell and back. First I filled the walls and floor with enchanted steel which embedded into the bedrock, itself transformed into a solid slab of stone. A massive projectile ward was established that covered the house itself, while more were anchored to the grounds. Conceptual defensive enchantments were laid on the buildings. After initial tests showed improved performance, the power plants and shield generators were enchanted with White to improve their defense, Blue to improve their function, and Red to improve their power, while all but the outer-ring of weapons systems were enchanted with Blue to help their targeting, Red to improve their damage and power, and White to improve their cooling. Those initial enchantments were hilariously primitive and inefficient, but still made the equipment function significantly better.

Between that and two-score Paragons with their animal companions, I felt reasonably secure. At the very least, I'd be able to escape to one of the lands I had claimed on the other side of the planet. And after my personal yacht was upgraded, I'd have Sola work on designing some ground to space installations.

After all, I was excited to be in the Star Wars universe, but totally unwilling for it to become my burial place.

With my immediate security taken care of, I copied some of the best chefs from a cooking competition that was open to the public, and was finally ready to sit back and enjoy having access to the full breadth of games, shows, films, and books that a galaxy-spanning leisurely society could produce.

Just as soon as I built a spell to perfectly reflect lasers…

I was probably being overcautious, but over eternity even small risks add up.

Chapter 41: Safety and Sloth

Star Wars had a wide variety of weaponry available. Everything from chemically driven bullets, through coilguns, railguns, lasers, blasters and various missiles. Of particular note were blasters, because I wasn't particularly familiar with them. Blasters shot a (sometimes charged) plasma or particle. Some, designed to work only in space, were really more properly plasma-pumped particle cannons. Others, designed to work in atmosphere and in space, used electromagnetic fields to maintain bolts of concentrated plasma until it hit the target.

The reason that blasters were popular was fairly simple; they could defeat advanced materials. No matter how good your gun design, there was the simple reality that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Recoil, in other words, was a bitch. As better materials became available and body armor improved, it became more and more difficult for first chemical, then even hypervelocity electromagnetically driven slugs to penetrate body armor.

While grenades were effective, especially those with more exotic payloads, they were also expensive – especially those with more exotic payloads – and the bulkiness of the ammunition limited the user to tens or dozens of rounds instead of the thousands that military planners became used to when using electromagnetic slug-throwers.

Enter the blaster. With a blaster, it isn't the bolt's momentum that causes damage, but the extremely exothermic, explosive interaction that the plasma in the bolt imparts when it impacts the target and loses containment. Although prohibitively expensive and short ranged (due to poor containment degrading during bolt-flight) at first, over thousands of years technology continued to improve, increasing performance and decreasing cost until the blaster became the weapon-of-choice galaxy-wide. And with high density energy storage mediums, a blaster could fire dozens of times with a single charge pack.

That said, blasters were not created equal. Some, commonly used by civilians expecting only to deal with other unarmored civilian threats, were effectively semi-auto tasers. Others were really not much better than a modern pistol. Their shots would often dissipate due to containment failure within twenty to forty meters, sharply limiting their range (though admittedly that was the maximum accurate range for most inexperienced shots). Damage wise they caused some pretty nasty wounds, but typically cauterized to the point that prompt medical treatment could save a victim. Those were effectively the "hi-point firearm" of the blaster market. Cheap, shitty, but pretty robust and fine for emergency self-defense. You could buy one just about anywhere.

In the middle quality offerings, you had blasters that were better optimized for specific purposes but were still lacking in some way. A lot of military blaster carbines were like this, for example. Designed for shipboard or urban combat, their containment typically started to fail at anywhere from sixty to a hundred meters depending on the model. They might have high rates of fire but weak bolts, good for fighting waves of unarmored targets, or lower rates of fire but heavier bolts designed to smash through higher quality body armor or light vehicles.

Some blasters came with stun functions, great for police work. Recoil correction, shot correction computers, variable yield bolts, high speed bolts, purposefully weak containment to cause more explosion, purposefully strong containment to cause more penetration, and on and on and on. All of these were options, and many added to the expense.

To put it in perspective, a cheap but serviceable civilian model might have started at fifty credits. Standard military blaster rifles went for a thousand plus, and that's before adding on scopes and other after-market options. That was equivalent to a ten thousand dollar gun, enough to buy twenty assault rifles on Earth. A high quality, long range blaster rifle with scopes might start at two thousand credits. Still well within my price range, though unfortunately illegal for private ownership on Naboo.

Thankfully Sola's research license covered "blaster technology," and after she recruited a friend of hers who worked in small-arms research we were able to navigate the procurement process and get a wide selection of infantry weapons. The Paragons, Jon and I played what I like to think of as "full contact laser tag" in a series of underground battlegrounds I had excavated with my magic.

Luckily for me and my shield spell, the typical "heavy" blaster hit with about a hand-grenade's worth of energy. My shields could tank that pretty easily. Even a military-grade anti-armor blaster rifle, the Star Wars equivalent to a modern anti-material fifty-cal, came in at a damage level that was well within what my shields could deal with.

Starship grade weaponry was a different matter. Shields on spacecraft were designed to stop meteorites as well as enemy attacks. A basketball sized meteorite travelling at ten percent the speed of light had an energy of over six megatons of TNT. Granted, that's a large meteorite (easily picked up on sensors), and travelling extremely fast, but it illustrates a point. Military grade starship blasters were designed to overcome not just the sort of shield used against space debris, but other military grade defenses (plus the armor beneath), and typically hit with kilotons of energy. So it was even better for me, that my shields tended to treat a contained bolt as "one attack".

Unfortunately, my shields did not treat a sing beam, whether of laser or particles, as one attack. Rather, they wore down successive layers of shield until they penetrated. However, there was one bit of good news; particle-beam style blasters were shit in atmosphere. Pretty much useless, actually. Without the containment, they pretty much instantly interacted with the atmospheric gasses, caused a thermal bloom, and dissipated the energy. They didn't even really heat the ground way below; considering that Texas got around 700 terawatts of sunlight at noon, or about a hundred and sixty kilotons of TNT worth every second, it was easy to understand why a spaceship's blaster beams were ineffective.

Beam technology blasters were used in spaceships because the beam-type blasters could get faster travel speeds, which meant increased ranges. Though, to be fair, most larger ships did also have some containment-tech blasters which tended to hit harder though at lower range, sort of like a carronade from the age sail versus a canon. These blasters were intended for close in slugging matches, but also worked for planetary bombardment.

Lasers were uncommon for hand-weapons. The typical technology used was excited-plasma pumped lasers. Modern Earth had the idea for these, using nuclear bombs or reactors to pump lasers that could intercept missiles or aircraft. With better materials, energy storage, and blaster technology it was possible to miniaturize it enough to be a (particularly bulky) infantry weapon; there just didn't seem to be much of a point, save for some extremely expensive, finicky, ultra-long-range sniper rifles for assassinations but those were as much myth as reality, like ice-bullets back on Earth.

But on the larger scale, these laser weapons were great. Space-combat, unlike ground combat, tends to start at extreme range. The cross section of the enemy, their acceleration and thus dodging, your weapon's accuracy, targeting, fire rate, and often most importantly your weapon's speed all determine how far away you can engage.

There were a lot of weapons designers trying to eke out that bit of extra speed or power in their blasters. Some even used lasers to do so, which led to the term "laser-enhanced blaster cannon," often (and confusingly) shortened to simple "laser-cannon." But ultimately, nothing was faster than light, and so true laser weaponry became a mainstay of space combat.

Unfortunately, lasers were also relatively easy to protect against. Reflective chaff countermeasures, layers of heat-absorbing liquid that would boil and expand into clouds that further reduced the laser's intensity, and some layers of highly reflective heat-resistant materials mixed into the hull armor were all highly effective at protecting against lasers. These counter-measures could get pricy, but were common on larger dedicated warships. Meanwhile, lasers hit a relatively small area with further limited their damage and would often miss more important components, or fail to penetrate to those hidden on the inner layers of large ships.

To make things worse, the energy efficiency of lasers was low on the weapon side compared to blasters. Energy efficiency was one of the most important factors in space combat. Ships couldn't get rid of heat quickly enough. At rest, a ship could bleed heat via black body radiation and numerous engineered mechanisms.

In combat, running extra energy to the shields, weapons, engines, acceleration compensators, and sensors, a ship would have to store the heat in limited heat-sinks and dump it with typically limited stores of coolant. In some of the worst galactic naval engagements, it wasn't unusual for crews to end up cooked alive by their own ship's heat.

Between countermeasures reducing damage, relatively small impact damage, and low energy efficiency, lasers weren't the best tool against enemy capital ships. But they excelled at taking down fast moving small-craft including fighters and smaller ships.

Capital ships were ruinously expensive to outfit with top of the line acceleration compensators. For some perspective, the Lucrehulk was a three kilometer by three kilometer by one kilometer donut shaped battleship that the Trade Federation used based on a super freighter designed for their larger deliveries. Recently, with their armament rights, they'd adapted some half-finished freighters into these Lucrehulk battleships.

The estimated price tag for one of those puppies was right around forty million credits, and that was with the Trade Federation using droid workers and asteroid mining to drive costs all the way down. They came with a class two hyperdrive, which was good for something that large. But, they could only pull three hundred G's of acceleration.

A high quality fighter could pull three thousand. The Nabooian N1's could pull four thousand if the pilots red-lined it. If the Trade Federation wanted their ship to be able to pull a relatively modest twenty five hundred G's, it would raise the cost by about a billioncredits. This was obviously prohibitively expensive.

So in short, the biggest ships were a lot slower in combat, and were large targets. Thus hitting them with relatively slow moving blasters made sense. On the other hand, picking off fast corvettes, fighters and missiles with blaster-turrets was often an exercise in futility. For that, ships used lasers. A capital ship would typically carry ones powerful enough to do serious damage to light frigates.

Lasers were popular on fighters and small-craft as well, since their typical threat were other fighters and small craft. In other words, lightly or unarmored, densely packed with critical components, but very fast and maneuverable. For larger targets they used concussion missiles designed to spread shock and damage electrical components, or proton torpedoes that used small anti-matter charges, some of which made explosions big enough to threaten even a capital ship.

And unlike unconstrained blaster beams, lasers weren't so affected by atmosphere as to be useless against targets on the ground or in-atmosphere. Blaster containment got very tricky at high speed, which meant dual-role fighters capable of both atmospheric and aerospace dogfighting often used lasers rather than blasters, with optional missiles or torpedoes to deal with armored ground targets.

Long story short, something capable of damaging a frigate could easily penetrate my projectile shield, and something designed to target fighters pulling four thousand gravity evasive maneuvers wouldn't have much problem targeting me either.

Thankfully, designing an anti-laser shield wasn't difficult. I just needed something that would perfectly reflect away incident light over a certain intensity, and a thermal shield behind the reflector that would prevent the heat from building up. It was a simple twist of spells that I already understood within White, and something I could incorporate into my Projectile Shield enchantment. To avoid letting people paint me with a targeting laser, I even set the shield to reflect in a diffuse manner with a gap where the laser originated from.

Then, as a backup, I figured out how to change the path of a laser using Red. Underneath the reflectance was now a redirect that would have the laser bend around the projectile shield before continuing its path behind me. With all of the different layers of shielding, each one first reflective, then redirecting the laser, I felt sufficiently secure. It wasn't perfect, and there was some energy drain, but tests with Sora showed that, assuming there were no other incoming types of damage, I could resist the combined weight of a capital ships' laser weapons pretty much indefinitely as my shields would regenerate at about the same rate they were drained.

Somewhat inspired, I decided to design the anti-particle beam shield right afterwards. There were three main threats with a particle beam, or unconstrained blaster. Some, by far and away the most common, caused damage with extremely high velocity, typical fractional-c, beams of high energy particles. Others, a very small minority, less than a fraction of a percent, fired beams of very small quantities of antimatter. Anti-matter was expensive, difficult to contain, and dangerous to the ship if the turret was damaged, but it also caused fairly extreme damage, and was highly compact and energy efficient compared to other weapons of similar yield.

Between these, there were three primary threats my ship would be faced with by particle-beam technologies: the kinetic energy of the particles, the inherent (thermal, ionic, etc) energy of the particles, and possibly the anti-matter potential.

With a few quick experiments, I found out that it was actually much more efficient to turn an attack's energy against itself. After all, an incoming attack didn't just cause damage, it released energy which whatever it hit couldn't deal with, the result of this energy being damage. If I could store that energy, or translate it into something useful, then no more damage.

Unfortunately, I couldn't translate that energy to magical power, then use that. Nor could I get that energy translation to be free. But, very small amounts of magic could translate large amounts of energy.

Better yet, translation turned out to be a very stable structure where most of the magic went to establishing the transfer path rather than actually effecting the energy. Sort of like building a dam, once that structure was in place the energy would flow naturally, with only a small extra magic for maintenance.

Eventually, when I had proper auto-targeting enchantments, I planned on the defensive enchantment gathering that energy and using it to counter-fire and destroy whoever had the temerity to attack me. However, those targeting enchantments were scheduled for after the first round of my battle-yacht's upgrades as I planned to test them against distant targets in space. For the moment, I had to be satisfied with turning the force of the attack into a shield.

Best of all, I could tie this enchantment into my projectile shield enchantment. Instead of being attached to each individual layer of shield, it was the new first layer, a ditch formed from the full power of the projectile shield enchantment to catch any incoming attack's energy. If the energy was too much, it would over-fill the defense, saturating it but not damaging it before continuing on to impact the projectile shields.

I even managed to get a module on the enchantment functioning with phase-shifted light that could destructively interfere with incoming laser attacks. Inspired, I added anti-hostile-magic shielding using a similar concept. A strong enough will (for actively controlled magics) or previously unknown magical attacks might defeat it, while the redirection and control of foreign magical energies would be much more costly, but it was a massive improvement. I attached a bit of Blue analytical magic to auto-update the shield to react to magics it was overcome by, so that any holes in the defense were automatically patched, and so that I could learn those magics myself.

All of this cost about two percent of the shield layers, and there was a fraction of a percent of the incoming energy that bled over. But in return, all non-magical incoming attacks were reduced by a defense that was about a thousand times stronger than my previous total combined shield strength.

It took an attack on the tune of fifty kilotons of tnt to overwhelm that initial shield layer when we tested it on a Science! animal.

Then there were still over a hundred conceptual shield layers below that defense, each of which were good to block a single impact of just about any magnitude, and needed about a half-ton bomb's worth to break in a single blow.

Over time I would be able to improve the general anti-laser modules, and my shields would naturally improve in strength and number. I was feeling pretty secure, especially since on a ship, where I could anchor a much larger enchantment, the defense that would be that much stronger.

And thus I felt comfortable to descend into sloth, reading fantasy, watching holovids, and eating the finest foods.

It was glorious.

Chapter 42: Socializing and Ships

Unfortunately, Jon was not content to leave me in my indolent, fiction-consuming ways. That was why we were at this godawful dinner party. As much as I loved Naboo's environment, the freedom, the ability to enjoy the future, the people could be really tiresome. Especially those who were political.

"You know, that's the real problem with the Republic," this one vapid twit was saying. She was in her twenties, blonde, svelte, fashionable, and sort of artsy in her dress. "The wealthy, the corporations, they aren't stepping up and doing their bit."

I'd had enough.

"No, that's not the problem. The problem is everyone always wants to make things someone else's problem. Look at the Republic. It's totally moribund. It's defunct, politically and morally. There's no proper law enforcement; the Republic Judicial Department's a joke, and the Sector Rangers are so toothless they don't even make a pretense of enforcing the law outside of sectors which are already lawful! There's widespread corruption, including at the highest political levels. Sentient droid-intelligences are regularly mind wiped. And slavery, whether de jure or de facto, slavery is a regular part of life for many so called Republican systems!

"And we sit here. We sit here, as people are facing truly heinous shit. Starvation, lack of clean water, easily prevented or treated illnesses, forced child conscription, systematic rape, honest-to-god slavery. It's happening somewhere, right now. I'm not being facetious. It's a human problem. We had it back on my homeworld, too.

"We could certainly do something about these problems. And I don't mean we collectively, but we individually. You, individually. It wouldn't be hard. Half a credit would buy netting, allowing someone to live a life without getting infected by pathogens spread by small insects. Half a credit per person would allow for wells and clean water supplies. Sithspit, we could hire mercenaries to provide protection while trainers teach locals how to defend their communities. Hire tutors, or provide droids, to improve the opportunities available to the most abandoned. Help bring people out of poverty, out of ignorance.

"But we don't. At the end of the day, it's just not our problem, is it? Hell, that dirty kid who lives at the end of the street, the one with bags under their eyes from a lack of iron in their shitty diet, who flinches whenever you pass by on the sidewalk... they're not your problem either.

"And its fucking terrible, but that's humanity for you. We'd rather go out, drink and dine, and give no thought to how those credits could literally save lives.

"And given all that, you have the gall, the sheer fucking balls to show up here, and complain about how other people aren't doing enough?

"If you're living in the smallest, cheapest place you can that's still reasonably clean and close to work, if you eat cheap but nutritious food, avoid wasting money, and you give everything else, all that money you don't actually need to help those that do, then I'll apologize. But if you don't… if you don't you're just a fucking hypocrite."

Half the room was silent, listening to my rant. The other half was whispering behind their hands about me. Jon had facepalmed. The girl I'd gone off on was literally in tears.

Her date, a young man in the local equivalent of a blazer and slacks, was glaring at me. "Oh, and you're some paragon of virtue are you? I've heard about you, Gangari, throwing credits around like they're water."

"You're right. But I don't preach the gospel of redistribution and someone-else's-responsibility. I don't see being here, eating this meal, spending these credits, as something immoral. If it's your money, spend it as you like so long as you're not doing harm. Actual harm, not just an absence of good. As far as I'm concerned, among the natural rights of sentients are these: First, a right to life. Second, to liberty. And third, to property. Together with the right to defend these rights in the best manner they can.

"I'll try and leave the galaxy a better place than I entered it, but that's because I'm a good person. Not because I'm inherently responsible for the galaxy. I'm responsible for me and mine, and no further."

By then, the party was very, very awkward. Our host was stuck somewhere in between glee (her party would definitely be the talk of the city), fury and embarrassment.

"If you'll excuse me, I have pressing business elsewhere," I said, then got up and left, motioning to Jon to stay and do damage control.

But I hadn't lied. I was disgusted by what I'd been learning of the Republic. As bad as Earth, including the US, or parts of it at least could be, it was nothing compared to the modern Republic.

Honestly, I sort of blamed the Jedi. It seemed that they'd become even more fanatical and puritan than they'd been portrayed as in the movies I was familiar of that depicted Revan's age. Apparently they didn't even believe in sex anymore, which was fucking crazy considering Force abilities were known to be hereditary. It didn't even make sense considering the Jedi's founder, Nomi Sunrider, was married and had children of her own, plus there was Revan and Bastila's romance and many, many more examples among the top Jedi of various epochs – all a matter of common historical record.

To make things worse, the Jedi had absorbed a lot of the responsibilities for galactic stability. That left something like ten thousand Jedi who were from what I could gather weaker on average than those from previous eras, trying to police ten billion times their number. Imagine that Earth had a single high level FBI agent analogue; no matter what they did, they'd be bound to fail to make a significant dent on crime (or manage anything productive really).

I did intend to leave the Republic better than I found it. The biggest problem was with scale. The Republic had one thousand sectors, each with an average of a hundred thousand systems with a known Republic presence (even if it was just a navigation buoy). Granted, most of these were very sparsely populated, but there were still around a hundred trillion Republican citizens.

I was thinking about going after the slave trade, but that meant eventually going after the Hutts. Hutt space, comparatively, was much more rimward, ie in the direction of the less dense collection of solar systems at the galaxy's edge, compared to the very densely populated systems in the core. So, even though volume-wise it was about a quarter the size of the Republic on stellar maps, it had far fewer inhabitants. Overall, the best estimates were that they had a population of about a hundred and twenty five billion, maybe twice that counting slaves and non-citizens.

Far more than I wanted to deal with, to be honest. Plus then I'd be left holding the bag with respect to reformation, the economic upheaval, and so on for some two-hundred-fifty billion sentients. Not exactly what I wanted to be doing.

The other primary targets, while smaller, were still too large for me to take over at that time. The Senex-Juvex region, ruled by a slaving aristocracy, had a population of about eighty billion. It was much less centered around criminal enterprise, which made it far likelier as a target than Hutt space, but still too large. The Zygerrians, a race of near-humans some twenty billion in population, ruled a part of the Chorlian sector and had a state-sponsored slavers guild responsible for taking tens of millions into slavery each year. Despite how much I wanted to, they were still too large to go after.

No, if I wanted to do something, my best bet was to target a simple criminal organization. The Karazak Slavers Cooperative, based out of Karazak in the Sujimis sector in the Outer Rim territory was thought to contain some ten thousand members, while the planet itself was likely only inhabited by a few million. The Thalassian Slavers Guild, another group of independent slavers based out of the Meram sector, were of similar size but was far to the galactic north of Naboo.

In a few years time, when I had a small fleet of ships, and had developed a modern military force, I'd show those bastards what it meant to be holding the other end of the stick.

But it certainly said something about the Republic, that it allowed these filth to survive for centuries, especially when the slavers didn't even pretend to hide their activities and stood no chance against even the relatively toothless Republic forces.

It seemed that my outburst had made me a less attractive dinner companion, and over the next few months I was mostly left alone to focus on my newly arrived ship. Jon kindly took on my social duties in my stead. The PB-950 Platinum Executive edition arrived about a month after I entered the Star Wars reality. I named it the Nostos, or homecoming in Greek, hoping that it would be a lucky name.

Part of the purchase included four crewmembers who were experts with that ship class to train me and my men and droids in basic piloting, navigation, maintenance and operation of the ship. I of course immediately took their patterns when I shook their hands; there was no way that I or my Paragons, all of us coming from relatively savage technological backgrounds, would be as skilled as the experts.

So, in the afternoons I learned to fly and fight a modern ship, while in the mornings my engineer Sola, and a small horde of droids and I took that ship apart. There were three ways to improve the ship.

First, and perhaps easiest, was applying purely magical enchantments with purely magical effects to the ship itself. That was relatively easy, and something I didn't need Sola's help for. But it was also limited; for the most part, it only really meant that my ship had a layer of magical shielding on top of its technological measures. Granted, that magical shielding would allow it to at least survive and escape from even a capital ship's attentions (at least for a little bit of time), but it was still limited in improving the ship's function.

This basic upgrade formed the Mk. 1 Nostos.

Second, and still fairly easy but tedious was improving the function of different components through the use of my magic. This took the part of imbuing devices with color-oriented conceptual upgrades, as well as improving the technological functions of different parts. A ship has a lot of parts, but they can be roughly grouped into a few sections: hull (including armor), shields, hyperdrive, sub-light drive, inertial compensators, power-plant, sensors, navigation, communications, life-support and armament.

Third, and strictly for the future, was designing a ship from the ground up to work with magic. A true, optimized fusion of technology and magic. Eventually I had plans for massive living ships, balanced between different mana sources and capable of acting as their own mana-wells to power their enchantments. But that was definitely for the distant future.

We tested using the Valyrian blessing on various materials, and found that it worked best on metals, giving a proportional upgrade. I immediately added making a set of Valyrian steel blades out of Songsteel and acquiring Beskar armor for my men to my to-do list, though I didn't have the time deal with it then.

It was a good thing that I could summon up extra material once I had its pattern; Sola quickly fell in love with the idea of using Beskar throughout the ship, and there wasn't enough of the rare metal available on the entire galactic market for a ship even so small as the Nostos.

But when it came down to it, raw materials were easy. What was time consuming was improving individual components in all the myriad of ways that I could, then sending parts off for testing. After individual components were understood, they would be put together into larger and larger sub-units of the ship's devices, with settings refined to account for the changed performance.

Each time, they would need more testing to see how that larger unit operated, especially as different parts' magic interacted with each other. Sometimes this was synergistic, sometimes it was very much not. Eventually, we ended up with individual parts which were then ready for re-inclusion into the ship.

This was a time consuming process, though much of that was basic tests that the droids, or sometimes outside expert engineering consulting services did in the background. Everything was going about to schedule, which listed twenty weeks to complete the Mk.2 Nostos. It was going to be a real beauty.

The hull was the first part upgraded, and in many ways the easiest as it was only really structural. We used a combination of phrik, a very durable and light metal, with beskar (also called Mandalorian iron) which was denser but even more durable. A thin skin of durasteel was applied on top to avoid sensors detecting the beskar, then a sensor-deflecting coating on top of that.

My previous training in smithing, and experience in making Valyrian blades allowed me to figure out how to give it the concept of defense, much like a Valyrian sword had the concept of cutting. This made the hull more than simply blessed; it was true Valyrian armor. The sensor deflecting coating was further enhanced with the Blue concept of avoiding notice. The whole thing was further enhanced with my recently developed anti-laser and anti-particle shielding, then given White-based conceptual armor, and projectile shields attached to large enchantment points made from my enhanced dragon-bone.

I had wanted to use a layer of ultrachrome, a silvery super-conductor that excelled at deflecting laser blasts, over a layer of living ice which would massively improve resistance to laser-attacks. Unfortunately, that proved impossible. On Naboo, only the Royal Yacht was allowed to be entirely coated in ultrachrome, and even markings using it were reserved for vessels in royal service.

Further, there were issues with powering active enchantments on spaceships. Unlike when on a planet, where the enchantments' mana stores could and would recharge from the ambient mana field, in space there was no ambient mana. That meant that unless I was present, the enchantments would run down as they were used. That was one of the major reasons behind my desire to develop fully integrated techno-magical living ships, which could serve as their own mana source.

Short of that, or developing a way to transfer mana over massive distances without my own attention and input, having activeenchantment effects form a critical part of the structural stability of the ship was insane. Passive magical upgrades, like the use of Valyrian-modified metals, either didn't degrade, or did so slowly enough as not to matter.

The general upgrade to the efficiency, resilience, conductivity, and other desired behavior of different electrical components made a massive improvement to the more sophisticated components as well.

The biggest improvement was in the power-plant; by reducing resistance in electrical connections, that massively reduced heat buildup. Improving material performance for the reactor vessel reduced wear, increased life-expectancy, and most importantly allowed for a higher-energy reaction to take place, increasing peak power availability when it was needed.

The shields also experienced massive improvements. There were two critical metrics for shield performance: peak output, and maximum recharge rate. Peak output determined how large of an impact the shields could resist before the shield generator overloaded. Maximum recharge rate impacted how well they held up against sustained bombardment. Both depended a lot on how resilient the shield parts were, and improved by orders of magnitude with my magical treatments. Efficiency, which affected shield strength as well as waste-heat, which limited shield sustainment times both improved as well, though not as significantly.

With ultra-rare and high performance alloys, as well as the magical enhancement, my hull gave protection several times better than a typical frigate's per unit surface area. Between all of the improvements to the shields, the greater power-draw they could take from the improved power-plant, and the relatively small area they had to cover, the shields had the performance expected of a frigate, rather than a humble patrol boat.

Considering that my ship was a much smaller target than a frigate, and there were magical shields and improvements too, its survivability was far superior.

The inertial compensators and sub-light drive were together responsible for how fast the ship could accelerate outside of hyperspace. A normal Platinum Executive version of the PB-950 could manage two thousand g's of acceleration, which was good, and only really beaten by dedicated space-superiority fighters and interceptors. Fully upgraded and enchanted, the new drives were projected to manage four thousand g's of acceleration, fully twice as good as before, and at least as fast as all but the most agile interceptor-fighters.

The weapons saw similar improvements, hitting harder and firing faster than they could have been expected to do otherwise. The ship came with a quad laser cannon, which was mostly effective against fighters and lightly protected civilian freighters commonly used by smugglers. After being upgraded, it was powerful enough to be effective against heavier fighters and bombers, as well as light patrol craft like the PB-950. The nose-mounted ion cannons, designed to immobilize small craft and unshielded freighters for capture experienced comparable improvements.

But overall, the PB-950 wasn't really designed to go against other warships, focusing on customs patrol and anti-fighter work. It was a lack that Sola was planning on correcting in the future with the addition of one or more options out of blaster turrets, proton torpedoes and magically-powered spell-cannons, but that was for later generations of the Nostos.

This meant that the big winner weapons wise were the concussion missiles. Between an enchantment with enough mana to generate four times as many missile reloads as the ship normally carried, as well as the enhancement to missile speed and targeting, magical protection against point defense fire, and huge improvement in payload damage, the concussion missiles made the ship a legitimate threat to a corvette or even, with a bit of luck, a frigate. Worst case, between the Nostos and a frigate, the Nostos should at least be able to damage it enough with the missiles to render it combat ineffective and then escape.

Ironically the biggest upgrade to the weapons effectiveness wasn't in the weapons themselves, but in the sensors. I managed to get the sensors to not just operate better, with a greater ability to sense what was truly there at a greater distance, but to be precognitiveby a full two and a half seconds. In space combat, time was distance. Two and a half seconds meant that the effective range of any laser weapon increased by seven hundred and fifty thousand kilometers when their normal effective range was a tenth of that.

In the Star Wars universe, there was one group that easily claimed the position of top-dogs when it came to fighter-pilots: the Jedi. From looking at records of space-combat, I estimated that a good Jedi Ace, their pilot specialists, might have as many as five full seconds of precog in combat. This meant they were almost never hit, and almost always hit their own targets.

I wondered at first why people used actual flesh and blood pilots, rather than removing the human from the equation to eke out a bit of extra acceleration and remove all the cost for life support. Then I looked at statistics that showed trained fighter pilots managed a .1 second precognitive advantage, did a back of the envelope calculation, and understood.

Without precognition (in other words with a drone pilot) for a ship firing a hundred pulse laser burst (which many ships could manage in about a tenth of a second and is a fairly normal targeting time for a fighter), there is a 18% chance of at least one hit on a typically-sized enemy fighter at .35 seconds distance (ie, one hundred thousand kilometers range with a laser). This improves to 54% chance of landing a hit with that trained fighter pilot.

Now, that's for 0.1 seconds precognition. A Jedi pilot will land every shot at that range, and into critical components too. And now, with my new sensor system, my ship's auto-aimer was about as good as a standard, non-specialized Jedi-knight. I could upgrade individuals with enchantments to have a similar level of precognition on top of that, though there were significantly diminishing returns using a precognitive operator on the precognitive sensors. My sensors combined with the improved acceleration also meant that my ship was nightmarishly dodgy.

Navigation was harder to improve with magic. Overall, I could make the computer slightly faster, and used a Blue-based precognition effect to skip over actually calculating things, instead looking into the future that would-have-happened had the computer actually done the calculations. That made it possible to do more complex navigational maneuvers much faster, especially for hyperspace translations. But while it would help with blockade-running, it wasn't the sort of massive advantage that I saw in other improvements.

Similarly, the actual hyperdrive was something I was wary of fucking with too much. Hyperspace physics were… difficult. The hyperdrive itself was basically archeotech, and despite tens of millennia of research its underlying principles weren't actually well understood. Faster drive ratings were as much luck as they were proper experimentation, and the best drives were uniformly manufactured with the aid of force-sensitive individuals who just "felt" how things should be. Because of that, I could basically make the hyperdrive be much, much more resilient, harder to break, and with increased range, but the speed difference was minor. That said, it was already 1.0 class drive, which was as fast as was commercially available. Even with military vessels, only a few nations fielded faster ships, and almost all were top-priority couriers. Anything else was just too expensive and high maintenance.

Hyperdrive navigation was something that did improve, mostly due to sensor improvement and precognition. Navigating outside of the main hyperlanes was very difficult, requiring long scan periods followed by micro-jumps or the use of sub-light drives. This wasn't because the drives didn't work outside of the hyperlanes, but because impacting matter while partially phased out of reality tended to have a negligible effect on the real-space matter and absolutely catastrophic results on the phased matter. Hitting a pea while using a hyperdrive could totally destroy even a capital ship.

By using the improved precognitive sensors, collisions could be avoided which made micro-jumps much more viable, and decreased the risk of leaving hyperspace near to a pirate ship, minefield, or other hazard.

Communications likewise saw relatively minor gains. The ship came equipped with a HoloNet terminal which included a hyperwave transceiver. HoloNet communications, especially placing calls, were very pricy, though also fairly long range; there were few places they could not be used, almost none within the borders of the Republic. The ship also had a subspace transceiver. Limited to ten light years in range and less expensive than the HoloNet, it still cost on the order of ten credits or a roughly a hundred dollars a minute to relay a call through a corporate or governmental transceiver. Finally there were a slew of tight-beam laser and radio communication systems. All of these were improved in range, fidelity, and difficulty to intercept by my magic. That said, it was really gilding the lily; the systems the ship came equipped with were excellent, and it was unlikely I'd face a situation that the upgrades were actually necessary.

The last area that did get a major upgrade was life-support. The biggest issues with life-support were heat-management, air and water. Air and water freshening enchantments were simple, and made the ship much more pleasant for longer journeys, keeping the air and water as pure and clean as it was on Naboo, avoiding any issues with smells or metallic taste as it was cycled and recycled.

My conceptual enchantments to help the heat-sinks to shed heat faster were highly effective, and a full order of magnitude more emergency coolant was automatically summonable to refill the stores as they were used. Considering cooling down from weapons fire and shield usage was a major combat issue, that also improved combat endurance.

As an emergency measure, the ship had enchantments to teleport all of the crew to emergency bunkers on Naboo if it were about to suffer catastrophic damage.

Overall, the Nostos was basically a light frigate in armament, with a heavy frigate's survivability and a fighter-bomber's agility, all piloted with the level of skill expected from Jedi knights. It was utterly monstrous.

I was really pleased with it, and very much looking forward to putting all the different systems together in the ship at the same time for its final tests. I was even planning on seeing if I could manage to make the ship self-regenerating.

In other words, all was good in the world.

And then, a mere fortnight before my ship would have been ready, that fool child of a queen and those greedy bastards in the Trade Federation all decided to drink idiot juice and escalate the disagreement over plasma rights.

Amidala ordered a cessation of exports, and a halt to all plasma production.

In retaliation to that, and to recent changes in Republic taxation laws from Coruscant which were aimed at weakening the Trade Federation, the Trade Federation decided to take action. They sent eight of their lucrehulks to blockade Naboo, and shut down all food production.

Naboo was under siege.

And my ship was literally in pieces.

Fuck my life.

Chapter 43: Farmer

I sat at the head of a conference table. To my left was Jon as my general second in command. Sola, my ship/weapons designer was to my right. Also present were Captain Orson Willard, a summoned version of Sir Barristan whose divergences had led to superior performance and thus being appointed commander of my Paragon bodyguard company, and Leon Dannuz, a copy of a recent Nabooian college graduate who I had created to serve as my assistant/secretary.

"So, Sola, what can you tell me about the Trade Federation forces?" I asked.

She snorted. "Do you want the good news, or the bad news?"

"Bad, then good, please," I replied.

"Well, bad news first then," she said with a slightly sadistic smirk. "Although the Trade Federation calls them "battleships", Lucrehulks are really carriers. Each one has fifteen hundred Vulture fighter droids. And the Trade Federation has shown up with eight ships. Worse, because the Vultures are droids, as long as they're in low-power mode they can stay away from the ship indefinitely. The Trade Federation should have total orbital dominance, and running the blockade will be close to impossible for conventional ships. In other words, without the Nostos being fully functional, or the arrival of a Republic battle-group, nothing's getting off planet.

"Other than the Vultures, on the Trade Federation fleet there are around two-point-two-five million B1 infantry droids, four thousand armored troop transports, and about fifty thousand hover tanks. The troop transports each carry a company of one hundred and twelve B1's; those not in armored vehicles are mounted on unarmed, unarmored troop carriers. Using their full complement of over four hundred C-9979 landing craft, that entire army is orbital-assault ready, and can be dropped in a single wave.

"Now, that's the official complement for the Lucrehulk class. Generally speaking, these ships are really armed freighters, not dedicated warships. There's still room for up to four hundred million more B1 droids, if the ships are totally packed with them. In other words, they may have come with enough troops to put one in every household on Naboo."

"Sorry, just one second," I interrupted, causing Sola to pout a bit. "Jon, what did you find for Nabooian forces?"

He laughed a bit, looking at his tablet where he'd written down some numbers. "Far less than that. Over a population of about one point two billion Republic citizens, there are about two point four million law-enforcement officers and security forces. But of those, there are only a hundred and twenty five thousand armed police, only fifty thousand of whom carry lethal weapons. Granted, they're all very well trained, highly experienced, and carefully picked. But they carry anti-personnel weapons, or ones designed to take down at most lightly armored vehicles. Not much good against a tank. And they're used to fighting drug dealers, kidnappers, the occasional lunatic. Not enemy militaries.

"As for arming the population, that would be a long shot, if you'd pardon the pun. There are two point eight million registered long-arm owners, and nine million short-range gun owners. Most of these are only hunting-weight though, and would be of limited effectiveness against even a minimally armored target. I doubt that even a B1 would be taken out in a single shot, and most shots would need to hit more vulnerable locations.

"As for proper military equipment, the Nabooians have five fighter squadrons, each of which have a dozen N-1 starfighters. They're nice ships, but not two-hundred to one nice."

"So it looks like Naboo had better hope for a diplomatic solution," I said. "Sola, you said there was some good news?"

"Right," she nodded. "Good news. While the Trade Federation forces are great on paper, they're fairly shit in practice. I could go on about the reasons: legal limitations, design by committee, evaluation criteria, issues with how comparison testing was run, inherent conceptual flaws in the battle-doctrine, and overly credit-conscious selection decisions." She looked at me. I was interested in those, sure, but it hardly mattered at that moment why the Trade Federation equipment sucked, more how it did, and how we could take advantage. I shook my head and motioned for her to go on.

"But you're not that interested," she continued. "Instead, I'll go down the list, and mention what those flaws are and how to take advantage. First, the Lucrehulk ships themselves. They're not designed to be involved in combat, at all. The shields haven't been significantly changed. That means that while they have a fair amount of endurance, because the ship itself is huge and thus they have a lot of power available, individual shield segments aren't designed to protect against more than incidental environmental damage. Fighter-weight torpedoes would likely be highly effective; hells, a heavy assault boat's blasters may be. Then, the hull isn't heavily armored, and the support structure isn't designed to take heavy damage. Nor are the ships heavily gunned; they only have forty-two quad-laser batteries to cover the entire ship. There are numerous blind spots close in, and few approaches are heavily invested to the point that a typical light frigate would have significant issues. In short, the carriers are very soft targets.

"The problem of course is getting past the Vultures, so I'll address those next. They were designed to fulfill all aerial roles, and as a result are a poor compromise. Because the Trade Federation wanted to make sure they could support ground troops, they went with a relatively high-power four blaster cannon configuration rather than lasers. But that means that in space combat they are very short ranged, relying on high speed to close with the enemy. To take on heavier targets they carry a pair of energy torpedo launchers; again, the lack of aiming means a limited range against other fast targets, but they can be effective against larger ships. As a cost-saving measure, they aren't equipped with the very best inertial compensators, so they are somewhat slower than top-of-the-line fighters. Nor are they shielded. Most critically, they only carry enough energy to last thirty five minutes at full combat power. So the best way to fight them is at long range with lasers, staying out of their engagement window, and using high-acceleration evasive maneuvers to reduce the chances of a lucky shot.

"As for the landing craft, they are large, only lightly armored, and very lightly armed. As such, they are hilariously unsuited to making contested landings, and without fighter support are highly vulnerable. If Naboo had a sufficient quantity of camouflaged ground-to-orbit weapon emplacements, they'd be fairly easy prey, but to the best of my knowledge we don't.

"The Federation armor, on the other hand, is fairly good. Their tanks in particular are well armed. That said, all of their armor is unshielded, tends to be relatively lightly armored, and has large profiles which is a definite negative for armored-warfare. Their troop carriers, both armored and not, are too large to fit into small urban environments, and the armored troop transports discharge their forces to the front, leaving them vulnerable when dismounting in combat. The single limitation all of their ground vehicles share is that they are slow, ranging in speed from thirty five to fifty five kilometers per hour. Between their lack of speed, large size, relatively weak armor, and forward-focused firing arcs, Trade Federation mechanized ground forces are vulnerable to rapidly repositioned guerilla style attacks.

"The B1 droids themselves were not designed with open combat in mind. They are very much "lowest bidder" options, and their guns are typically poorly calibrated, leading to very low accuracy. Further, the guns skimped on heat management to reduce costs; an unforeseen side effect of this means that after they are fired, parts become misaligned and accuracy suffers. The droids work fine for defending cargoes, or assaulting in the short-ranged, narrow confines of a space station, but are less effective otherwise."

Sola had been speaking for a while, and was mostly reading off of her tablet, but now she looked up happily. "Last, and most important, is an issue that the entire Trade Federation force shares. They're stupid. And I mean that very literally; their droids don't have actual droid intelligences. The cost of hundreds of thousands of droid-minds might have doubled the cost of each ship's complement. And we all know how cheap the Federation is.

"Instead, they're run from central computers located on the Lucrehulks; with an army this big, and the possibility of the entire army operating at the same time on planet, they'll need a control ship too. While some dumb programs will be on each droid, all the intelligent decisions will be subject to lag. Not to mention the possibilities this opens for jamming signals, or destroying the control ship. Either of those will knock out the droid forces until the signal is restored, or another ship can take command."

Orson grinned ferally. "That is good news. Say the word, my lord, and me and the lads'll go take the control ship for you."

I chuckled. "Don't be so enthusiastic, Captain. It hasn't come to actual war between Naboo and the Trade Federation yet, and even if it does so long as we're left alone we won't involve ourselves. The last thing I want are Jedi, Sith, or even simply mundane powers breathing down our necks. But you and Sola should brief your men; come up with a list of equipment we can either procure or produce that might be useful as well."

"What about the trials you did?" Sola asked.

I winced. "You mean of the Nostos over in Westeros?" I clarified. Sola had, by this point, been fully briefed on my magic.

"That's right," she nodded.

I could see Jon grinning off to the side. "Oh, stop it, Jon," I snapped.

He laughed. "Stop what?" he asked innocently.

"Grinning," I grumbled.

"I can't!" he chuckled. "It was just too funny!"

Sola looked at us like we were a pair of idiots. "Care to share, boys?"

I sat back, and waved at Jon in permission.

"So, Odysseus was so excited to try out high technology back in Westeros, start the technological revolution in his lands," he began. "He sends some equipment over, and what happens? Nothing."

"What?" Sola gasped. "What do you mean? What went wrong?"

Jon just smiled. "Nothing happened. Nothing at all."

I interrupted his gloating. "He's right. My best guess is that the physical laws are subtly different. Purely chemical explosives worked reasonably within estimates. But anything electronic… not so much."

"Damn it!" Sola hissed. "So there's no way to test the ship then?"

I shook my head. "None."

She looked at me irately. "And you didn't think to send out some of your Ravens to other planets before we were blockaded?"

I rolled my eyes. "You already know the answer to that question."

"Look on the bright side," Jon interjected. "At least we have a good reason to tell the Palace why we can't provide any significant forces."

"Whatever," Sola huffed. "If we're all done, then? Because if so, Sir Orson and I have some work to be getting to. I need to make some new weapons because someone failed to take basic measures that would have let us use the Nostos platform as planned."

"Yes, yes. And I am most sorry and appreciative, Sola," I replied. "But no, that was basically it. If nothing changes, we'll meet again in a week."

Luckily for me and Naboo, nothing did change. Oh, food got scarcer, and tensions continued to increase. The Queen left for a negotiation with TF representatives, only to be attacked by "pirates". That fiction fooled no-one; it was obvious that the Federation was growing tired of the situation. Senator Palpatine, Naboo's representative on Coruscant, attempted to increase political pressure on the Trade Federation, though apparently ineffectively.

Honestly, from what I could gather from local and galactic news sources, this whole thing was Amidala's fault. Her overly idealistic concept of "fairness" and profit sharing meant that instead of offering a deal which was better for Naboo, and still great for the Trade Federation (if a bit less so), while setting the stage for future negotiations to close the gap even more, she went for a "my way or the highway" approach. Needless to say, said approach backfired, and now Naboo's trade dispute had ballooned into Naboo being both example (not to fuck with) and a hostage that the Trade Federation was using in an attempt to re-establish highly profitable tax exemptions.

But still, something wasn't quite right. The Federation were acting far too arrogantly, aggressively. They were, despite everything, a trade company. I'd seen less aggression from expansionist warlords. The fact of the matter was that as a trade company, the Federation was highly vulnerable to actions from local governments as well as the Republic. Their aggressive stance could easily result in widespread sanctions and penalties.

Still, food supplies were running low due to the Trade Federation's cessation of its agricultural labor. After three weeks, starvation was becoming more and more likely. People had complained immensely when perishable luxury foods weren't available; now, there was panic and unrest. Even with rationing, Naboo was looking at about one and a half weeks before food started to run out; hoarding and transportation snafus had already resulted in limited cases of starvation.

To make matters worse, if someone didn't get things working in the farms soon, the harvests designed to feed the planet for the next weeks to months would start to rot. It wasn't all farms that were down, but between transportation shortages and the farm-bot shutdown that hit most of big-agriculture, Naboo's food supply was sitting at about thirty percent of what it was before the blockade. At starvation rations they could support only three quarters of the population long term, and short term reserves were running dry due to a focus on just-in-time, super-ripe produce.

There's an economic theory about supply and demand of essential goods in a shortage. Basically, let's say when you have a small excess (say, ten percent more than is needed), food costs five credits a day; pretty much everyone is eating, other than a very few people who can't look after themselves. At par, in other words with just enough food, food might cost seven credits a day; some people are probably hungry while others have excess, but again generally speaking people don't starve.

Now, reduce that slight excess further from just enough to a slight deficit and things get interesting. Food is no longer five or seven credits a day; it's twenty, fifty, a hundred. In a free market system, people will pay whatever they can for essential goods needed to live. In other words, the food will end up priced so that it is unaffordable for however many people to starve (whether partially or in full) as is needed to re-balance the food supply.

That was where Naboo was. That's where shit goes crazy, law and order breaks down, people die and peasants storm Bastilles. People will do anything to eat, and almost no-one on Naboo had ever gone hungry, not properly at least. Things were, in short, fucked up.

This gave me a massive opportunity.

Queen Amidala was in her makeup and regalia, her face impassive, but I could sense the worry and stress wafting off of her. Despite the almost armor-thick makeup, she was just so young. Honestly, why this planet thought electing a teenager was a good idea was completely beyond me. I mean, look at the result - a year in office, and the place was blockaded and starving.

"We are told you have a proposal to end the food shortages, Mr. Gangari," she pronounced.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"We have read your proposal, and are not impressed."

Girl, you're fourteen, I thought. I could give a shit about you being impressed, but I don't.

"I am sorry to hear that, Your Majesty. Perhaps I might answer any issues you have?" I answered as if butter wouldn't melt in my mouth.

I could see her clench her teeth. "Perhaps you can explain to Us why We should give all of Naboo's farms to you," she stated with icy sarcasm. And a bit of exaggeration too; I didn't want all the farms, just the ones currently shuttered by the Trade Federation.

"Because I can get operational again, Your Majesty. As my pilot project demonstrated. And the alternative is starvation."

And that was the beauty of my plan. It turned out that I could overwrite the essential command code for a droid, essentially taking control of it. It wasn't a cheap process mana-wise, growing exponentially more expensive as the droid was more intelligent, but farming droids were generally sub-sapient. As a pilot, I had bought one of the farms which was owned by a Nabooian but previously administered by the Trade Federation, and converted it to my control.

Naboo needed food, and Amidala refused to concede to the Trade Federation to get it. I was the only other option. And when you control something someone needs for survival, well, is any price too steep?

She stared me in the eye. "We could order you to repeat your actions."

I raised an eyebrow. "Without pay? Why, Your Majesty, that would be slavery, and a very dangerous precedent."

She half-raised herself out of her throne. "That is hardly-!" she exclaimed before regaining control of herself and sitting back down. If she were savvier, she'd probably force me to accept some more reasonable remuneration. But she wasn't – that's the problem with child rulers. "This is extortion."

"No, Your Majesty. This is business. And, I will admit, a bit of punishment. Your noble Nabooian landowners surrendered control of your food supply. If I am to become responsible for Naboo's produce, I will ensure that it is secure. And I will be responsible. I refuse to bail out those so foolish as to allow the Trade Federation their monopoly, creating this situation. Not without reward." This was a pretty pointed remark in general, as that foolishness could be applied to the entirety of Naboo's economy. I could tell from her spike of inner turmoil that she understood my subtext.

To her side, one of her advisors, an older male, leant over and whispered in her ear. Little did they know, I could hear every word. "Your Majesty, I strongly advise we take his offer, however distasteful. We can hardly risk otherwise, given the circumstances, and how we came to be in them." He was right. Honestly, with the current state of affairs I gave it two weeks before the populace revolted and overthrew the government. At that point, the Trade Federation would probably end up practically owning the whole planet and all its inhabitants soon after.

At that reproach, the queen ducked her head, closing her eyes for a moment in shame. Then she looked up at me. "Very well, Mr. Gangari. For every farm you restore to working order before this crisis is over, you will own it. Of the goods produced for the next hundred years, you will have fifty percent, with twenty-five percent resting with the original owner, and twenty-five percent the Nabooian throne. After that, you, or your heirs, will have sixty percent, and the throne forty. No other taxes will be levied. In return, you must ensure that agricultural yields do not fall below eighty percent of what they currently are, or the farms may be re-apportioned."

It was a little off from what I had offered, but I'd take it. Honestly, it was fairly clever of her; even a quarter of the food supply, especially if she took her quarter in lower-cost grains, would be enough to ensure a basic food ration for the Nabooians who couldn't afford better. Granted they'd be hungry, and a low-calorie boring diet is no fun for anyone, but they'd be alive.

She also kept her nobles partially on-board; I'd initially suggested a seventy-thirty split between myself and the throne, and nothing for the previous land-owners. Small farmers, the sort of local equivalent to the mom-and-pop farm, organic hobbyists and the like, weren't in trouble in the first place. I had little issue giving the wealthy landowning class the shaft. As far as I was concerned, that class had a certain unwritten social contract. They had a lot of privileges, social cachet, and money; in return, they had to take a long view and look out for the nation's best interests. Trading control of the food supply for less work and slightly higher profits broke that contract, as far as I was concerned.

In fact, in some ways I was getting shafted. Over the prior hundred years, as plasma sales dominated Naboo's economy, the previous taxes on massive landowners were eliminated (as were many other taxes) by monarchs pandering to Naboo's elite. A tax of 50% now, 40% later, was very steep, especially since the tax was effectively applied before taking into account my expenses.

I could sense this was the best deal I'd get. A negotiator Amidala was not. "Agreed, Your Majesty."

"You are dismissed, Mr. Gangari." Yeah, she basically thought I was scum, taking advantage of peoples' needs as I did. That sort of naivete is why young teenagers shouldn't rule entire worlds. I wasn't sure she even recognized what situation the Nabooians would be without me, assuming that it would "be alright somehow." Another reason why teenagers who have never experienced set-backs shouldn't be rulers.

Later that day, an emergency law allowing the confiscation and redistribution of unworkable farms during a time of food-shortages to those who could work it was passed. I was in business.

There were about four hundred thousand droids over a thousand farms that provided the bulk of the food on Naboo. Using teleportation and my minions, I could visit a hundred farms a day. It was a pretty simple procedure; one of my minions (typically a paragon) collected droids, set up a jammer and activated an EMP pulse (all of which was really for show, hiding my magic), then I teleported in, re-wrote their loyalty, and sent a general repair-field to fix anything the pulse broke. The jamming and EMP gear was provided by Sola, then copied via magic as needed.

Ten days after meeting Amidala, I owned a few billion acres of prime Nabooian farmland, worth over a trillion credits. I was just glad the Trade Federation hadn't ordered their droids to self-destruct; that would have been problematic. I guess they just thought that in a month or two it wouldn't matter; either they'd have a deal, which would likely include return of their property, or they'd have either taken over the system and seized control themselves or have much more serious issues to worry about.

For the most part, the Nabooians loved me; I had, after all, just saved them from starvation. Had I screwed over a load of the wealthy landowners? Sure, but what working-class (or, given that this was Naboo dole-class) stiff didn't want to do the same?

War-profiteering was the best.

Then the Jedi showed up, and, predictably, everything went to hell.

Chapter 44: By Hook or By Crook

After restoring the food-supply to full functionality, I was invited to the palace for a press-conference.

The Nabooians were about eighty percent in approval of what I'd done; the rest were the usual malcontents who were never happy with anything, those worried by the sudden consolidation of wealth, and those who supported the previous owners' rights. But eighty percent was good. That's about as good as it ever gets in a society with freedom of speech and no mind-control.

The government, understandably, wanted to capitalize on that, reassure the public, and reduce the remnant worry that I would end up the overlord via food. Plus Jon decided to bother me until I agreed to go. He just rolled his eyes when I decided he had to accompany me; his tolerance for bull-shit like PR conferences was way higher than mine, so it was hardly a punishment.

I had just entered a chamber next to the throne room where I was meant to meet with Amidala prior to our joint statement when I saw a man in Palace Security Forces uniform, an officer by his rank tabs, get a message via his ear-piece. It must have been serious, as he seemed fairly panicked, running over to Amidala.

"Your Majesty," he said quietly in her ear. It was still audible to my improved body though. "Trade Federation landing ships have launched en-masse."

Oh shit.

Amidala nearly got whiplash she turned to him so quickly. "What? But, that's impossible! The Chancellor assured me that the Jedi negotiators would have arrived by now," she said, seemingly trying to assure herself, and falling out of the royal "we".

Oh, shit.

"In that case, Your Majesty, it seems negotiations have failed," the man said dryly. I couldn't help myself, and chuckled a bit. Jon looked at me like I was an idiot.

Still, it was time to get moving. "Captain," I said, activating my communications link spell with Orson as I began to walk towards Amidala. "The Trade Federation is invading. Give orders to raise readiness levels, and prepare for contingency blue."

Blue was a plan to keep people out of Trade Federation hands by teleportation to prepared secret bunkers scattered about the planet, while avoiding destruction of assets via a lack of resistance. At the same time, my home itself would not allow more than a token droid presence; house arrest was fine, but if invaded the building defenses would be activated, and the place would fight until it was necessary to activate the self-destruct.

"Yes, my lord," the man replied seriously. "I'll tell the security detail to be ready as well." Given the circumstances, the blockade and possibility of invasion, I was travelling with no fewer than a dozen bodyguards in three armored speeders. That was basically equivalent to a small army given their capabilities, but a bit of warning never hurt and we were facing a rather large army by all accounts.

"Very good, Captain," I said, coming up on Amidala.

"Order an emergency meeting of the Privy Council," she was saying to her handmaidens. "Get as many governors conferenced in as possible. We want to be ready to communicate with that damned Viceroy as soon as We are seated on the throne."

"What is going on, Your Majesty?" I asked.

She glared at me. "We are being invaded," she hissed, stalking out of the chamber and into the throne room, still giving orders to her attendants. As she sat herself on the throne and got into communication with the Trade Federation's Viceroy, I was wondering something.

What the fuck had I been thinking, showing the ability to re-write droid controls while the Trade Federation was in orbit with a droid army? There was no way their intelligence hadn't marked me as a priority target, and not in the way that I'd have been as a semi-mysterious rich man. No, they were going to want answers.

"Captain, it may be best to expedite case Blue," I ordered. "Get the researchers and computers out, and prepare to receive hostile guests at our home. Scrub whatever you can't evacuate. Don't take casualties, but don't leave the bastards any useable intelligence either. Still, don't fire unless attacked."

Seriously, what had I been thinking.

"Yes, my lord."

It was time to refocus on the immediate surroundings Amidala was getting up; she was not happy. It seemed her talk with the Viceroy didn't go well. Not that I was expecting anything else.

"Gangari, follow us," she ordered. "Since you control the agriculture sector, you should be here for the emergency meeting."

Fuck. I followed her; Jon followed me.

It quickly became apparent that the Nabooians were not, in any way, ready for this eventuality. Not that I was quite sure how they should have been; sudden invasion by a completely overwhelming force via orbital drop wasn't something that could really be countered by a political discussion. But still, Naboo's politicians did not respond with reason, intelligence and control. They were a bunch of panicked, breaking-down fools, really.

Honestly, I was pretty pissed off by it all. At least Amidala had the sense to order her security, law enforcement, and the rest of the population to, while not surrendering, not actually attack. Otherwise it could have been a bloody slaughter. I wasn't sure if it was wisdom, or she actually believed in the rule of law that much. Then again, Naboo had had peace and prosperity for so long she may have actually believed that was the natural order of things. It may have been so deeply ingrained that she was literally incapable of considering otherwise.

Or the Force was keeping her from screwing the pooch.

Either way, it avoided a massacre. But we were still in that fucking room hours later when the droids showed up to take us into custody.

I had sent my men back long before. From reports, the TF forces weren't committing atrocities, but were taking control. I didn't need another dozen projectile-shield enchantments around me as a buffer against orbital fire, and two people mysteriously escaping was much easier than fourteen. I was still trying to keep my cover, after all; while a few droids weren't a threat to a planetary-apocalypse level mage, the Star-Wars verse had their own planetary-apocalypse level characters, not to mention star-ships of similar power.

But apparently I was high enough on the target-priority list to merit being transported directly to the Federation leadership, I was guessing for interrogation and signing over my fortune. Considering Amidala and her direct entourage were the only other ones to get similar treatment, it was quite the compliment.

Then a pair of Jedi dropped down, wiping out the droids in a flurry of flashy sword-work. They even brought along an incredibly irritating gungan, Jar-Jar Binks, as their comedic relief and mascot.

We were "rescued." Hurray!

I'd have preferred to remain with the droids; I was planning an easy escape later, and that scenario had far lower chances of getting involved with people who could actually kill me. Not the general Jedi knights, but if what I saw from Star Wars, and possibilities I verified from the redacted histories of the galaxy, if those were true… Suffice to say, I did not want to engage top-tier Force-users.

As Jon and I bobbed along in Amidala's wake, rushing to the hangar bay in an attempt to get into the air, run the blockade, and escape Naboo to avoid being forced to sign some document legalizing the Trade Federation's invasion, I had a sudden realization.

I knew why I'd gotten involved so foolishly with the food situation, why I was present that day at the palace to get caught up in the invasion, why I was taken with Amidala.

It was the fucking Force, I knew it.

It wanted me involved, somehow, with what was going on. With what was about to happen. But whether it was to my benefit or detriment I didn't know.

Honestly, that thought filled me with panic. Too much panic, I later suspected. But the kernel, the fear of the Force, was true. The Force sounds really great… until you realize that conflict between Jedi and Sith had been the root cause of at least half of the galactic wars. And the ones they didn't start, they sure as fuck jumped in on. At the end of the day, I saw the Force as a sort of psychic field that magnified things. Enlightened monks became space-wizards, and significant wars became genocidal conflicts.

Hell, the last war between the Jedi and Sith lasted centuries, and basically caused a galactic dark age.

Granted, the Jedi had been around for a thousand years since then, so I wasn't anticipating something as bad as that. I had, and still have, a very poor level of conclusive understanding of the Force, though I had many theories. The Force is sort of like God; ask a thousand people what it is, and you'll get a thousand answers, with ten thousand explanations. But it was clear that the Force was hardly concerned with human ideas of morality, or gigadeaths for that matter.

It was also clear from what I'd learned of history that the Force functionally played favorites, acting like narrativium to create stories with Force-sensitive protagonists. I had no interest in being involved. But as strong as I was, I suspected it was nothing compared to a galaxy (or more) wide psychic force which seemed to be wanting me included in whatever mess was coming up.

It was clear I'd need some sort of shield specifically against fate, destiny, precognition and the like. Obviously it would need to be conceptual, given the disparity in power. But how to best achieve that…

I should, perhaps, have been more focused on the escape. I was paying enough attention to my precognition to ensure we weren't destroyed, blocking shots that would have crippled the engines, damaged inertial compensators, or caused some other disaster. But I was afraid, especially with two Jedi on board, of doing anything more overt, and the ship did get hit hard enough to bring down the shields and do some damage.

Luckily most of the Vulture droids had been assigned to CAP (combat air patrol) to cover the relatively un-protected landers, and the remainder seemed to be under orders to disable but not destroy the queen's transport. So we did get by without my having to intervene more overtly.

Still, it was fucking inconvenient when the hyperdrive was damaged. Maybe next time the Nabooians will decide that their royal yacht could do with some guns.

But either way, the hyperdrive needed fixing, and we had to do it somewhere the Trade Federation wasn't. Tatooine, a desert world filled with smugglers, was chosen. I thought it was pretty stupid; the same smugglers, mercenaries, and "abandoned ship reclamation specialists" (read, pirates) that made Tatooine an unlikely place for the Trade Federation's nice, fat, juicy ships to loiter made it a dangerous place for the queen's incredibly flashy, pricy ship (which could no longer even run away) to land.

Granted, the place was under "Hutt Peace Accords," a set of rules keeping the actual piracy away from the planets and stations necessary to enjoy and profit from it. But these people were career criminals and villains; a pardon allowing them to operate in Trade Federation controlled space and a big enough pile of credits, and the Hutt's peace wasn't worth shit.

But I wasn't consulted, and the Force seemed to like the place (according to our wonderful new Jedi "friends"), so off we went.

Still, this fucking mess taught me one thing. It was clear that I'd need to figure out how to avoid the Force's interference.

Chapter 45: Leaving the Circus

Tatooine was a crime-infested, barren, desert shit-hole, but I was incredibly happy to be there. It meant that Jon and I could finally get off that damned ship. We'd been on it for just under three days at that point, and I'd had enough.

Enough of Amidala's unveiled hostility. Enough of her sycophants joining in on treating us alternately as whipping boys and lepers. Enough of the practically transparent ploys from Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi and Master Qui-Gon Jinn attempting to satisfy their curiosity. Enough of the lack of accommodations (the ship only had one passenger suite, for Amidala and a few of her handmaidens, and a couple bunk rooms for the crew; guess who was last on the list for beds or even blankets). Enough of the fucking boredom, unable to work on my magic (or anything else, really).

Just enough.

I think if I'd been on that ship another day, I'd have flipped and filled the entire thing with wildfire before teleporting Jon and I back to Naboo. I didn't even have Togo to pet. It was awful.

Even the MRE's sucked. I mean, come the fuck on, future! You can't manage nice MRE's on the royal yacht? But no, apparently the ship was only stocked with the freshest food, and only when about to go on a journey. The MRE's were only there if the hyperdrive went down mid-flight, and they somehow survived the experience, thus needing to wait for rescue.

So when we landed Jon and I semi sarcastically thanked Amidala for her hospitality, then fucked right off. I had more than enough cash on me, and could easily summon up as much as needed. The bastards chose to land in the sand-dunes outside the spaceport of Mos Espa, rather than take my entirely reasonable offer to pay for a ship's berth myself.

Why did they do this? For "security".

Morons.

As if a klick of desert would stop mercenary-pirates on flying cars. Or as if the entirely unique royal yacht was somehow less obvious in the desert than the spaceport. No, the only thing landing there meant was that we weren't under the spaceport authorities' protection. The Hutts had an interest in maintaining their safe-port status and neutrality, but only for paying customers. In fact, they now had an interest in allowing (or even ordering) an attack on the queen's party, to ensure others didn't choose to land in the desert rather than pay their port-fees.

Like I said, morons.

Plus, it meant Jon and I had to walk through the desert, awkwardly close to Qui-Gon, the idiot gungan and Amidala, who had for some doubtless fucking stupid idea decided to join them while pretending to be a handmaiden.

Jon and I were trudging through the sand when he turned to me. "I need a drink."

I chuckled. "Me too. Fucking hell, but that was miserable."

He nodded. "Next time, I don't give a shit if we die, you bust out the magic."

"Fine," I replied. He was right. For such a powerful mage, I was being a real coward. What was the point of all the power if I had to suffer that sort of petty bullshit?

"I'm surprised you didn't go all 'Mountain Killer' on that ship."

"What, run about the place killing everyone, and deliver a sackful of heads to who? Senator Palpatine? Tell him, "Sir, in the future, pick a less obnoxious queen!"?" I asked. "That sounds a bit mad."

Jon laughed. "I wasn't aware that sanity was among your virtues."

"Oh, shut up Jon. And think about what you want to drink," I said.

"I already know. The most potent, hallucinogenic drink they have. It's the only way we can still get buzzed, after all your magic."

"After the past few days, honestly, that sounds divine," I muttered. "Just watch out for the whores."

"What? Why?" he asked.

"They'll be slaves, here."

"Fucking seriously, Odysseus? We get off that damned ship and away from those horrible people, and now you start being a wet blanket, trying to get me miserable again? Plus, when have you ever known me to visit whores?"

I burst out into laughter at his indignation. "Sorry, sorry," I apologized.

Eventually we reached Tatooine, and via a combination of threats and bribes found a dining establishment called the Victor's Roostthat attracted the higher class of scumbag. The establishment itself was pretty amazing. Basically, imagine Tortuga during the golden age of Caribbean piracy. Then imagine a bar for only the richest of captains and their officers. Finally, bring it into the future.

That was the Victor's Roost. The most luxurious furnishings, bedecked in gold and looted treasures that "looked nice enough," things that could fetch fortunes, if they weren't too hot to move, all thrown together with a sort of classless, garish extravagance. The most attractive of human and alien serving girls and dancers (all of whom were also available, for the right price), exotic and expensive wines and food, and of course the drugs.

And underneath it all was this frisson of danger. Fortunes were won and lost on the turn of a card or throw of the dice. Pirates wanted in a dozen sectors met planning attacks on valuable shipments. Smugglers, gun and drug runners were hired by rebels and criminals for essential deliveries. Deadly assassins were hired to hunt down a traitor or remove an enemy or, worse, already on the hunt. Slavers discussed special orders, or just sold off the most precious of their recent stock. And all of these villains were standing at the top of their respective fields.

Suffice to say, the place had ambiance, though the galaxy would doubtless be better off if I hosed it down with spell-fire. But after three days in close quarters with the Nabooian royal party, I was willing to give them a pass so long as the food was good and the drink was strong.

We had literally just finished ordering when I got a call. Considering that the only people who had my number were the Nabooians, it was fairly obvious who the culprit was.

I tapped my earpiece, activating the communicator, and clicked the hard-wired switch for the microphone to "on" – no listening in on my conversations without my knowing. "Odysseus here," I said.

"Hello Odysseus, it's Qui-Gon," I heard from the other end.

"Qui-Gon, I've just sat down for the first decent meal in days. This had better be an emergency," I warned.

He gave a small cough in embarrassment. "Well, it turns out that the salvage-yard owner won't accept credits."

"Alright. So, what? Did your mind-control fail?" I asked.

"It's not mind control," he protested tiredly. "But yes, the owner proved resistant to being influenced."

"And then someone remembered I might be carrying hard currency?"

"That's right," he said.

"So how much do you need?"

"About twenty thousand credits worth. Are you carrying that much?" he asked hopefully.

I grinned. I sensed another opportunity. "I am. Please give the handmaiden the comm."

"Hello Mr. Gangari," Amidala said, her voice far less arrogant than usual. "Thank you so much for agreeing to help us."

Nice try, queenie. "You can cut the act, Your Majesty," I drawled. "I doubt you're fooling the Jedi; you surely didn't fool me. And I haven't agreed to help you yet."

"What do you want," she asked, her voice totally devoid of feeling. She hated me so much in that instant.

"The Naboo throne doesn't take it's cut of my farmland." It's always good to start off from a high price in negotiations.

"What. WHAT!" she hissed. "That's worth tens of billions of credits a year, you, you – you extortionist!"

I chuckled. "Well, what's your counter-offer?"

"My counter offer? How about you give us the money! How about you do the decent thing, and help us! Help everyone suffering on Naboo!" She was furious. Ah, it was really quite satisfying to dig beneath her mask. But still, she was far too childish.

"Why would I? You've hardly done anything to make me well disposed to you, personally. It's not like you can't get to Coruscant. You can easily sell the ship, and buy something cheaper. Granted, it might take you a week or two more to get to Coruscant, and you'll take a bit of a hit to your image, but I'm sure the Jedi will get you there safe and sound. I doubt the Trade Federation will do anything tooterrible in the meantime. Granted, some of your entourage may have to be left here until you can retrieve them, but I'm sure they're all clever enough to get by without falling into slavery."

I was just cranking her up, making her realize how much she needed my help. I had no idea if they could get credits exchanged otherwise; credits were a government-controlled trackable cryptocurrency, after all, which criminals tended to steer clear of. There were doubtless people who did exchange, and clean, credits, but the exchange was probably exorbitant, and introductions hard to come by.

She was quiet for a moment, thinking. "Five percent. We'll reduce Naboo's portion of your produce by five percent," she finally offered. Her voice was quieter, weakened by the realization of just how screwed they are.

"I trust you mean by five percent of my total produce, not five percent of what you'd get," I clarified. "But that's not enough. Twenty-five percent."

"Ten percent, for a period of a hundred years," she rejoined.

I grinned. "Now you're learning to negotiate!" I replied happily, subtly mocking her earlier failures to do so. "Fifteen percent, in perpetuity."

"Ten percent, in perpetuity."

Good enough. "I agree, so long as the right is transferrable to future owners. Have one of your handmaidens draw up the agreement, and send it to my datapad. If you text us the address, Jon and I will be by momentarily." I hung up.

"So, no food?" Jon asked.

"No food," I agreed.

"No drinks?"

"No drinks."

"More of this fucking sand?"

"More of this fucking sand."

He sighed. "How much did you take them for?"

"Ten percent reduction in our agricultural taxes."

"What – forever?" he clarified.

"That's right. About six billion credits a year, give or take." I grinned.

"And how much money did they need?" he asked.

"Twenty thousand credits."

"Gods, that girl is just awful at negotiations," he noted.

I nodded. "She really is."

Jon sighed, looking mournfully at our empty table. "I want half."

"What?"

"Of what she's giving you. I'm missing the food too, it's only fair."

I laughed at his boldness. "Unlike the queen, I'm not in the habit of bending myself over the barrel for those I negotiate with, Jon."

He sighed again. "Fine, I'll take a third."

"Really? How magnanimous of you," I said sarcastically.

"It really is. Otherwise you'll be listening to me bitch and moan about this meal at least until Coruscant," he warned.

"Fine, fine," I rolled my eyes. "You can have a third – but no bitching, moaning, whining, or other complaining about this meal. Not that the money even matters; I can make as much as we need."

"It's the principle," Jon replied.

"Right."

We looked at each other, and broke into laughter.

After taking a cab to our destination, Watto's (Junk/Salvage) Shop, I went over and signed the agreement I had with Amidala, had it witnessed by the Jedi, then gave her the money. A single pound-sterling sized coin made out of crystalline vertex could be worth between ten thousand and a hundred thousand credits, depending on crystal quality, which made the whole thing feel slightly ridiculous; all of this seriousness and the object being transferred was a pair of coins.

Suffice to say, Watto, a pot-bellied, child-sized flying alien of some variety, was more willing to accept this form of payment, and delivery of the replacement hyperdrive parts was scheduled for the next day. We left the shop, and I turned to Amidala.

"Well, it's been a pleasure," I said with a smirk.

She glared. "I just hope I never have to have any business with you again, ever."

Qui-Gon looked at us, unsure what to say or do, then settled for a nod and a quick "may the Force be with you," which I politely returned. Each party turned to go in different directions, Jon and I to our cab and then back to the Victor's Roost, the Jedi, queen and gungan to their ship.

Except we were interrupted. A sandy-blond slave-boy, his emotions rippling with nervousness combined with curiosity and a sort of empathetic kindness spoke up. "Um, where are you planning on going?"

I looked at him, amused by his daring; I wasn't cruel, especially to slaves, but he didn't know that. "Jon and I are off to a place called Victor's Roost, where we'll try and get some rooms."

"And we're headed back to our ship, which is the sand-dunes to the west of the spaceport," Qui-Gon answered. "Why?"

The boy shook his head. "There's a sand-storm coming in. You'll never make it. And all the rooms will be full; it's the Boonta Eve Classic in two days. People come in from all over the galaxy to watch it. But you can spend the night at our home."

After a quick call to the Roost to check if that was actually the case, I agreed to take up the slave boy's offer of hospitality. Not exactly what I was hoping for, and I'd still be in contact with Amidala, but after getting such a large concession out of her being around her was pissing her off (and amusing me) more than the reverse.

Chapter 46: Manumission

I pitied the boy, Anakin's, mother. They were well off by slave standards, to be sure. They had excess food, water, space, their own place, a degree of freedom outside of their work, and a relatively benign master. Still, they were slaves. Their excess, their entire buffer from their master cutting their food and water rations either as punishment or to cut costs after losing a bet or coming off worse from a business deal, we went through all of it.

A week worth of food and water to a woman and boy acclimated to the climate, used to scarcity, gone in a single meal for their five visitors. Binks especially needed more water in the desert climate, as his race was adapted to amphibious areas. Why the idiot left the ship I did not know.

Plus, we were definitely crowding them. Two bedrooms, kitchen, and living, all quite small were enough room for a single woman and her son, but less so for an extra five adults. And Shmi, Anakin's mother, was definitely aware of how vulnerable she and her son were. We were obviously wealthy off-worlders, and Qui-Gon, Jon and I were physically powerful to boot. We could have done anything we wanted to those two.

But despite all of that, despite her incredibly shitty life – after all, unlike Anakin, Shmi was not born to slavery, did not entirely take that as the natural way of things – she was a genuinely good person. She cared deeply for her son, but also cared about people in general. She was charitable and optimistic.

It was interesting watching her, and how she interacted with us. Anakin had noticed Qui-Gon's lightsaber at the shop, correctly assumed he was a Jedi, and incorrectly assumed that he was on Tatooine to free the slaves. Shmi had a flash of hope, which Qui-Gon crushed when he explained that he wasn't there to free the slaves, but rather running escort. But even still she wanted to help us. She didn't let her disappointment turn to bitterness.

And I respected that. Respected her. She was, in many ways, a better person than I. I was pissed off by Qui-Gon and Amidala. Was it really so much to free a pair of slaves? Qui-Gon was a senior Jedi master; according to his Padawan Kenobi, he was a candidate for their high council. He probably had access to discretionary funds sufficient to buy the entire planet, let alone a single boy and mother who had possibly saved his life. Amidala certainly did, as queen of Naboo.

But Qui-Gon was afflicted by that peculiar disease endemic to Jedi, that idea that all that happens was the Force's will. I found it difficult to differentiate in practice from "inshallah," that expression guaranteed to drive any western engineer who ever worked within the Arab world up the fucking wall. Or perhaps he had become so capable of divorcing himself from his experiences that he couldn't differentiate how Anakin and Shmi's suffering was any different than that shared by the hundreds of thousands of slaves on Tatooine, the billions or even trillions throughout the galaxy. And since he couldn't save all of them, he chose to save none.

Either way, it was a dick move, and Qui-Gon only became interested in Anakin after he found that the boy was powerful in the Force, though the boy was apparently too old to train. Which, just, such a pedo statement! Seriously, fucking Jedi cultists and their baby fetishes. Besides, I had figured out how to sense Force potential using my magical senses, and Anakin was potentially seriously powerful. Significantly more so than Qui-Gon, for example, and Jinn supposedly had a high-councilor level Force connection.

As for Amidala, that idiot got a message from home that was doubtless designed to lead our enemy to our doorstep by tracking the message router information. And she, fool that she was, opened it, saw the whining face of one of her governors, and descended into a pity-party. Honestly, she was like one of those idiot criminals back on Earth who got caught after answering a call from their girlfriend and getting tracked by that.

With any luck though Amidala and co. would get their ship functioning quickly and out-run her pursuers. It didn't matter much to me, as I had no intent to continue with them.

Unlike those two, I did intend to help Shmi. For her and her son's assistance and charity in hosting us, I would have repaid them a hundred-fold. For her character, I'd do better. Anakin, Amidala and Binks, tired by the activity, stress and environment had all gone to bed, leaving Qui-Gon, Jon, Shmi and I awake. Qui-Gon was off in the corner, looking at something on his datapad, while the rest of us were gathered around the table with a pot of tea.

After a long stretch of silence, I spoke up. "What is it that you want, Shmi?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"If you could make a wish, what would it be?" I clarified.

She was visibly hopeful, and almost glowing with it to my emotional senses. "For Anakin to be free," she said.

I nodded slowly. "Just that? Not for revenge, on those that put you into slavery? On your masters since then? Not for your own freedom?"

She shook her head. "No. If Anakin were free, could leave Tatooine, could have a good life… that would be enough," she whispered.

"Alright," I said. "Tomorrow, he'll be free."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

I shrugged. "One good turn deserves another."

"But, all we did was give you a single meal, leave you a patch of floor to sleep on… I, just, I don't -" she stammered.

I smiled. "And that represented a significant portion of your wealth, no? You're both good people, and were willing to sacrifice your hard-won excess for a pack of off-world strangers. Well, this stranger appreciates that."

She left her chair, kneeling in front of me. "Thank you, thank you," she wept.

I put my hand on her shoulder. "Please, get up," I said, uncomfortable with the excess emotion. After she had gotten up, sat back in her chair, and calmed down a bit, I continued. "But a boy should have his mother, so I'll be freeing you both. And offering you a job; leaving you here on this crime-ridden rock, or abandoning you to fend for yourselves in the wider galaxy would hardly be right."

She was gaping at me, stunned. I clapped her on the shoulder, and gave a tight-lipped smile. "Anyways, I'm going to turn in for the night," I said, then left for the alcove we'd earlier decided was going to be my sleeping nook.

Best way to avoid uncomfortably emotional moments? Walk away!

Of course, I didn't actually need to sleep. I was meditating, figuring out exactly how my shield to protect me from being noticed or influenced by the Force was going to work. See, it wasn't enough to become transparent to the Force if everything I interacted with was still within the Force's purview. The Force may still be able to manipulate me, and individual Jedi and Sith would definitely notice the shadow I cast, possibly finding me as the common linking element.

One idea I thought about was to try and throw up a massive smokescreen. Blind the Force not to me, but in general over as wide an area as I could manage. But I was hesitant to do so. The galaxy was in the far-future, with highly advanced technology. The lack of a Von Neuman AI army, hegemonizing swarm, grey-goo nanite plague, tyrranid-inspired bioweapon infestation, or other such disaster was possibly the result of the Force. The fact that a bare ten thousand Jedi held together a Republic with over ten billion times their number of citizens was surely attributable to the Force.

I had no desire to watch the galaxy drown under a tide of the fires of war and bloodshed, and doubted it would last a decade if the Force were suddenly blinded in a major way. So, I needed a different solution. Instead of blinding everyone, I just needed to make myself extremely illusive.

At its core, my spell was meant to make me totally transparent to the Force. I did not exist, thus could have no future or past. The next layer out, the spell would blend the effects of my passage into the background of the Force, a chameleon-like neutrality. The last layer added false futures for myself, starting from what was my actual Force presence (as if none of those spells were cast at all), but warping it like a mirror-funhouse at the carnival. The longer term something tried to model me, the worse reality and precognition would diverge.

There were two really great effects from this. First, as far as the Force itself was concerned (if that was, in fact, a mechanism that it used), I wasn't there, and it should no longer drag me into its messes, or those of its favored children: the various Forceful Jedi, Sith, and other such adepts. Second, as far as other Force users were concerned, I was one of those rare individuals whose ever-shifting decision making and reprioritizing meant that it was difficult to judge my future.

Magically, the spell was based strongly on Blue, for thought and perception, with aspects of Green and White to blend me into the background. Red, chaotic and unpredictable, helped give variability to my false Force presence layer, while its aspects of freedom helped divorce myself from the skein of Fate and Destiny in the first place. Best yet, the spell should be generally effective against anyfate, destiny, or other semi or fully precognitive manipulation.

I just had to wait to be away from those meddlesome Jedi, and I'd be able to put the spell into place. Otherwise they could be jarred by my transition.

The next day dawned bright and sunny, as was pretty much always the case on Tatooine. Jon, Shmi, Anakin and I went off to Watto's so that I could buy them, while Qui-Gon led Amidala and Binks there to pick up their parts.

"Ah, here for your parts, yes?" the green-blue buzzing creature asked. "Right this way, right this way. They're already loaded on this repulsor-lift." He motioned to a chunk of angular metal casing and wiring.

"They may be," I said, gesturing at Qui-Gon and his annoying followers, "but I'm here for some other business."

"Oh, and what would that be?" Watto replied, a gleam of greed in his eyes. "Did your friends tell you about my fine collection?"

I gave the jumbled mess of used droids, parts, and simple junk a sweeping glance, unimpressed. "No, I intend to purchase Shmi and Anakin."

His face instantly shuttered. "They're not for sale," he said, his voice flat.

I grinned charmingly. "Everything is for sale, my friend. It just depends on the price."

His wings buzzed with agitation. "Fine. A million peggats."

I quirked my eyebrows. He was massively overcharging. Shmi and Anakin were class two slaves, those with technical skills. Shmi, a middle-aged human female, was worth at most ten thousand credits, and that was still easily twice as much as I'd expect to pay. Anakin as a child was worth half that, though his special skills as a podracer pilot might drive that up. Both of them combined should certainly have been under twenty thousand credits, with a more reasonable estimate being about eight thousand.

At forty-ish credits to the peggat, that was between two hundred and five hundred peggats. A million peggats was more than a thousand times their value.

My eyes hardened. "I just want the two slaves, Watto. Not everything you own, and even then I wouldn't pay a million peggat for it, not even if you threw in your life."

He snarled. "Threatening me? Get out of my shop."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Master Jinn," I said, turning to Qui-Gon. "We are not in the Republic, and so you have no ability to enforce Republic law, correct?"

He nodded, slowly. "That is right."

"And, given the fact that this individual is holding slaves under threat of death, this constitutes exigent circumstances, does it not?" As I had everyone's attention, Jon slid into the alien's blind spot.

"It does," Qui-Gon agreed.

"Still, perhaps you shouldn't see this. Why don't you take everyone and wait outside."

He was a bit worried, and Amidala and Binks were far more so. Shmi and Anakin were as well, but less so at the prospect of violence than of not being freed.

"Morons," hissed Watto. "You think you punks are the first to try and rip me off? Gua-" he began to shout before Jon lunged forward, grabbing the great flying asshole by the throat and shutting him up before he could call for help.

"Off you go, we'll just be a second," I said, waving the others out and sealing the door behind them. I walked over to where Jon was holding Watto, grabbed his arm, and broke it.

"Aaahhhhhh!" screamed the intractable slave-owner.

I slapped him across the face a few times, not too hard, just to refocus him. "What's the price, Watto?"

"E chu ta! You're dead, you wermo. As soon as Jabba hears about this, you're dead!" he spat.

I sighed, reached over to the hand on the broken arm and began to squeeze. I could tear apart steel like it was play-dough; his hand gave no resistance. I slowly increased the pressure as he grimaced, then cried out to the soft pops of damage to those fragile bones. "OK, OK!" he cried as his hand was on the verge of being crushed. "They're yours, just let me transfer the codes!"

I could practically smell the deception oozing off of him. I walked over to one of the inactive droids, and tore its arm off, then starting smashing it until it was a ruin. Then I turned back to Watto.

"Hey, shit-head," I said. "My friend here is just as strong as I am. You going to bet that he can't tear your throat out before he gets hit when you activate your defenses?"

He slumped a bit. "Fine! Fine," he snarled. But his aura was still full of deception.

I brought up a document on my pad, then sent it to his. "Here's the agreement," I said. "A hundred peggats for both. This way, if something unfortunate happens, like you forgetting to give us the right code, or having some backup that kills them anyways, I can tell Jabba about how you reneged on our deal. And Watto, that million peggats? I'll put that on your head as a bounty if you try and run."

At that, the fight went out of him. Soon enough, we'd made the transfer.

"Good. Watto, next time you have a customer? Try not to be such a fucking asshole. You're in retail, after all."

Chapter 47: Unwelcome Meetings

Jon and I left the shop.

"Well," I grinned, "you're free."

Shmi got all teary, thanking me, while Anakin ran up and gave me a hug. Which, ok, thanks kid?

Jon looked at me. "So, what's next?"

I was about to reply when Anakin interrupted. "You have to see the Banta Eve podrace!" he exclaimed.

"Sure," I shrugged. "I guess we're off to the podraces."

We made our goodbyes to Amidala, Qui-Gon, and Binks, hopefully for the last time, then left.

The pod-races were… interesting? Sort of like NASCAR, but even faster, with even more wrecks, and a lot more sabotage and cheating. But it didn't really do it for me. Oh, I'm sure it was fun as hell to race yourself (if crazily dangerous for those not capable of tanking artillery rounds to the face), but as a spectator I didn't really appreciate the sport. Martial arts were more my speed. But it made Anakin happy, and so many other people were watching that it would have been hard to look for a ship to charter to take us off that barren, sandy rock anyway, so we might as well have watched.

I took the opportunity to establish my anti-Force precognition shield. The Fate-guard, I called it. The mass of hundreds of thousands of people, all highly emotional and focused on a chancy event like a podrace, fortunes and lives changing in instants… that made, as far as I understood, for a great smokescreen from Force-users. Twenty minutes of the race, and I'd snapped it into place, delicate and deceptive workings of Blue and Green and Red removing myself from the skein of destiny, replaced by decoys and dummies to avoid attention. I fit the same to Jon; the rest of my people could wait until I had the time to spare.

Afterwards we started hitting a few of the spacer bars to find out if anyone was amenable to being hired. I wasn't really sure where I wanted to go. On the one hand, I wanted to head to Corellia and tour their shipyards, maybe get the patterns for some capital-class ships. There was one dedicated ship-to-ship frigate, the DP-20, that was pretty nice too: heavily armed, armored, and fast. After the Trade Federation's invasion, I was feeling like my Nostos might need some heavier backup.

On the other hand, I now had significant assets on Naboo. It was, essentially, where I kept my shit. Leaving Amidala of all people to deal with the Republican Senate and secure assistance seemed apt to fail. She hadn't exactly had a good track record recently with negotiations. So, with a great sigh, I decided we had to go to Coruscant.

Of course, that was slightly easier said than done. Far too many of the smugglers were partying and drunk in the podrace's aftermath. Annoyingly, they didn't list their destinations on open boards; too easy for a competitor, or a pirate to pick some likely transit point and ambush them, stealing their load, ship, and even selling them into slavery.

After striking out in the second bar, I noticed something bad as we left. We were surrounded, a motley crew of mercenaries and ne'er do wells, mixed alien and human scum. And, judging by their focus, they were after us, specifically.

Luckily, Jon and I were packing; one could hardly be unarmed on Tatooine, after all, and arming ourselves was the work of an instant back when we'd first separated from Amidala and the others after leaving the ship. Somewhat unusually for the galaxy, we weren't using blasters. Blaster pistols just didn't cycle fast enough; even with relatively weak shots and strong power sources it typically took as long as a quarter second before the next shot was ready to fire.

In comparison, top of the line ballistic pistols using electronically controlled caseless ammunition and super-high explosive propellant could manage just under fifty shots a second, or about three thousand in a minute. Of course, firing that quickly was counter-productive for accuracy and gun longevity, so full-auto was limited to ten rounds a second unless otherwise modified; burst and single shot made full use of the high rate of fire, though only someone as modified as Jon or I could actually benefit from that with single-shot mode. A standard pistol-grip fitted magazine held forty rounds.

Granted, standard ballistics weren't effective against targets with even moderately decent-quality body armor, but other than full protected targets like an armored war-droid, or a Mandalorian, Jon and I were good enough shots to hit unprotected spots. And if things really got to that point we could use Valyrian-tipped beskar penetrators. Or magic, since by then the cat would probably be out of the bag.

Anyways, we could fight back without revealing our full abilities, or even hinting at them, much to our attackers' pity.

"That's the-" a reptilian thug shouted before I blew a hole through his brain. It was merely the first of many. It sounded like being caught directly inside a thunderstorm as the booms of Jon and my shots rang out as we accelerated, targeting and firing smoothly as we used our precognition and enhanced senses to ensure that none of the enemies hit us, or Shmi or Anakin.

That was definitely one nice thing about ballistics; most people in the galaxy weren't used to that level of noise and flash, the sound deeper and more terrifying than that of blaster-bolts exploding.

Shock and awe; everyone who witnessed it was full of both. Shmi and Anakin looked a little sick though.

"Shit," I said as I reloaded with practiced motions. Back on Naboo, in our training grounds, we used these things like BB-guns. Now, that was a fun sport.

"What?" Jon asked, also reloading.

"I forgot to leave one alive to question," I replied. "Did you?"

He looked a little sheepish. "I was caught up in the moment."

"I wonder if it was…" I trailed off as I saw a surveillance droid, something far too advanced for Tatooine watching, and shot it. "No, notWatto. I'm guessing Trade Federation. It's time to go; I just hope Amidala still has room for us."

Minutes later we were screaming towards the royal yacht in a speeder. We swooshed in, stopping just short of the ship, and jumped out of the speeder. Shmi and Anakin each had a bag with some valuables and keepsakes, prepared in case I secured their freedom but they were kicked out of Watto's living space. Unfortunately, they were otherwise leaving behind their things. Still, better that than dead in the next crossfire.

Plus, that tacky golden droid of Anakin's was annoying as fuck; I was honestly glad we'd been attacked, as it gave an excuse to leave it behind. If the boy wanted a droid, it should be as awesome and useful as HK-47. Now that was a "protocol" droid.

Captain Panaka, who had been in charge of Amidala's security detail when the attack happened and accompanied her since, rushed out of the ship.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"We were attacked," I replied. "A number of local mercenaries, pirates and thugs. We killed them all, but there was a top-of-the-line surveillance droid. I'm guessing Trade Federation, or a subcontractor. If they went after us, I doubt they're far away from you too."

"Thank you for the warning," Panaka said. "Was there anything else?"

I quirked my brow. "Really? I have to ask? Well then, I'd be greatly appreciative if you'd allow us to travel with you to Coruscant. I'd prefer not to be shot at while trying to arrange transportation."

The bastard was enjoying his advantage over me. "I'll ask her majesty," he said.

"Dick," I muttered underneath my breath after he left. Soon enough he returned, with Amidala, still disguised as a handmaiden, at his side.

"It seems that this time you need something, Odysseus," she said with a pleased grin. "And her majesty has authorized me to negotiate. I'm thinking a twenty percent increase to how much of your produce that goes to the throne."

I faked looking shocked. "Really? Her majesty would extort not only myself and Jon, after we had become her subjects, but charge so steep a price to save the life of a nine-year old recently freed from slavery, and his poor mother? And not just any boy, but one who selflessly allowed you to shelter under his roof, sharing their meagre rations to save your lives with no expectation of reward, nor any reward given by Naboo? I'm not even sure that's legal, let alone how it would play out in the papers."

I smirked as she growled. "Fine. Get on board," she hissed before turning and stomping off. I just laughed at her, and at poor Captain Panaka who looked like he wanted to face-palm at the fail. I was about to follow her up when Qui-Gon rushed out.

"Something dark is coming," he warned. "You need to get on board, we need to leave as soon as Obi-Wan finishes the repairs."

Of course. Fucking dark-siders. Just another group of assholes taking a dump on our shit sandwich. It just went to show that even if Jon and I were immune to Force-future-fuckery effects, everyone else around us wasn't. I could spread the shielding around, of course, though it might be a bit dangerous for Anakin considering his deep connection to the Force.

Jon and I joined Qui-Gon a short distance from the ship, our pistols drawn as everyone else raced to get on board. Soon we saw a speeder approaching.

Typically, pistols are only effective at short ranges. This is partially due to design and manufacturing; short barrels, rounds that aren't designed for long ranges, etc. Between incredibly tight part specifications and advanced materials and munitions, that first wasn't such an issue. But a lot of it has to do with how hard it is to hold a pistol steadily enough to hit a target at longer ranges. At twenty yards, a semi-inexperienced shooter will struggle to hit a man-sized target in a critical spot.

Jon and I were much better than that. We engaged at a kilometer, putting shot after shot into the speeder-bike. It seemed to be shielded though, or the pilot could deflect bullets with the Force, as none of our shots were getting through.

"Get back to the ship!" Qui-Gon shouted, so Jon and I turned and "ran" back at normal-ish speed. By the time we were up the entry-ramp, the new attacker had engaged Qui-Gon in a furious lightsaber duel. Qui-Gon's green saber and the red and black alien attacker's red saber flashed and swooshed in an elegant display that would have made an awesome Christmas display.

At the top of the ramp, Jon and I turned again, and aimed at the Sith. A quick rattle of fire shot out. The Sith initially tried to block with his saber, but that just resulted in a supersonic spray of molten and vaporized metal giving him surface burns. A few rounds got by his defenses, the rapid fire and our own precognition defeating his skill, and caused grazing wounds as he backpedaled, still holding off Qui-Gon as he finally reached the defenses of his bike, glaring hatefully at us.

The yacht's engines finally warmed it, it began to lift off as Jinn disengaged and jumped up to us, leaving behind a fucking furious dark Jedi or Sith.

I hated leaving enemies like that behind, but was even less willing to show off the powers needed to kill him. Yet again, a situation that could have been fixed if this bloody ship had some guns. We were just lucky he was a swordsman, rather than a properly trained Force-adept capable of plucking the ship out of the sky with telekinesis.

But we were off of Tatooine, and headed to Coruscant once more. Though considering everything that happened, I doubted Amidala would end up getting the answers she wanted to Naboo's plight. If hostile Force users were involved beyond the usual bureaucratic incompetence, political corruption and realpolitik, shit was about to go down.

I had some work to do, if I wanted to keep that twit Amidala from selling all Naboo down the river.

Chapter 48: Political Beasts

A rather uncomfortable week later, and we were finally at Coruscant. I was definitely persona non grata as far as Amidala's entourage were concerned, and only her favoring Anakin spared the rest of my party the cold shoulder. Though that bastard Qui-Gon was using it to get close to Anakin, likely to try and steal him away to his bloody cult. But even if the other masters would make an exception for Anakin's age, I suspected I'd keep him in the end; I had his mother, after all, and had freed him from slavery. Plus, I could just summon up a few Jedi based on Qui-Gon and Kenobi's patterns, and have them teach my little Force prodigy.

The lack of amenities, including places to sleep that weren't the cold, hard, metal floor, was a continued annoyance, as was the shitty food re-packaged into gourmet ready-to eat containers that they'd foolishly bought on Tatooine.

I suppose we were lucky not to be starving, but I was sorely tempted to summon up a roast boar, or some nice juicy steaks…

Mmmm mm mmm mm mmmm. That would have been taaast-eee.

But I held out, focused on preparing for when we landed and life got busy again.

And then we were on Coruscant. As we were landing I digitally paid an absolutely exorbitant sum to rent a suite near the senate building, typically used by visiting dignitaries. Anakin and Shmi would stay there, getting a new wardrobe and a bit of well-deserved pampering and feeding up, while Jon and I went off along with Amidala's party to find out the lay of the land, politically speaking, from Senator Palpatine.

Palpatine, oh Palpatine. What should I say about the man… Well, first of all, I didn't believe the grandfather act for a second. The man was a Sector Senator, one of the Republic Senate, a body of fewer than fifteen hundred sapients whose votes decided galactic law for trillions of citizens. You couldn't get there without ambition, manipulation, charisma, connections, luck and general political talent.

Palpatine may have been a nice man when he could be, but he still represented the political elite. Deception was his meat and drink and breath.

And he was good. Naboo was not a massively important planet, and Chommell was not a major sector. Naboo was sort of like New Zealand, or a better weathered Norway; lovely place to live, great people, reasonably wealthy, but it was not exactly the most happening area, nor was it a major player in global/galactic politics. And yet, just about every political analysis I read on the ship placed Palpatine as one of the top fifty most influential senators. Many placed him in the top ten. He was a player.

And he was sure as shit playing Amidala, telling her about how the Republic was too moribund to react to this emergency. He was right about that, but his solution of replacing Supreme Chancellor Valorum by vote of "No Confidence" seemed incredibly unlikely to succeed in actually helping Naboo. Valorum was the political equivalent of a baited bear; massive and powerful in his own right, but slowly being worn down by the quick, darting attacks of his political enemies' hounds.

But Valorum had staked a fair bit of political capital on supporting Amidala and Naboo, forcing an emergency senate session for this very issue. The only two topics? Naboo, and BR-0371, the law which reintroduced taxes for the Trade Federation. Valorum had made these two points take up the entirety of the galactic governing body's legislative agenda. And that was after it being debated on and off the senate floor for the preceding month. So no, if something went wrong the next day when Amidala addressed the senate, Valorumwas unlikely to be the cause. And if Amidala blamed him, then Valorum was fucked politically.

The problem Naboo had in that moment was one of constituency. The queen was elected by Naboo, and Naboo ruled Chommell. Chommell's senator was appointed by the monarch. But the monarch didn't depend on knowing how the senate worked, didn't depend on galactic politics. No, the monarch depended on local, Nabooian support. So it was unsurprising that Naboo's monarch, especially one in her early teens, wasn't as informed over galactic power plays.

As to why she hadn't become more informed, as I had? Well, she was worried, and over-focused on what little news was escaping from Naboo. Her accommodations, food… it was all very different from what she normally had, throwing her off her game. She trusted her "loyal" expert, Palpatine – after all, he was an excellent politician – and he was feeding her the briefing packets of "what she needed to learn" while we were in-flight.

And perhaps most critically, Palpatine was strong in the Force. Oh, it looked like the Jedi had missed him, and his potential was dormant, but I suspected the Force of still playing favorites, giving him that subtle luck that surrounded those with the greatest potential, that bending of chance. And it wouldn't take much bending, given everything else Amidala was facing.

I wasn't excusing it. Not at all. She had a massive responsibility to her people, one that she was fucking up. And she was going to screw over a man who had truly tried to help her, along with potentially her entire population. The above are reasons for her failings, not excuses.

Honestly, I didn't even blame Palpatine. The man was a politician in a super-state whose military hadn't seen a real threat in a millennium and was controlled by their Judiciary. I doubted he was looking at it as a military problem rather than a political one.

No, I figured he looked at the scenario, realized there was fuck-all he, or anyone else, could-slash-would do about the occupation, and figured that the best move he could make would be to become Chancellor. If he wasn't capable of fucking over the Trade Federation in a million ways at that point, ways that would cost them far more than holding Naboo was worth, then he'd never have been such a great politician. It's one thing to attack the capital of a minor sector. It's something else entirely, something far closer to rebellion, to attack the Supreme Chancellor's homeworld.

Or, perhaps, from that point Palpatine would back off from the taxation under the "impossible pressure," and end this crisis that his predecessor started. He could use the popularity boost to develop at least a core of loyal, effective ass-kickers, and revisit the taxation in a few years, engaging the Federation from a prepared position both politically and militarily.

Or, at the very least, Palpatine would find the silver lining to the cloud of invasion and boost his career.

But he was still an opportunistic fuck. And there were several angles, ones outside of direct senate politics. He was presenting the problem as a nail, and himself as Amidala's only hammer.

Fuck nails and hammers; if there's a wall in the way, the best thing to use is C4.

After the initial briefing on the main players and their viewpoints, which lasted about three hours, we broke for a snack and bathroom break. I was standing by the window, looking out on Coruscant while eating an excellent meat and mustard sandwich when Palpatine came up to me for some smalltalk.

"I don't believe we've met," he said warmly. "Senator Palpatine, at your service." He gave a short bow.

I smiled, and bowed slightly lower. "Odysseus Gangari, at yours."

"Yes, I've heard of you," he replied with a wry grin. "Her majesty isn't your largest fan."

I chuckled. "I don't see why. Every deal we've made was at least better than the alternative."

He snorted a bit. "Yes, well, better than the alternative doesn't mean good. And you've done very well for yourself in the current crisis," he pointed out.

I nodded. "Back on my homeworld, there is a language that, according to legend, was one of the first used by humans, often used on bones for fortune-casting by oracles. It's logographic, using symbols to represent entire words. In it, crisis and opportunity are closely related."

He seemed very interested at that. "Really? And where is your homeworld? I confess that you have been quite the interesting mystery."

I smiled. "Honestly, I'm no longer sure, save that it wasn't within the known bounds of the Republic. On my first journey outside my home, my drive and navigation equipment malfunctioned, leaving me lost and unable to return. Luckily I was able to make a good home for myself on Naboo."

He didn't believe a word of that explanation, but let it go. "I'm sorry to hear that. But I, at least, am very glad that you've joined our wonderful planet. I shudder to think what would have happened had you not been able to restore the food supply."

No shit. Revolutionary governments were rarely kind to senior politicians from the previous administration living it up on Coruscant while they starved at home.

I grinned. "Well, I'm very glad I was there for that crisis as well."

He chuckled. "Yes, a trillion credits worth of property is nothing to shake your head at. You know, my own family had nearly two hundred thousand acres in the amount that you acquired. It's a shame, I still remember playing there as a child."

Ah, so that was the game. Well, I was willing to play. "Well, I'd hate to deprive you of that, given you were here working so hard for Naboo during this crisis," I flattered. "I understand how important childhood homes are, having lost mine. I'd be happy to sell the estate portion back for a nominal fee, just whatever taxes and maintenance have been required in the meantime, and give a significant discount on the commercial parts, perhaps with the bulk of the money coming long-term from a portion of the property's income."

He clapped me on the shoulder, beaming. "Thank you so very much," he said. "I hope you will consider us friends, and if there's anything I can do to help you in the future, please don't hesitate to contact me."

"Of course, senator, nothing would make me happier," I replied. This was actually pretty clever of Palpatine; show a weakness for if not bribes then something close, but in doing so get the man with unknown capabilities and deep pockets on-side.

"Well, I think it's about time to get back to it!"

I doubted he'd be as happy once I said my piece.

After a few more hours, Palpatine had worn everyone down and thoroughly made his case for giving Valorum a single chance to prove himself effective before upsetting the apple-cart in the hopes that something better would turn up in the mess.

After another break, it was time to make my case.

I stood up. "As well reasoned as his arguments are, I disagree with the senator's recommendation, Your Majesty."

Amidala turned to me, her face impassive. "Oh? And what, in your vast experience, is it that you think We should do?"

I smiled confidently. "I'm not saying I'm greatly experienced with politics, or the senate, Your Majesty, but sometimes outsiders can see things in ways that are difficult for those who have become used to a certain state of affairs. But I have three main issues."

I raised my left hand in a loose fist, then extended my thumb. "First, by all of our analysis Chancellor Valorum has stuck himself out on the line for Naboo, spending political capital to make our plight a galactic priority, and he is firmly on our side. If you turn on him, he is likely to fall."

My index finger joined my thumb in pointing out. "Second, if the apparatus of Republican government is truly so broken and corrupted, the Trade Federation's allies so politically capable as to block Valorum, then there is little indication that the next Chancellor will fare any better, or be as well deposed to Naboo's plight. Further, everyone will remember how fickle Naboo's friendship is, and will be less likely to be willing to commit to the close alliances we may need to deal with the Trade Federation's aggression."

And now, my middle finger. "Third, this all presupposes that this sort of political maneuver is the best way of dealing with the Trade Federation. I think I have better ones."

Palpatine raised himself out of his seat. "Your Majesty, I have already explained how –"

Amidala raised up her hand, silencing him. "No, senator. As difficult as We have found him, Mr. Gangari has a certain cunning. We would hear what he has to say," she pronounced. Palpatine flushed lightly, then sat back into his chair.

I nodded my head in a light bow, then continued. "Thank you, Your Majesty. While a general political solution may be preferable, it's the avenue that everyone's ready for, both us and the Federation. I suggest we shift the paradigm. Given their actions, especially the invasion of Naboo and attack on your ship, you are within your rights to declare a state of emergency not just on Naboo, but over the entirety of the Chommel sector since Naboo is its capital and administrative center. This gives you, in your position as chief sector-administrator of Chommell, authority to operate as a Judicial General for the duration of the emergency, though your ability to control RSF and Judiciary assets is limited to the Chommell sector. As such, you can declare the Trade Federation an illegal pirate organization, with the destruction of the Jedi's Judiciary transport as the primary complaint." My grin was vicious as they started to catch on.

"Once that's done, you can officially seize any and all Trade Federation assets within the sector, and can request that other friendly governments do the same, freezing financial assets as well. Instead of a political vote, subject to political rules, allow all of your alliesthe ability to independently strike against the Trade Federation as they wish, and incentivize it as they can profit from what they take under asset forfeiture. I'm sure that our own allies within the Judiciary and courts can cover our actions long enough to cause massive financial losses."

There was a susurrus as everyone in the room reacted to my idea. Palpatine rose looking concerned. "But that escalates things far too much! That's practically declaring war. What will they do to Naboo?"

I nodded. "Thank you for bringing that up, Senator. I recommend making the declaration simultaneous with a military strike, at least on Naboo, though I would recommend considering hitting other Trade Federation bases and worlds as possible. The entire droid army is currently controlled by a single Lucrehulk command ship in Naboo's orbit; a moderately sized naval strike group could force a surrender or destroy it without much issue."

Palpatine blanched. "What's to stop them ordering a massacre? And where will you even get this army?"

"Viceroy Gunray himself is currently present on Naboo, Senator, and he is not the sort to actually risk his own life by ordering a massacre when he's already beaten," I scoffed. "As for the army, we can hire mercenaries."

"With what money?" Palpatine rejoined. "We barely have enough to keep our embassy here functional through this crisis, and unless you can somehow convince the Trade Federation to give us access to a transfer from Naboo I cannot see how you intend to pay for these mercenaries."

I smiled. "Oh, I'm perfectly willing to pay up to a trillion credits for mercenaries," I said. Palpatine's eyes widened.

Amidala decided to join in. "For some highly profitable considerations, no doubt," she mocked.

"You know me so well, Your Majesty," I grinned.

She leant forwards and thought a moment, wondering if it was worth it. "How many mercenaries would we need? Where would they come from?" she asked.

"That depends on what you want to achieve, Your Majesty. For the minimum, I'd recommend a million-strong army from the Mercenary Guild of Coyn with as many naval assets as are available. The majority of their combat ships would invest and seize Enarc while a strike group diverted past to hit the control ship in orbit over Naboo. As soon as Federation fleet assets at Enarc are engaged, transports would come through and conduct a combat landing to ensure the safety of Naboo's populace. I'd estimate the price at between twenty-five and thirty-five billion credits for the operation, though I'd recommend keeping a significant force presence long enough to build up our own defenses which could add up to fifteen billion a year without combat bonuses."

Enarc, for those unfamiliar with Galactic system locations, was one jump away from Naboo, and lay on the most direct route between it and Coyn. It was a major Trade Federation shipping point, and likely had anywhere between four and eight Lucrehulks protecting it.

"As for elsewhere," I continued, "I recommend hitting the Federation where it hurts. Cato Neimoidia, one of the Neimoidian purse worlds, is a resort world restricted to only the wealthiest Neimoidians and their servants. Deko and Koru Neimoidia, their other two purse worlds, are located nearby. Ailon, a planet a day or two away, has a billion-strong mercenary force called the Nova Guard; one to two hundred million should be available for operations, which is far more than we need. Best estimates are that each world is guarded by up to twenty Lucrehulks. Four to five hundred billion credits would let us hire enough of the Guard to hit all three targets, seizing their orbital infrastructure and putting the Trade Federation in an untenable situation when it came time for negotiations. Another three hundred billion and we could even take Neimoidia too. Though those estimates don't include the cost to ferry away what assets we capture. In short, I propose that we carry out what the Federation failed; a full hostile takeover."

Palpatine was pale and trembling, the very picture of a modern Republican politician faced with violence. "Your Majesty, this warmonger's advice is far too risky. I implore you, please seek a diplomatic solution!"

Amidala closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them, resolved. "As much as We wish to, Senator, We will not sit idly by while Naboo is occupied. Until this situation is resolved, all options are on the table. Mr. Gangari, what would you want in exchange for this?"

Ah, so the girl was willing to make a deal with a (at least in her mind) devil. Excellent. I was worried that she wouldn't go for it.

"First, I want rights to the salvage and captured equipment, ships, and other assets from this operation. Other than that, I'm looking for a general letter of marque to engage pirates, rebels, lawbreakers and the like, both for myself and any subordinates or contractors. Also, mercenary company rights, military basing rights, military equipment rights, rights to asteroids, moons and some unused terrain on Naboo for training, basing and ship-building, fueling rights, recruiting rights and so on. And if you really want to go all out, a final removal of that tax on my produce," I finished with a smile. "The details are all in the document I'm sending you."

"So you want the right to establish a private army," Amidala clarified disapprovingly.

"That's right. And an arms company. Though the force would also serve to protect Naboo. As we've just seen, that is more necessary than previously thought. And it can do so without increasing taxes or building a formal military, reducing the risk of future military adventurism."

"And what is to prevent you from turning this army on Naboo?" she questioned.

I smiled. "Well, the fact that it will be mostly made up of Nabooians," I answered. "I doubt they'd look fondly on attacking their homeland. Not to mention what the Republic might do."

She nodded slowly. "Very well. We will consider our options, both diplomatic and not, and render our decision tomorrow morning."

Oh, Amidala. You should have realized by now. Warfare is diplomacy, just by other means than words.

Chapter 49: You Get What You Pay For

The next morning when Amidala left for the senate, Jon and I hired a speeder. We stopped by one of the storage units I'd had rented months ago as sites which I could pretend were supply caches if it proved necessary. There I summoned up a reinforced case, fitted with repulsorlifts to make carrying it seem easier (thus avoiding revealing our strength), and filled it with Aurodium gems.

At about six hundred thousand credits a gram, and twenty grams per cubic centimeter, a single liter of Aurodium was worth about twelve billion credits. My case held a hundred liters, or about one-point-two trillion credits worth of Aurodium. This was the kind of wealth that might be a planet's national reserve, the backing for their currency, trade deals and government. And it fit inside what was essentially a medium sized suitcase.

It was pretty weird, but very convenient.

Since we were carrying crazy levels of cash, I also summoned up some self-defense equipment. Jon and I weren't licensed for weapons on Coruscant, so we couldn't go armed to the teeth. But with each of us getting subtle body armor, Valyrianized beskar flick-baton, and a dozen rods to throw, we'd be able to make a fight with dozens of attackers look believable.

After that, we headed over to the First Bank of Coruscant (FBoC), one of the few places with the ability to deal with such a quantity of bullion. We weren't actually converting the Aurodium to credits; that would have taken a long time, something we didn't have. Instead, we were depositing the Aurodium as a surety for an equally valued loan from FBoC; they would then handle selling off the Aurodium, taking a cut on the total transaction and paying off the loan.

Suffice to say, it was a nice bit of financial manipulation, but it worked.

As we were finishing up, I got a message on my pad from one of the handmaidens. "Valorum useless. Queen called No Confidence. Merc plan is ON. 1T budget, hit the purse and home."

Alright! I thought with a grin. I turned to Jon. "We're on. I'd like you to visit the Coyn office, I'll meet with the Nova Guard." As a result of their furry physiology, long potential life-span, and high rate of combat-related deaths, the Coynites believed that long manes were a mark of martial distinction and wisdom. Jon, who kept his hair long enough for a short que, was thus a better choice for them than my own relatively short haircut.

As for the Nova Guard, they were based out of Ailon and made up almost entirely of that species. The Ailon were a near-human alien species which had a religious belief in survival of the fittest, and saw combat as the best judge of said fitness.

As such, many of their best and brightest served in the Guard in hopes of challenging themselves, and proving fit for the best mates. This sort of Spartan breeding program, along with some genetic manipulation in their early history, led to Ailon soldiers being significantly stronger, tougher, faster and more enduring than other races. Physically, they were about six foot two, or a hundred-eighty-seven centimeters. Their skin was a redish brown, and contained a type of coagulant in the dead layers that would rapidly clot on any wounds. Their faces were within modified human range, with thicker and more angular bone structures, and a second transparent eyelid.

They were bred for war, well trained to be not just excellent warriors but excellent soldiers. Nor did they skimp on equipment. Full body armor, enclosed for space and NBC (nuclear, biological, chemical) operations, and a collection of ceremonial and modern weaponry, vehicles, artillery and the like were all part of their arsenal. Together with their training and sheer physical capacity, they were among the deadliest soldiers in the galaxy.

Overall, they had a reputation similar to the Mandalorians, though more focused on direct combat as part of an army than the sort of independent special-operations work that the Mandalorians were famous for.

Oh, and the Guard was about a billion strong. Basically, they were the best option for a wealthy polity that needed an army in a hurry. Even if only a tenth or so of the mercenary army wasn't deployed at any given time, I should still easily be able to hire twenty million and a few battle fleets to take on the Neimoidian controlled Trade Federation.

To make things even better, they were located in the Galactic Core region, only a day or two away from Cato Neimoidia and its sister colonies with a class-one hyperdrive. The biggest problem with scratch operations launched at a moment's notice (and a week, in military terms for an invasion, is definitely a moment's notice), was supply lines and transportation. But the short distances would simplify that immensely.

I had previously contacted the Nova Guard by what was essentially email, mentioning that I was potentially going to be making an order somewhere in the neighborhood of one-hundred-fifty to seven-hundred-fifty billion credits. As a good faith gesture, I'd already deposited a hundred million credits, and that was just to show I was serious about the meeting.

So it wasn't much of a surprise when I had an immediate meeting with General Alik Kror, the chief of the Nova Guard's Coruscant offices.

"It's good to meet you, General Kror," I said, grasping his arm as was Ailon tradition.

He seemed glad at that mark of respect. "Likewise, Lord Gangari," he replied while we both began to squeeze, a sort of greeting strength competition. I increased the pressure, showing off my strength to his impressed surprise. Of course, I didn't go too far, stopping when it was clear I was stronger. He laughed. "I think we'll get on just fine, Lord Gangari."

I chuckled. "I certainly hope so, General."

He led me to a secure meeting room. An aide put down a platter of drinks and snacks. "So, what exactly can we do for you?"

"I'm here representing Queen Amidala of Naboo. We've recently been blockaded, then invaded, by the Trade Federation," I began.

He nodded. "I heard about that. Terrible day for the Republic, when a sector capital can be taken over by some trading company. So, I assume you want us to retake the planet?"

I shook my head. "Not quite. Due to distances and travel speeds, we're actually looking at Coyn for that operation. No, we want to hit those damn Neimoidians back. We want you to seize or destroy Cato Neimoidia, Deko Neimoidia, Koru Neimoidia, and Neimoidia itself, or at least every asset in space. We'd also like as many Trade Federation executives captured and extradited to Naboo as possible. Any intelligence, meeting notes or recordings of their illegal actions, especially related to Naboo, would also be appreciated."

He rocked back a bit, impressed with the scope of what we wanted to achieve. "That's technically possible," he allowed. "But it's a pretty damned big operation; not something we'd do on credit. And we'd need legal cause."

"Queen Amidala can provide the legal authority. Or at least close enough to keep everyone in court beyond the point where we're dead and buried," I assured. "The specifics as to how, and relevant precedent and laws are in a document I have on my pad. As for the operational costs, we've got the liquid assets to go up to a hundred and fifty billion credits per purse world, two hundred billion for their homeworld, and another two hundred billion for targets of opportunity in the surrounding area. After the war is over, we'd like a ten-year contract at ten billion a year to protect Naboo."

He nodded slowly. "I'll have to go over what intelligence we have, but that at least sounds feasible. Why don't you send over the legal documents, and I'll have one of our law-droids go over it while we continue to discuss the details. And if you send the objectives too, then my aides can start working out which units are best suited."

I sent over the documents to his pad.

"Great, that should be a few minutes," he continued. "Now, did you have any specific requirements in mind for the force composition?"

"I was going to leave that to you. You have the objectives list, after all, and I imagine you're much more capable of deciding what you need to complete the mission."

He grinned. "Good, good! I always worry, the customer often needs …" he trailed off for a bit, looking for the right word.

"Finagling?" I supplied.

"Yes! Finagling," he agreed.

I shook my head. "No, you're the experts here. Now, if it was ground operations, and I was familiar with your equipment, I might have more to contribute," I said with a grin.

"You're a soldier?" he asked.

I put my hand out and wiggled it back and forth. "Sort of. I'm a lord, but on Planetos, out beyond Republic space, not on Naboo. There, lords are expected to command their territory's military forces. I'm also a knight, which a non-hereditary appointment dependent on individual martial skill, often awarded after some significant feat."

Now he was interested. "And what were you knighted for?"

"A combination of skill and actions. I saved the life of my lord's son, giving him emergency medical treatment after he fell from a tower he'd been climbing. I beat one of the best warriors in a duel when he was armored, had a proper sword, and I only had a practice one. And I was well known for my shooting." I wasn't going to be shy about this; Ailons were matter-of-fact but still proud of their feats.

"So how did you win this duel?" he questioned, leaning forwards.

I grinned. "Well, I knew he'd be expecting a sword-fight. So I dropped mine, got in real close as he tried to draw his, and threw him to the floor. Then I broke his knee, and smashed his head in with my boot."

"Hahahaha!" Kror laughed. "Clever! Now, I noticed you said "my lord" earlier; by that I assume you were not yet a lord yourself?"

I shook my head. "No, that came later."

He grinned, satisfied with his cleverness. "And was this also meritorious?"

I smiled at him and nodded. "Yes."

"So what did you do for that?"

"Well, the king of our nation, Robert, came to power after a revolution against the previous dynasty. The prior ruler was utterly mad, burning people alive for his own amusement. But some of the old king's family escaped, and his son had formed an alliance by marrying the old king's daughter to a foreign warlord. Though the warlord's ground army was strong, his navy might was weak, so we weren't overly worried. But it was still undesirable to have them there in the background constantly plotting." I paused for a moment to take a sip of water.

"The alliance couldn't be allowed to stand," I continued, "and leaving these remnants of the old dynasty alone was an unacceptable risk. Still, the girl was a teenager, and had little control over her life. My lord, who was serving as the chief minister at that time, believed a straight assassination was dishonorable, though King Robert disagreed. So I was sent out with my squire to end the threat, by some mix of killing, capturing and negotiating with the warlord and the members of the previous royal family."

He snorted. "Quite the mission."

"Oh, I know," I agreed. "Anyways, the Warlord's people had a habit of deciding things like leadership by ritual combat and warfare. So after months of roaming about enemy territory, we finally came up to him when he was travelling. Tens of thousands of warriors at his back. And I challenged him to personal combat, with the old king's son and daughter on the line."

Kror laughed. "The stones on you!"

I shrugged. "He could hardly deny me, not without dishonoring himself. But neither did he really want to fight me. So first he challenged my skills. Impressed, he offered me a place in his host, which I refused." Kror was into the story by now, nodding along.

"Then he required I prove myself against a treacherous knight from my own nation, a man who had sold others into slavery then fled from the law. But despite his crimes, the man was a champion in our war-games and a master of the spear. We fought. He died. Again, I was offered a place, now as a high officer with riches and land. Again, I refused," I said, building up the tension.

"Then I faced the Warlord. He ordered we fight with swords, unarmored. But after seeing what I did to the slaver, he decided to stack the deck, and called out his three Bloodriders to help him. Sworn as "blood of his blood," they legally counted as the same person in many respects. They were his personal bodyguards, and among the best warriors his people could offer. But I had to face them, or else try and beat then entire army at his back. Four on one, but I managed to kill them. Then I killed the prince, and we took off with the princess while the army's officers were arguing over who was now in charge. When we got back, Robert made me one Lord of one of the largest territories, and made me responsible for the princess' keeping."

"Damn!" Kror exclaimed. "That was brief, man, but I can only begin to imagine how difficult it must have been! If you ever tire of serving royals, you should come over and be a freelance special operative for the Guard."

"You're flattering me, but thank you," I said. And he was; until they'd seen my skills first hand, any such offer was just flattery. Still, the small-talk had served to make both them close with me, and me closer with them, so it was successful. Soon enough an aide came in, with a report from the legal droid.

Kror flipped through it for a few minutes. "Alright. Well, it looks like the legal basis for the action is there. And the funds were in the escrow accounts as described. I look forward to our victory, Lord Gangari." He reached out to grip forearms again as I mirrored his movements.

"To our victory," I replied with a grin.

Chapter 50: Take It! Take It All!

Between all the different military forces gathering and travel time, we had ten days to wait before the strike forces engaged the enemy. Most of that was on the Coyn forces, which had the furthest to travel. Coruscant was eight days from Naboo if travelling on the royal yacht, so we had two days to kill.

Emphasis on kill.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, re-assigned to Amidala's protection detail, turned away no fewer than five assassination attempts: a bombing that was detonated by electronic countermeasures while still in the assassin's hands; a fake Coruscant Police officer with a gun who tried to take out Amidala in the aftermath; a poisoning attempt from a suborned embassy wait-staff member; a sniper attack; and even a remotely piloted vehicle ramming.

And that was just the first day.

Luckily the Ailon Nova Guard had a couple dozen soldiers on the planet who were between contracts and were willing to hire on as bodyguards. Crew-served weapons, snipers, and portable shield generators made a big difference, and the attacks stopped.

The media though were a bit harder to dissuade, and they were going nuts. Amidala was a beautiful young queen facing an evil, alien, faceless mega-corp. She had taken down Valorum. And she was now getting attacked by assassins while being protected by Jedi Knights. It was basically a real life holo-vid.

It really sucked for Jon, Shmi, Anakin and I. I'd been looking forward to seeing the sights on Coruscant, maybe sticking around for a bit and seeing if there was any interesting gear to copy, or excellent individuals' patterns to acquire for my magical-ship projects. But the situation was just too dangerous.

But finally, thankfully, it was time to leave. In an effort to keep everyone important alive, General Kror kindly offered to loan us his personal transport, a fully tricked out heavy corvette, as escort. Normally, the corvette only went where the general did. But Jon and I had gone over the second day and sparred with some of their office's off-duty soldiers as a way to get rid of a bit of stress, and ran through their virtual shooting houses a few times. Even with our enchantments on "training with normals" mode, we easily kicked ass, and seriously impressed the Nova Guard who were present or saw recordings.

The loan of the corvette proved prescient, as the ship needed to disable a "rogue" fast courier that was on a collision course with Amidala's yacht. But we made hyperspace safely.

Suffice to say, I was fucking ecstatic when Amidala was finally able to declare the Trade Federation a criminal organization and the mercenaries attacked. Five fleets struck simultaneously, the Nova Guard naval ships hitting the Neimoidian worlds while the Coynite forces invested Enarc, and a pair of cruisers with escort squadrons diverted to take out the Lucrehulk droid controller over Naboo.

We arrived just in time for our mercenaries to have established orbital superiority over Naboo, and for Amidala to be able to give an emergency address to the Nabooians, telling them to cooperate with the mercenary Coyn forces who were re-taking the planet.

Over the next hours, reports came in over the holo-net. Cato Neimoidia, Deko Neimoidia, and Koru Neimoidia had been more heavily defended than expected. Fighting was ongoing, and many of their orbital manufactories, ship-building facilities, and habitats were refusing to surrender. Some, where the droids had control, actually scuttled, self-destructing rather than falling into enemy hands.

Still, losses among the Ailon Nova Guard were light, except for in the Deko Neimoidia system where a suicidal ramming attack had critically damaged a heavy cruiser's engines. Seriously slowed, it hadn't been able to stay at range and was swarmed by droid fighters. Rather than disengage, the admiral ordered his ships to engage and protect the cruiser. Instead of an extreme-range laser and capital-ship weapon duel, an engagement that the Ailon were well equipped to handily win, it became a short ranged-brawl, exactly the scenario that they wanted to avoid, and losses among the combat fleet were heavy. Still, the transports weren't damaged, and landing operations were beginning.

Neimoidia itself had surrendered, apparently assuming from the Ailon acting "under Judicial authority" by using Amidala's codes that this was a general Republican action against the Trade Federation, and thinking themselves doomed.

Closer to home, Enarc had fallen fairly quickly, surrendering after the enemy flag-Lucrehulk was destroyed. Apparently the other Lucrehulk captains were less fanatically loyal, and more interested in saving their own hides. As a result, the Coynite fleet had taken the system with most of its infrastructure intact, and captured three Lucrehulks with most of their complement relatively undamaged. A nice bonus.

While Naboo's orbit had been taken fairly bloodlessly, the situation on the ground was more complicated. While the infantry made up of B1 droids was dependent on the control ship's computers for their actions, the tanks were crewed by OOM droids. OOM's were the predecessor to the B1, with similar physical and mental capabilities. But they were each equipped with their own droid brain, and were thus immune to being knocked out by the lack of a control signal.

When the droid army deactivated, a few tens of thousands of resistance fighters distributed throughout Naboo's urban areas sparked a general uprising. At the same time, the panicked Gunray ordered all remaining forces, most of which were hovertanks, to converge on the palace and protect him. While most of the six thousand, two hundred and fifty tanks (less a few combat losses) were far too far away to be useful, they did head towards the palace at full speed and fired back more or less indiscriminately if they were attacked en route. Thousands had died as a result.

Then Gunray ordered the two hundred or so in Theed's vicinity to occupy all streets leading to the palace, and fire on any advancing concentration of vehicles or people, killing thousands more. Nor was this fire particularly limited in collateral damage; heavy laser cannons, repeating blasters, and missiles all ranked fairly highly in damage output and overpenetration.

Coynite ships in orbit were already using precise space-to-ground laser strikes to destroy any tank in the open, but the damage was done. In response, the surviving tanks were seeking shelter under arches where available, or under roofs by crashing through walls when other cover was not available. The palace, with its wide open spaces, was infested with tens of the tanks, and a few hundred surviving OOM infantry. Gunray meanwhile had taken every Nabooian he could get his claws on, and was holding them hostage.

Over the next few hours, newly arrived Coynite ground forces retook control of Naboo's surface, fitting many of the deactivated droids with restraint bolts that would de-activate them even if another control ship showed up and destroying the remainder. The palace was under siege, with Coynite armor and infantry holding a tight cordon while nearby civilians were evacuated. A full strike-group was in orbit above the palace to make sure that Gunray couldn't escape on a shuttle or one of the Nabooian fighters.

A couple days later, and the situation was much clearer. Gunray was trapped. Royal Naboo Security Force officers assigned to the Palace had gotten into contact with the Coynite mercenaries, and made sure that all approaches in and out were covered. Some secret entrance/exits weren't actually revealed, but guarded by RNSF officers with borrowed weaponry. Mobile AA was set up, and there was also the fleet overhead.

The only way he was getting out was if we let him out.

I was worried Amidala would do just that. There was just no good way to get the hostages out safely. The Coynite commanders knew it, and told Amidala the truth when she asked. Since many of the prisoners were Amidala's friends, senior advisors and the like, she was loathe to order an assault.

On the other hand, we'd been ducking Coruscant's calls for just over a day. Palpatine had been elected and subsequently sworn in as Chancellor. Out of magnanimousness? Foolishness? Some political deal? I didn't know the reason, but he had ordered my little Proscription, my legal harrying of the Trade Federation, to stop.

Fuck that noise.

I had paid a few billion to media consultants, lawyers, and lobbyists on Coruscant to cover for my actions, and those of my mercenaries during this period. Entire convoys of loot and high value captives from the Neimoidian purse worlds were already en route to Naboo, where they would be subject to Nabooian and Chommell Sector laws; the Federation wouldn't be getting any of it back. If it was valuable and not bolted down, it was seized. If it was bolted down, it was unbolted. And if it was on a structure that could be towed, well, they towed it.

If I had my way, the Trade Federation prisoners wouldn't be seeing a Republic court until they'd already been convicted on Naboo, and squeezed for every millicred we could get to take "death by firing squad" off the table and allow a guilty plea for a "life in prison" deal. That way, even if the Republic filed for extradition, if found "not guilty" of their crimes that fell under galactic rather than local jurisdiction, they'd just get shipped back to rot on Naboo.

As it was, a secure report from the Ailon Nova Guard's intelligence officers that I made sure Amidala didn't see included some of the "in-flight entertainment" that the Neimoidians were "enjoying". They seemed to be unable to stop playing games like "the person with the most useful information gets to eat, drink, have a functioning toilet, control their thermostat, sleep, etc." And man, they were reallygetting ripped off on those in-flight prices for food and drink – a billion credits for a bag of chips? It was practically robbery! Suffice to say, the Neimoidians, a group of soft business executives used to luxury, were generally being very cooperative.

With any luck, I might even make a profit on this whole endeavor, even after giving the mercenaries their cut of seized assets. If we got access to the Trade Federation's war-chest, the information required to access their cash reserves, I might make a lot of profit.

But we were operating under Amidala's authority, and as soon as Amidala officially received the order to cease, she'd have to stop and give the same order to the rest of us. Key word officially. So we had a "handmaiden" playing communications officer, and just straight up lying when asked to pass the encrypted message. Amidala had been "unreachable," either in the field, or under a comm-jammer, or just not where the officer expected, for a full thirty hours by this point.

To make things better, the "handmaiden" wasn't; she was a summoned copy of a trained communications officer for a company I owned, dressed up and made up in that thick white makeup like a handmaiden. Since handmaiden identities were kept secret, and they were basically indistinguishable due to their make-up, it was far too easy.

Oh, at first Palpatine would suspect Amidala, but a secret review would show all handmaidens accounted for, and facial recognition would show the suspect handmaiden not matching any of the actual handmaidens' faces. Putting that makeup onto every female who might be the fake handmaiden was impossible, and the makeup was designed to defeat facial recognition in the first place; there was little chance this could be traced back to me.

It was just terrible that the Trade Federation spy prevented the Chancellor's orders from reaching Amidala, wasn't it? Yet so ironic that those very orders were ones that would have stopped the Federation's destruction!

In other words, short of Palpatine coming out to Naboo in person we planned to keep going. But I'd taken the time while on Coruscant to summon a few Ravens, and they were keeping an eye on our dear Senator-turned-Chancellor. He had just boarded a Judiciary diplomatic corvette, and left with a small Republic Security Force flotilla. Normally he might have taken a fast courier, but we were reporting intermittent combat and it seemed he didn't want to risk Trade Federation ships, or our mercenaries, being too trigger happy.

That was good; the flotilla was at best half as fast as a courier. Assuming they all had 2.0 hyperdrive ratings, we had about sixteen days before their arrival.

Which meant I couldn't wait forever for Amidala to make up her mind. I wanted the actual crisis part of the Naboo Crisis over, and the kangaroo court part of it to begin. Plus, I'd noticed Amidala wasn't the type of person that did well with sieges, or waiting in general. She wanted action. Whether that action would be letting Gunray off, or storming the palace, I just couldn't tell.

And, best guess, there were between seven and ten trillion credits in accounts that needed access codes only Gunray could provide. The secondary access method required too many members of the Trade Federation's Executive Board, and we just hadn't captured enough.

We'd gotten lucky with Neimoidia's surrender, but the planet was seen as a shit posting, and thus didn't have any truly high-ranking personnel present. The Nova Guard did a good job on Cato Neimoidia, taking many high-level executives, including a couple members of the Executive board prisoner, and also snagged computers, personal droids, and physical files. A few top execs might have still been hiding in secret chambers, and a couple transports managed to escape, but it was a fairly clean sweep.

Deko and Koru Neimoidia were decent catches. A reasonable crop of executives, computer network managers and the like from offices and private residences. Enough computers and droids to give a good idea of business dealings. Some research project results, some important sites and the like. But the intense fighting on Deko gave time for more of the most decisive among the most important executives, the sorts with private hyper-capable transports, to flee. Koru's fighting, while not intense, had left a gap in the blockade with similar results.

In short, we had enough to get a lot out of the Trade Federation, but with Gunray we'd have everything. Or at least, just about everything liquid, and a hell of a lot of the physical assets via control codes for space stations, ships, and droids.

So yeah, I really wanted to capture Gunray. There was just something different about spending pirated legitimately seized credits, versus those gained by selling summoned super-high-value materials.

Which is why I went to Amidala with a plan.

"So, let Us be clear. Your plan is to walk into Gunray's clutches as a negotiator, neutralize his bodyguard droids with a covert ion pulse grenade, threaten his life, and obtain a general surrender?" Amidala asked.

"Yes, Your Majesty," I replied.

"We doubt you are doing this without some benefit, Mr. Gangari," she said exasperatedly. "Well, what is it?"

"I'm not sure I should say, Your Majesty, in case things go poorly. But it will happen after he shuts down his droids, and won't cost Naboo anything." Specifically, I was going to get those financial access codes by hook or by crook.

She sighed. "Very well. Just try not to do anything that would end with you in front of a court. As satisfying as it might be for Us, it would doubtless be an embarrassment Naboo can ill afford."

I grinned. "Your Majesty! You're starting to care about me!"

"We most certainly do not!" she hissed. She really wasn't, from her emotions. "You are dismissed, Mr. Gangari."

Minutes later I was on the ground, then approaching the Palace under flag of truce. The droids ordered me to stop. After a lengthy wait, one eventually came up and searched me for weapons, then passed me on. It let me keep my datapad, pen and communicator, as I argued I needed those to be able to negotiate. They were all scanned, but none of them were weaponized, so there was nothing to see. Plus, the "ion charge" was really a spell.

Finally I was led to Gunray, who had appropriated the secondary throne room. Designed for more private audiences, it had thick doors, and windows that looked out into an enclosed courtyard. A couple of Neimoidian lackeys were there as well, along with two dozen OOM's with blasters. The doors were shut behind me. Between the guards, locking themselves in the relatively cozy room, and the emotions I could sense it was pretty damned obvious that Gunray was panicked, paranoid, and basically losing it.

As soon as the doors were shut he looked at me, glaring. "So, what did you come to say?" he spat.

I lifted my datapad, looked at it, and then activated the "ion charge". Every bit of unshielded electronics in the room, droids included, shut down, with only my personal pad left working. In a flash, I was next to Gunray, and had him by the throat. His lackeys looked on in horror, one literally wringing his hands. I'd always thought that was just an expression.

"No! No, you can't!" he choked out in his fear.

"I believe I just did, Viceroy," I said pleasantly while giving my best crazy-motherfucker smile with psycho-killer eyes. "Now, you have two options. One, you tell me how to disable the droids, and you will stand trial. Two, and this is the option I prefer, I hurt you until you tell me how to disable the droids. And then I flip a coin. Heads, I keep hurting you until our forces clear the building and find us. Tails, I just kill you." I blasted him with mana-driven mental compulsion, making him pick option one. I wasn't sure if he was normally strong-minded or not, but either way with the fear and panic in his system it was easy for my spell to take hold.

"Option one! Option one!"

Soon the droids were disabled. Shortly after that, I had all the codes. After the mercenaries took their cut, and I paid a chunk of Naboo's reconstruction costs, I still profited to the tune of five trillion credits.

Now that is what I would call a successful operation.

Chapter 51: Triumph

The Trade Federation was finished. Roughly forty percent of the company's physical assets were seized, their liquid assets drained into my coffers with what little remained frozen, and the records found of all their evil deeds.

Already their subsidiaries were attempting to break off. Other parts were going into immediate bankruptcy. Crews were seizing their own vessels, turning them into authorities willing to pay a portion of the ships value in prize money. Some captains were taking off, going into Hutt space, or elsewhere, just beyond the Republic's grasp.

The rats were fleeing the sinking ship.

We'd won.

Of course, I didn't think that this was the end of it. The dark-sider on Tatooine indicated that forces (or Forces) beyond a shady mega-corp were at work. He was still out there, and I doubted that he'd forgotten me or Jon. Not to mention the dark-sider's master, assuming he wasn't working as a mercenary or bounty hunter.

But it would be much harder to hit Naboo in the future. For the next decade, a half-million strong detachment of soldiers and sailors from the Ailon Nova Guard would be helping to secure the system. And by the time the Nova Guard was cycling out, my own forces would be cycling in.

No, I suspected that if someone were intent on making trouble, either in general or for the Republic, they'd do it elsewhere.

My actions had had something of a destabilizing effect. The mega-corps were on notice. Their spending on corporate security was increasing massively every day, and the stock price for reputable private military contractor (PMC) companies and military industries was soaring as both irate governments and oppressive companies considered more direct action.

After a final victory parade, it was all over.

Following the retaking of Naboo, I had a load of shit to take care of.

Distributing the loot took months; I pretty much sold off all of my portion of the seized equipment. I only got about a third of the theoretical value, but I just didn't want to have to take care of it, or risk any backdoors in the codes or other surprises people might hit me with.

It wasn't like money was a thing for me, after all, and even if I did have to care about money, I had somewhere in excess of seven point five trillion credits after totaling up my haul. I could buy basically anything. And I did.

I wanted to establish my own PMC, a private military company, to be my presence in the Star Wars plane. I was familiar with Revan's adventures, after all; as epic as they were to watch, conflict of that scale was a pain in the ass to be a part of. I was a crazily powerful mage, already at the "planetary destruction" level, and quickly climbing in power. Plus, I was, as far as I could tell, biologically immortal. So the question became, what did I do with my power.

Now, I was not a saint. I didn't want to make peoples' lives perfect; in fact, I was of the belief that struggle is part of what made a person, tempered them. Nor was I selfless; I wanted to live well, with wealth and power and minions. But I wasn't above (or below) being benevolent. I had plans to liberate the enslaved and oppressed, both on Planetos and in the Star Wars Galaxy.

But to do that, my to-do list was pretty large. I wanted ships designed to use magic from the keel up, as well as visually similar versions for my general mercenary crews, and both natural and summoned forces to crew them. I wanted to figure out how to get technology to work in other dimensions, or figure out work-arounds. I wanted to come up with some sort of mind-enchantment interface for my people to use, as well as mind-machine and machine-magic interfaces. I wanted to figure out how to make purely techno-magical spirits based on droid minds. And I wanted to develop automated enchanters to apply all the upgrades without my attention.

Those were only the technical challenges.

One of the big issues with magic and ships is that there is no background mana in space. So I needed either long-range links to planets which did have mana, or to create live-ships that generated their own. I preferred the second of these options; it was just tidier, plus it didn't leave vulnerable planets as difficult to protect power sources. That meant I needed designers who were skilled at building habitats.

But since I was building warships, I needed ship designers. Further, I needed a lot of ship designers. I wanted ships ranging in size from fifty meter long patrol-boats, all the way up to eight kilometer long dreadnoughts. Hells, in the future I wanted to build ships capable of holding entire nations worth of people in civilian comfort. My largest ship, what I was calling a "planet class" was slated to come in at around a hundred-twenty-eight kilometers long. With an internal deck area of ninety million square kilometers, it could support a population of up to ninety billion souls at maximum capacity.

Nor would a single ship design suffice for each size. I wanted all the varieties. Apart from dedicated civilian Liveships, I wanted general combat ships designed for the battle-line. Lancers, with a focus on longer ranged weapons like lasers. Sabres using mid-ranged beam weapons. Brawlers, designed to get up close and slug it out. Escorts with a large number of lighter weapons to take out fighters, missiles and the like. Missile and torpedo ships. Destroyers with super-heavy spinal weapons to hunt enemy capital ships. Carriers with swarms of drones, fighters and bombers. Assault ships, designed to carry out orbital assaults on ground targets or massive space-structures. Fast scouts and couriers. Stealth ships, Q-ships designed to blend into civilian shipping, raiders to operate long-term behind enemy lines. Armed merchant Indiaman ships to carry goods, transports to carry marines and soldiers, and support ships to carry out repairs, mine minerals and the like.

That was just for ships. I also needed fighters, bombers, gunships, landing craft, tanks, armored personnel carriers, power armor, un-powered armor, and weapons for all of the above.

And, since people I simply hired weren't going to cut it with regards to loyalty, I needed minimally magical versions of all of the above so that the people I properly recruited, rather than simply summoning, could carry out operations too.

To actually use the equipment, I needed people. Crews, engineers, pilots, navigators, weapons officers, sensors officers, EW specialists, loadmasters, negotiators, pursers. I need officers and commanders, everything from junior NCO's on up through full fleet admirals.

And I needed the infrastructure to support that. Not just physical; I needed administrators, educators, trainers, bureaucrats, and recruiters. To find the best people to serve as summoning templates, I needed competitions, and people to run those.

In short, I had a pretty fucking massive amount of work.

Blissfully, most of it could be delegated. There were head-hunting firms that I hired to acquire the human resources I needed. I payed top credit, and hired the best. To make sure I got clever young folks too, I made sure to have numerous competitions. I hosted design competitions at various universities and digitally over planetary networks. Then I made sure to greet everyone personally, take a copy of their pattern, and created summoned groups to do the more sensitive or magically-oriented work in parallel.

I hired PMC's myself, people that specialized in training modern military forces. I started to summon the limit of Paragons, eight hundred at first then more later, and sent many of them off to different war colleges and training courses set up within the Galaxy. As they came back, they often brought back promising recruits, whether just for a visit or on a more permanent arrangement – it didn't make much difference to my summoning capability. And I made sure we cross-trained in the various specialties.

A few months in, and I had the bare-bones of a major research shipyard.

Even with all the delegation, it was a lot for me to keep track of. I had to interact a lot with the design teams, especially the summoned ones, on how exactly my magic worked and what it could do. It would have been impossible if it weren't for my Blue mental upgrades. I may not have thought significantly better or differently than before my Awakening as a mage, but I sure as shit thought faster and more. But even thinking a dozen times as quickly and using pre-cog to jump between conclusions while skipping the actual thinking in between it was hard to keep up.

My work load only increased when I realized a little over a year after my arrival that I was no longer trapped in the Star Wars plane, and could once again access Westeros.

Harrenhal had done well in my absence and rule-by-Raven; there weren't any real crises, thankfully. The ice-demons were still North of the Wall; I was planning on a culling once I had orbital support available. My army had expanded, the Hounds, Ravens and Horses doubling in population, while my military leaders had trained twenty regiments worth of reserve footmen. When my PMC was sufficiently set up, I was planning on establishing a training center on my lands and updating them to a more modern standard.

But the biggest part of my workload, and definitely the hardest, were my own projects; namely, the work I did developing new magic as needed for the grand plan.

So the first, and perhaps most important part of the magic was getting advanced technology to function regardless of dimension. Since a liveship generated a limited amount of mana, that mana was a finite resource. In other words, the more I used magic when unnecessary, the less magic I had available to both tap myself (assuming I bonded with the ships and got direct mana-taps working, both of which I planned on), and the less magic there was available for the shields, weapons, sensors, drives, etc.

Also, some parts could generate a lot of mana. Of all the mana sources, Red and Blue were the hardest to come across on a ship without access to high technology.

Green was available because I had the ships be as organic as possible. The ship grew food for the crew, absorbed internal light waste, recycled carbon dioxide into breathable air, and transported the ship's water. Plus it meant that many parts of the ship could self-repair slowly even without magic; regeneration spells were, generally, more efficient than reconstruction ones as well. Enchanted exotic high-strength biomaterials were almost as good as enchanted exotic metals, and I'd modified the plants to naturally grow enchanted dragon-bone to provide mana-batteries, magical conductivity, and structural reinforcement.

Similarly Black was available from the natural reclamation of bio-waste. Ships were highly structured and orderly, thus there was a lot of White available.

Some Blue was available due to the complexity of the ship. But the computers, libraries, sensors and the like were great sources of Blue, and only available if high technology was too.

Red though was the worst. The best source of Red mana was a high-energy reactor. But those were high technology, and would fail if sent into a different plane with other physical laws.

After a lot of experimentation, I figured it out. It turned out that there was a White/Red equivalent to the Valyrianization process that bound in the original dimensional rules that a part functioned under while weakening any local rules that were different. I called it the "Dimensional Compatibility" enchantment.

I was pretty ecstatic to get that functioning. After, I seemed to be on a roll. Mind-magic interfacing was pretty easy; I just needed to have an enchantment that could read thoughts, and then have it operate triggers in a different enchantment. Feedback could be direct into the user's mind, or indirect with lights, noises or the like. Machine-magic interfaces similarly were pretty simple, just operating by reading and sending signals through switches as needed.

Now, I make both of those sound really easy. They weren't. It's sort of like describing a lightbulb as a thin metal filament heated until it glows, but in a way that isn't significantly damaging the filament. Sure, that's technically correct. But if you told Edison it was that easy, he'd laugh at you and point out that there's still a few hundred failed lightbulb experiments before you get it working. Mind-magic and magic-machine interfaces were kind of like that; a lot of failed experiments before I got it working. If it was the only thing I was working on, I might have achieved a reasonable version within a few months. Given all the other demands on my time, it took over a year, and another two before I was comfortable with their performance with most of the bugs ironed out.

Mind-machine interfaces, it turned out, already existed. The problem was that these neural interfaces just didn't work that well. Few humans could keep up with the sensory overload. I needed an intermediary. Luckily, I already had an idea that should help. I was planning on making techno-magical spirits, or (techno) sprites as I decided to call them.

Basically, a sprite was what you get if you take a droid brain, and make it exist as a purely magical structure, capable of lightly interacting with human minds, machines, and spells. It took a full two years of study to figure out enough about how droids worked to get the spell working. Without mental acceleration, it would have been at least twenty. And even then, I generally needed a droid to serve as the template for my sprite construct. The spell worked on Blue for the ethereal mind with a bit of White for permanence and structure despite lacking physical form, though even then sprites still needed to be hosted by a human or sufficiently advanced computational device/droid.

But when I got the spell working, it was awesome. It opened so many doors. First, I had fully functional mind-machine interfaces, ones I could use not just with my own magically loyal forces, but anyone in my organization. And it didn't just improve efficiency for pilots and the like; no, they drastically improved productivity for anyone working with computers. My designers were suddenly getting easily twice as much work done as the time it took for their CAD programs to get their ideas just right went from days to minutes, allowing them to focus on other parts of the problem.

I could put sprites in as controllers for magical drone ships, improving fighter performance, and as managers over individual weapons systems too. They managed my auto-enchanters, a lot of the administrative work, and could be loaded with astralized code, such as HUD aim-assist programs, functional programs like Word, Excel and CAD, … basically, they were fucking awesome.

Between the mind-machine-magic interface circle, I was finally able to give my summoned designers and engineers working on the magical ship products the ability to (even if minimally) modify enchantments. They were fucking inept compared to me, but they were thousands and I one; the fraction of my time spent troubleshooting small magical quirks went down exponentially, and I was muchhappier.

My own personal sprite, Jeeves, was a great assistance to everything I did. While I had auto-enchanters that could make sprites, and used those to generate the majority of the sprites that were used by my people, Jeeves had been a special project, made with the most advanced droids I could get my hands on.

The core of Jeeves' personality was an FIII Footman, a model of droid last manufactured four centuries previous. They were designed to be the best possible assistant; valet, bodyguard, assassin, they did it all, and with the utmost loyalty. Short of HK-47, it was the best I could get, and I doubted HK'd agree to be my virtual secretary and assistant even if I could find him. Jeeves' computational muscle came from the second part; a super-powerful AI I'd specially commissioned, but never activated.

I couldn't actually create Jeeves straight out. The AI was too complex, the processing power too high. Instead, I flew into a part of empty space, somewhere I wouldn't be disturbed. Then I constructed a massive twisted mass of dragon-bone in the three-dimensional projection of the spell-pattern I needed. That served as the support for the sprite creation spell, and after charging had enough extra mana that I could actually realize the spell. I could have literally glassed a planet with less energy.

It was a huge pain in the ass. But when it was done, I had Jeeves' kernel, which I then enhanced with as strong a set of mental acceleration enchantments as I could manage. Jeeves was amazing, capable of truly stupendous levels of multi-tasking and modeling. I'll admit freely, he pretty much ran my PMC while I was researching. And in a bit of a blow to the ego, the improvement was shocking.

I'd been tempted to call him Jarvis, or Sebastian, but decided to go with the classic name instead.

Techno-magical singularity and transhumanism. I was down for that.

Chapter 52: Open for Business

With the massive jumps in capability accomplished, I got down to designing magical counter-parts to mundane capabilities. Environmental management, sensors, controls, engines, teleportation drive, weapons and the like were all achieved. Somewhere along the way I even figured out short-ranged direct mana taps, so the ships could access their underlying mana capacity rather than just what was available ambiently.

Some of the magical ship systems were so much better than the mundane version that they were definitely used. Like long-range nearly lag-free sensors based on direction and teleportation of EM signals combined with scrying spells. Some were cheap enough, often due to permanent enchantments, like precognitive targeting packages or Valyrian treatment to the outer hull and some structural struts. Some, like molecular environmental filters, were only worth it when the dragon-bone mana-capacitors were full, or it was an emergency; they were good backups, but definitely back-ups.

But others were more problematic. Teleportation jump drives were far faster than hyperdrive, and without being limited to hyper-lanes. But they were technologically limited to blind jumps, jumps to known magical beacons, or jumps within safe sensors range as sensor-drift could be problematic at long range; blind jumps were always dangerous and to be avoided under risk of telefragging. The jumps also drained crazy amounts of mana; a ship generally needed at least twenty times as much mana to jump as it was capable of generating, more typically about twenty-five times as much mana.

The problem was that any ship would then arrive with massively depleted mana stores on the other end, making it highly vulnerable. Furthermore, the ship would need to have gigantic mana capacitors, taking up about sixty percent of the ship's volume just for the jump drive. Generally speaking, my ships used between thirty and thirty-five percent of the volume for structural elements, ships systems, reactors, engines, weaponry, spare parts storage and the like. Basically, the space not dedicated to essential systems would be cut down by a factor of six to twelve, and that very same space reduction would reduce mana generation to the same fraction, making jumps take a long time to charge.

As a result we came up with a structure and two new ships. The structure was a beacon, a massive mana-capacitor capable of teleporting a ship to some location; they were often included as part of my larger star-base designs. Heighliners, named after the transport ships used in Dune, were T-jump capable ships that were basically mobile beacons; they could also act as giant carriers for smaller ships for longer journeys or explorations. Finally Explorers were independently T-jump capable ships, optimized to operate with small crews, and redesigned to be less armored and armed, freeing up space for living/mana generation.

One important discovery we made was that the benefit gained from lands I had claimed with respect to mana cycling rates were onlyfor lands I had claimed. I was down to about four seconds per cycle. But unclaimed ship-spaces depended on the ship's total mana, and generally cycled at one-third as fast as I would have with the same mana supply.

Thus a patrol boat took about an hour per mana charge cycle, and a frigate about five minutes, but Explorer versions of both varieties needed roughly seventy-five charges to jump. That was roughly seventy five hours and five hours, respectively. For jumps relying on sensors, a ship needed to jump once every fifteen minutes to match a 2.0 hyperdrive on a known hyper-route. In other words, Explorers and Heighliners pretty much had to be claimed to function better than hyperdrive, and military ships would have their magic recharge up to nine hundred times faster. That was a big difference. Fast jumps from a beacon for a limited number of quick-reaction ships was still a very viable capability though.

Three years after freeing Naboo, the designs for equipment for both the magical and general parts of the PMC were ready. Well, everything up to Frigate-weight at least, even if the options for infantry were a bit less than I would have liked. But I was claiming what I had considered a fairly respectable nine hundred and change mana a day. For claiming ships, it just wasn't enough. At that rate, a single frigate would take over two days to claim, and I was planning on having thousands of the things.

Even without the mana recharge improvements, my magical ships were significantly better armed, armored and shielded than my less magical ships, which were themselves significantly superior to even the best of my competition.

The magical shields and weapons were of course amazing; teleporting anti-matter bombs onto enemy ships was practically cheating, after all (which was why I reserved it's use - didn't want to give Jedi/Sith any ideas), and while my ships had mana my projectile shields made them practically invulnerable. But even when the active magical defenses were exhausted, the underlying enchanted conventional weaponry, shields, armor and other systems were far better than what anyone else had. It was just that with high mana availability my ships were monsters.

But I wasn't able to claim lands faster than I already was, not safely, and so I had to let it be, and construct most of my navy with hyperdrives.

Honestly, it was just my perfectionism that caused me to complain. My "conventional" (-ish) ships that used some magically enhanced materials and stable enchantments - but not much more than that – were still significantly superior. Honestly, galactic ship-building was just fucking wasteful. Anyone who'd been on a civilian ship back on Earth would consider the galactic-norm spaces over-generous, let alone someone used to something really packed like a submarine. Wide hallways, fairly large rooms, and don't even get me started on those ridiculously oversized hangars. Not to mention the galactic pre-occupation with exposed, transparent command bridges.

None of that shit on my ships – I kept my crews safely behind thick armor plating, thank you very much. If they needed to see outside, well, that's why people invented cameras. While my Liveships weren't subject to quite the same level of spatial optimization, given up to nine thousand square feet of livable space per person (though that included hallways, common and work spaces), my military ships were much more efficient. Carefully planned personnel quarters with folding furniture and other clever solutions kept it reasonably comfortable but massively reduced the amount of space needed per person.

I loved innovations like that, and like using tractor-beams to launch and retrieve fighters and bombers from densely packed racks. It meant that my ships could have a full crew, a marine detachment (with integrated vehicles), and a fighter complement. Hell, just one of my three-hundred-meter long frigates carried a full three fighter wings for a total of one hundred ninety two attack-craft, plus two marine battalions with their attached vehicles. And that wasn't even a dedicated carrier variant, just the normal attached complement.

With the ship designs done and prototypes tested, at least for the patrol-boats, corvettes and frigates, it was time to kick things up a notch. My (you-can't-tell-it's-not!) conventional patrol boats outmatched a typical corvette, while my magical ones could match up against a frigate. Similarly, my conventional corvettes matched frigates, and my frigates cruisers.

So I could finally start recruitment and mass construction, eventually hiring my ships out for anti-piracy operations in a year or two as crews and vessels were ready. It was a long ways to go to get to that point, and I was pretty ecstatic I'd reached it.

I planned on being a mostly space-borne force. Generally speaking I wasn't particularly interested in extended ground operations. Now, this was when most ships would, with full complements, have more marines than navy personnel. To be clear, I wasn't against attacking pirate bases, orbital drop assaults, raiding specific targets and even short-term invasions. Essentially, for me if it "extended" past an orbital assault with power-armored marines and limited special operations, getting into the kind of ground campaign that required actual permanent bases, then someone else could do it.

Basically, think of the Iraq war; I willing to do the push to Baghdad, so long as my people didn't have to deal with what came after. That shit was just fucking horrible, so screw that. Plus it meant a lot of logistics and wider-scale organization; at least for a while my forces were limited to my marines and those were purposefully lean. My force was built to kick ass, and kick it fast. Not long-term boots on the ground occupation, counter-insurgency or year-plus guerilla wars.

Of course, clients liked to be able to "one-stop-shop." They didn't want to hear "we don't do that".

Luckily, I'd built up a pretty good relationship with the Nova Guard. Admittedly, mostly by kicking the shit out of their unit champions in sparring. But while they had a navy, a pretty damned good one actually, their ideological militarism lent itself more towards "elite infantry" than "aloof navy" archetypes.

The Ailons had been in the system, helping maintain Naboo's sovereignty over the past few years, so they were aware of the fairly ludicrous amounts of money I'd spent getting the latest manufactories, production rights for advanced weapons and systems, and R&D facilities and researchers to improve the same. They were willing to at least listen when I offered a partnership for them to fulfill any extended ground operations that my future contracts required.

At first, the Guard officers weren't overly impressed with my prototypes. Generally speaking, dagger-shaped ships were preferred for dedicated combat craft. It reduced the ship's profile from the side and front, reducing enemy hits at long range because of the smaller target zone. Further, it allowed the ships to concentrate their shields and armor on smaller areas, reducing damage. It also allowed the majority of turrets to fire in a chase configuration, while maintaining close to fifty-percent of the total guns for broadside fire.

But my ships depended a lot on the interior spaces to generate mana. So, instead of a dagger shape, they were optimized more along square-cube considerations. The square was the area that needed to be protected, so called because the surface area increased in proportion to the square of the length. The cube was the volume generating that protective power, increasing in proportion to the cube of the length. For square-cube ships, a sphere is the "optimal" geometry.

However, spheres have fucking terrible firing arcs. Instead, my ships were fairly cuboid, with length-width-height proportions roughly equivalent to the golden ratio. The ship tapered slightly from back to front, and was actually faintly twisted by about fifteen degrees along the central axis; that improved the hull strut stability versus damage, and allowed the main weapon turrets along the top and bottom centerlines (which stretched from the middle of top/bottom-lines rear of the ship to front) to fire directly forward, as well as to either side. As such, the throw weight in either chase or broadside configurations was optimized, with only a few point-defense systems unable to bear.

But my vessels didn't have the sharp lines favored by top-of-the-line warships, or the spherical/conical construction favored by efficient-and-affordable warships, and so my mercenary friends were skeptical.

But then I demonstrated my ships in a live test.

First I showed off their crazy acceleration, up to four thousand gravities for the patrol-boat (PB), similar to a state of the art fighter, thirty-five hundred g's for the corvette, and three thousand for the frigate. They were stunned. That kind of speed meant my ships could pretty much always pick when a fight occurred and how long it lasted. It also meant my ships would have a much higher dodging volume, making them harder to hit in long distance combat. Of course, my less conventional ships could each manage a thousand more g's; I was just keeping that restricted from use, as it was too unbelievable and I didn't want industrial spies crawling out of the woodwork.

After that we moved on test-firing. My ships were designed to be heavily armed for their class just with regards to size and number of weapon emplacements; once the benefits to firing rate and damage due to enchantments and magically processed materials were included in the calculation, they were monsters. The PB's and corvettes were armed with a mix of lasers, missiles, and torpedos, while the frigate was not only practically bristling with the former weapons, but also boasted several heavy beam turrets and heavier missiles designed to damage larger ships. All classes included ion cannons to disable ships and allow boarding.

My guests were impressed, but what really sold them viscerally was the demonstration where their ships tested the shields. When the shields were finally depleted, they tested the armor and when that finally failed found out how good the damage control systems were. The biggest thing for ground troops is always whether the ship will keep them alive. Going into a naval fight where you're essentially sitting inside a metal can getting shot at, worried that you'll die in fucking space without even having a chance to fight back sucks. When that's your experience of ships, you end up subconsciously valuing ones with high survivability.

Lt. General Ademi, head of the Nova Guard detached to defend Naboo turned to me. "I can offer you a very good price for the technology that allowed that."

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, General, but it relies on some exotic materials from a polity in wild space. I'm personally acquainted with them, but they're fairly isolationist." I loved that the Star Wars galaxy was schizophrenic enough for that to be a legitimate argument. The Force occasionally did weird things to materials.

He sighed in disappointment. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to act as an intermediary?"

I smiled. "I'm already buying all available supplies, and am hardly interested in bidding against myself."

"Damn," he muttered. "Nonetheless, you should think about producing or at least licensing out the underlying design. Even with more commonly available systems performance, you're still packing far more ship into the same space."

"I'll have to think about that," I said, but there was no fucking way I was giving up any of my advantages. As it was, the interior of my ships was classified, and every one of my ships had sprites who were pretty damned good at info-war to catch any spies and destroy any recording devices.

"I'm already employing two hundred thousand people in the shipyards," I continued, "and that's with the most advanced automation and droid labor available too. We've got three hundred twenty frigates, twelve hundred eighty corvettes, and five thousand one hundred and twenty patrol boats under construction or in the que in this system. And that's just a start; in five years I hope to have ten times that coming off the shipyards every year."

Not that I'd have the people to fully staff them; on Naboo close to six million had volunteered to join GSD (Gangari Security Directorate). Roughly half had passed the entry requirements, and I was expecting up to a third to fail the training. That left about two million new personnel, or not quite enough to fully crew the currently building ships, let alone next year's allotment, or the year after that. I was already planning on filling in the gaps with the final generation of summoned troops.

Apart from the Paragons based on Ser Barristan's pattern, I'd added Aces, patterned off of expert pilots, Sailors, and Marines. I had ten to hundreds of thousands of them as needed to serve as training cadre. As the ships were ready, I'd summon up the latest generation of specialists to staff my magical fleet, equal in size to the mundane one, which I was forming in secret.

One issue with using these various summoned specialists was that they had skills but not experiences. In other words, the summons didn't, couldn't have the actual memories of the original. I wasn't copying identities, but patterns. Otherwise the summoning would fail; if I was lucky it would fizzle. Unlucky, and it could destructively resonate with the original, which was just as messy as one might fear. Another issue was that I'd never be able to find even better versions if I stuck with the people that I found in the beginning. And finally it was just sort of weird; although they weren't complete copies, they were often sort of like identical twins. Their thought patterns were far too similar, which was I supposed a strategic weakness as well.

"Just, keep the offer in mind," General Ademi said, still not done trying to get his hands on my ships. Honestly, I didn't even have a usefor more money. All my purchases had come in just under a trillion credits.

In that same time, I had developed the first fully functional neural interface through applied magical sprite assistance. While the top-quality ones were reserved for GSD's usage, I had a factory complex that made a billion interfaces a year. That might sound like a lot, but the galaxy had over a hundred trillion people. And a whole lot of them wanted to buy my interfaces.

I didn't sell them, I auctioned them with the billion highest bidders getting one for the price of whoever bid one spot too low. Last year, the price was at an astounding nineteen thousand credits each, of which I made a profit of about fifteen thousand after tax and expenses. Times a billion, and that was fifteen trillion credits. Our long-term projections once the price stabilized ranged from one to ten trillion credits a year of profit. That was without introducing premium models that demanded a higher price, or increasing production.

Apart from the neural interface, I could enchant droids to be precognitive so of course I did so. There was a simple equation: high frequency trading + precognitive droids = shitloads of money. I'd parked a few trillion in the accounts to automatically trade back when we looted the Trade Federation. Every time I checked, Gangari Holdings (or rather its shell companies, straw-men and the like) were worth more.

I was rapidly closing in on owning an appreciable fraction of the liquidly traded galactic financial instruments. Oh, I was still at the fraction of a percentage level, and that was only a small fraction of the total galactic wealth, but it was still pretty fucking crazy. As that fraction grew, I would come to exert a degree of control over the entire galactic stock market, able to manipulate stock prices to damage my enemies.

General Ademi seemed to sense my disinterest in money and changed tack. "And if you aren't interested in money, we may be able to work out some other deal. An exchange of military technology, perhaps."

Actually, that was interesting. I was willing to bet that over the millennia as operators of one of the largest active militaries and mercenary armies in the galaxy, Ailon had collected a number of useful archeotech relics from precursor civilizations which were beyond anything people could do in the current age. Relics might be ultra-rare objects for others, but for me they were just templates waiting to be copied by magic.

"I'll definitely consider it," I allowed. "Especially if you have particularly interesting archeotech or relics."

"I'll see what I can do," Ademi answered with a smile. "Well, assuming your men are up to standard, and from our evaluation of your training programs I have no doubt they will be, I can say we'd definitely be interested in collaborating on contracts that require a permanent ground presence. In the future I'd also like to talk about hiring your ships as fleet auxiliaries. You don't have the cruiser weight ships that we prefer for planetary missions and fleet battles, but your ships are perfect for protecting supply convoys, interdicting commerce, and counter-piracy operations."

No shit, I thought, that's what they're designed for.

"That's great!" I exclaimed. And it was; even the fact that we could advertise a partnership with the Ailon Nova Guard meant that customers would feel more confident hiring us. "So how do you want to do this? I see pretty much three ways; I could contact your office as needed, and get individual quotes, but that might slow down any bids I give out. You could give me a pricing calculator, maybe a droid that you've trained to do so, and I could give the bids directly, then contact you if I get the job. Or, if you prefer, I'm happy to host a unit of the Guard in Naboo; they can cross-train with my troops, and I can pass RFQ's to their CO."

"For as long as our current contract lasts we'll go with the third option since we're here anyways," he replied. "After that we may keep doing that, or change it as needed."

A year later and my first wave of ships were completed and crewed with fresh graduates from my training programs. I suddenly had eighty conventional frigate detachments (and as many magical in reserve), each consisting of four frigates, sixteen corvettes and sixty four patrol boats. Between the ships, the thousand-strong space fighter regiment, and a full division of sixteen thousand drop-capable power-armored marines with integrated armor and air support, each detachment was designed to operate independently against anything short of the most massive targets.

It took a few years, but we got there. GSD was open for taking contracts and giving bids for contracted services.

Chapter 53: Reputation

I had a problem – I needed clients. Well, need may have been a strong word; my expenses were a rounding error on the combined income from my neural interfaces and precognitive droid traders. But it was sort of like playing SimCity, or Roller-Coaster Tycoon; I wanted customers because that was part of the game. Plus growing my company, keeping it in use, building a reputation - all of those were non-financial valuables.

Now, for some work, a company would put out a tender, in other words a list of objectives they wanted met. Then I, or more accurately some bidding specialists in GSD, would put together a bid to meet that tender. The company would look through the exact offer specifications and the cost, and pick whatever they liked best.

That was not my sweet spot. That was the sweet spot for rent-a-cop companies and generic security providers. Most tenders were for site security, low-moderate risk convoy protection, corporate executive protection and the like. Basically jobs that needed a modicum of performance, but where there wasn't much differentiation between one group or another.

GSD was set up for full on fleet-borne military operations, the absolute top-tier of PMC activities. And even within that segment my forces fell into the "elite" bracket both in effectiveness, unit size, and in cost. Our sweet spot was being hired to win wars, smash pirates, slaughter rebels, and provide praetorian guard services for uneasy rulers. At our level, there was absolutely differentiation. There were some conflicts that basically had open contracts for privateers and mercenary forces; although messy and often underpaid (especially for units of GSD's quality), those were (when available) a good place to build reputation and gain experience.

But for the really good gigs that I wanted, the client came to the company. Oh, they'd often shop around, compare prices, but at the end of the day they knew what they were interested in.

And a big part of that was reputation. Something GSD did not have.

So we needed to build some. Best way to do that, I figured, was to show off. Pick some known pirate system, or some slavers, or whatever, and go kick their shit in. Record a lot of it, and distribute it. Hire some media people to make a splash.

I was hoping that after a few successes, GSD would be hirable. After all, while Amidala's re-election was pretty much irrelevant to knowing a government leader likely to hire my troops since she was such a bleeding heart liberal peacenik, Palpatine was much more pragmatic and had just been re-elected Chancellor. We'd had pretty mixed interactions previously, but with the state of the galaxy he could definitely use the manpower on any of a dozen hot-spots and the political optics of using Nabooian contractors to solve problems meant that the successes would be more attributed to the Chancellor's actions than otherwise.

And I also just really wanted to fuck up some villainous assholes. I'd spent years building this great big toy system, and I wanted to use it (though only for good – I was a responsible warlord). Effectively, I was hiring my own company (since I was paying their paychecks and combat bonuses) to generate some PR and satisfy my sense of justice. Of course, I didn't admit to that publicly; PMC's were one thing, but when they started acting independently people saw them less as private military contractors, and more as private armies.

But first, I needed to figure out what I was bringing to the fight. That informed the sorts of targets I was looking at: how big, how well defended, etc.

I decided that wherever I hit, I was bringing the full first fleet, a total of sixty four frigate detachments with me. That left sixteen detachments for garrison/asteroid patrol duty for Naboo or available for hiring. It also meant I had over a million marines available for ground operations. That was roughly an over-strength star-division, the organizational level one step up from a full army, though without the dedicated corps level air assets that would normally be carried on cruisers. A million people was a lot, but compared to the typical sector population in the tens of billions, it was still only a drop in the bucket.

As for myself, I was taking along my own frigate group for my personal escort and headquarters. A single frigate with its corvette and patrol-boat escorts carrying a combined regiment of marines, it used the most advanced magical designs for equipment and the most experienced summoned specialists for personnel. After all, there was pretty much no-one (short of the strongest Force users) capable of killing me; I figured it would be good karma and good fun (sort of like a real life shooting game) to participate in the attack.

In the end, it was pretty easy to pick a target. Other than Nazis, what was more acceptable a target than slavers after all? The Hutts, Zygerrians, and Senex-Juvex were too large and populous for me to take on. I might win the fight, but I'd be like the proverbial dog that actually caught the car it was chasing, not knowing what to do next.

On the other hand, the Karazak Slavers Cooperative, based out of the Karazak system in the Sujimis sector was within reasonable striking distance (less than six days). Their twelve thousand or so "associate" ranked slavers and assorted underlings captured an estimated five hundred thousand to two million slaves every year, with a similar number estimated to be kept under yoke at Karazak for any given point in time.

To make things even better, the Karazak system also hosted the Slaver's Syndicate, a Zygerrian-backed outfit.

Although many of the slavers would be out-of-system, it was far harder to operate that sort of business without a base. With any luck, seized records, documents, and drives could be passed along to Republic investigators who could then target the slavers I didn't catch; if I was really lucky, they'd be able to go after the end users who bought the slaves too. I was also perfectly willing to allow the slaves to try the slavers and slavers' families according to military tribunal. Any that were substantially abusive, raped the slaves, or participated in slaving other than using them as unpaid labor could end up in front of a firing squad for all I cared.

With the target picked, it was time to come up with a plan and brief my officers.

I stood in front of a host of officers teleconferenced into a virtual lecture hall. I'd already had the command-level planning meeting earlier. This general briefing was more so that everyone, including those all unit commanders of lower rank, were on the same page as to the general approach and objectives of the upcoming mission.

"There are three main hyperdrive jump vectors into and out of Karazak," I began. "This is actually pretty considerate of the damned slavers, because it nicely split our ships into four flotillas, each subdivided into four divisions of four frigate detachments." My officers chuckled dutifully at the (honestly pretty shitty) joke; obviously the slavers had not had our convenience in mind when they settled in that location all those years ago. "Commanding officers are per standard rankings, and are listed in the documents."

As a note, one may notice a lot of base-four math when discussing ship formations. The use of 4-point ship configurations was because it worked well.

Funnily enough, geometry matters a lot to combat doctrine. On the ground, if a unit is triangular, ie made up of three main subdivisions, then it is probably designed for maneuver warfare. For example, a battalion with three mechanized rifle companies is triangular; sometimes there are more than three units, but as long as they are support, like with the addition of an armor and/or weapons company, the overall formation is still triangular. If it's based on fours, then it's probably designed for more static engagements, optimized for leapfrogging assaults or enfilading fields of fire.

In space, there were not just two dimensions, but three, so those geometries changed. A tetrahedral (triangle based pyramidal) 4-point formation took the most basic three-dimensional shape (much like a triangle is for two dimensions). By orienting either one of the points or the planes towards the enemy, the whole formation could fire.

Orienting so that one of the straight edges was pointed towards the enemy allowed the formation to maintain that full formation fire while a ship located at the center of the tetrahedron can also fire. For example, a corvette escorted by four PB's likely used a formation with one each forward and above or below the corvette, and one each of the rear and on the left or right of the corvette.

That was a fairly optimal formation. Shifting directions of advance and rapid flanking envelopments were relatively easy with a 4-point formation, even for large formations.

Compare that to the most common alternative, a six-point formation. Six-point formations were the three-dimensional formation equivalent to a ground-operations square. They were good for blockades, static defenses, and linear assaults. For blockades and static defenses, they tended to take a formation that looked like octahedral bonding sites, with an in-plane square centered around a central object they are defending or sieging, and another ship above and below that plane.

For assaults, they tended to look like a fairly short triangular prism, but where the rear plane has been rotated sixty degrees, or sometimes a flat hexagonal plane facing the enemy. That allowed every ship to fire forwards (or broadside) as desired. The problem was when there were a lot of ships; the linear focus could make it complicated to change direction, and the formations weren't as efficient when splitting up into different groups.

"With three flotillas organized to block the three approach/escape vectors," I continued speaking, "we'll hopefully be pretty successful buttoning up the system. Oh, no doubt some of the slavers will escape, but try to keep that as low as possible."

"Yes, my Lord!" the room rang out.

I motioned for calm with a smile. "Come on, people. I know you're enthusiastic for GSD's first real mission, but you're out of the academies now! You don't want future recruits reviewing this historical moment to see you failing to represent your élan, right?"

I got some more dutiful chuckles at this. It was a bit of a running joke that cadets had to be taught to respond in a 'motivated' fashion (lots of Sir-Yes-Sir!-ing), then graduates had to be taught not to.

"So, we'll have each approach covered by sixty four frigates, two hundred and fifty six corvettes, over a thousand PB's, and sixteen thousand hyper-capable fighters. All of those ships will be deployed when we jump into Karazak," I stressed. "In the orders packets there are modified formation positions and a schedule of timed micro-jumps. Simulations indicate that will set up bands of interference, preventing slaver ships from jumping out. Make sure you're ready to carry them out, and keep on the ball for any updates to those orders from your command as the simulations are refined by real-life results."

I paused for a moment for people to process that. "Once in system, the plan is currently for those three flotillas to cover the assigned zones while the fourth flotilla is available to engage any enemy ship concentrations. If it doesn't cut engines and power down, you make it. The overall goal is to achieve total space superiority. But the zones can change depending on the circumstances; especially if they have capital ships or organize their fleet, the blocking flotillas may be ordered to carry out an attack or envelopment." A map of Kazarak was behind me now, the zones with arrows showing flotilla movements on them.

"Now when possible you'll be using ion cannons to reduce accidental deaths among any captives on the slavers' ships. Strike craft are being issued ion warheads for missiles and torpedos for that purpose. But at the end of the day, I want everyone coming home. So if it's between killing a ship or taking casualties, I want that ship dead."

Now the picture shifted to the best guess intelligence on positions of space-bases and orbital infrastructure. Defenses were highlighted. "This is intelligence's best bet on where and what they've got that's off planet. It's only eighty five percent confidence though, so take it with a grain of salt. You'll be taking out defenses with ship based strikes as reasonable, then conducting marine landings. Priority is on our safety, followed by that of the slaves. Significantly lower, but still priorities are information on slaving activities which can mean taking slavers prisoner, then minimizing damage to prize ships and bases, followed way, way down by protecting the slavers lives in general."

Again, they chuckled. "After the areas have been cleared and secured, the mission will change entirely to relief and succor for the newly freed slaves. A number of droids have been loaded with medic-psychologist programs to assist in that process; they are marked with a green-white-green band. As for getting the slaves out, the marines gallantly suffering the horrors of tight-packing procedures for a week will give the fleet the capacity to evacuate up to three million freed slaves. If the estimates are wrong, we'll secure the system for as long as it takes to get everyone out safely."

I looked at them intensely, wanting to drive this next point home. "Now one thing I want to emphasize: we are not just there to free the slaves and help them physically and emotionally. We're also there to take as many pounds of flesh from the slavers as possible. So before any of the freed slaves leave, do your best to get accurate accounts of how they ended up enslaved, and what happened during that time period. We want testimony and medical records for trials."

This next bit was a bit dodgier. I may have gotten a relatively conservative and right-wing group of Nabooians as volunteers for my PMC, but that was relative to the fact that they were still Nabooians. I hoped their training had knocked enough of the pacifism out of them. "Any slave that passes the psychological screening will be allowed to volunteer for tribunals. The tribunals will be carried out according to our abbreviated code of justice, and overseen by droids with all appropriate legal regulations and programs installed. Priority of trying slavers will be done on a point-based approach to ensure maximum efficiency; the points are accounting for the surety of the case, the egregiousness of the violations, and the time required for the trial. Interrogation and prosecutor assistance droids are capable of making the calculation."

I smiled sharply at them and clapped my hands. "Alright, let's do some good work, and make history with our first mission of many. Dismissed!"

And with that, the conference was over.

It was time to go to war.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 1

You know that feeling you get when you wake up in an unfamiliar place and have no idea how you got there for a few seconds? I have it. After waiting a few seconds and scouring my memory...I still have it. That...is a suboptimal state of affairs. I started fumbling around in the dark and came across what felt like a lamp. I switched it on and...I've never seen this room before in my life. I started to breathe heavily as the worst possible situations flitted through my mind. Have I been kidnapped? If so my kidnapper is oddly hospitable for leaving me on what has to be the most comfortable bed to ever grace my posterior bar none. The last thing I remember doing is sending that...oh. OH! Ohhhhhhh. I shut my eyes and sighed.

"No. There is just no way. I refuse." I muttered to myself. With my eyes shut however I began to notice something. I could "see" what seemed to be countless little stars. They were everywhere. Many in the room itself but the largest concentration were outside it and...above it? Considerably far above it for that matter. For a second I didn't quite understand what they were but then it hit me. Shaper. The power that I'd picked. They were living things. They were living things and they were absolutely everywhere around me. They were on me. They were IN me. Good God that is creepy. Then the information hit. I started to understand them. I could recreate any one of them. Any rodent any bird or any insect could be sculpted through this power. With an effort of will I stopped focusing on them. The knowledge went with them but I could feel it was still available. I no longer had to "see" the creatures to call up their "blueprints."

"Okay well that's reasonably terrifying." I said. I started to examine the room I found myself in. A pretty bog standard bedroom all things considered. Must be the secret lair perk I took. I had to admit this beat waking up in an alleyway by a mile. Considering the city I was likely in I suspected that was a very good thing. Also from the positioning of the...life signs...I was assuming said lair was underground. Across the room I noticed a desk and computer...but the computer looked like some space age futuristic setup.

"...OH MY GOD IS THAT A TINKERTECH COMPUTER!?" And I promptly lost all composure as I began to fawn over the sexy machine. Firing it up it loaded the OS in a split second. The prompt claimed it was Windows X.

A feminine voice called out from the speakers. "Hello chief! My name is Cortana and I'll be guiding you through the setup process."

Windows X...with actual Cortana...right. I like my ROB. He has class.

"So...Cortana is it? And what's with calling me 'chief?'" I asked.

"Actually...I'm not really sure." she replied. "I don't really remember anything before coming online just now. 'Chief' is the form of address I was programmed to use. Do you want me to change your designation in the system?"

"NO...um. I mean no that wont be necessary Cortana. For the record though my name is James."

"So noted chief. I'll create your user account under that name. Do you need anything else?"

"Uh...not at the moment. Thanks for the help. I'll come back in a bit."

"Sure thing chief. Signing you out." The computer's lock screen came up. Presumably I just had to ask Cortana if I wanted to use it again. For all her interactivity I was getting more of a Mass Effect VI feel from her rather than a Halo Smart AI. I felt like she probably wouldn't be taking initiative any time soon. Well it's just as well. The very last thing I needed was someone like Saint getting all over me. Not that I was particularly concerned about my eventual ability to handle Saint. It was just a hassle I didn't need at the moment. Plus I'd have to bug out since I didn't know

how to use any of my abilities just yet beyond the passive 'Detect Life' buff I'd picked up.

I sat back in my exquisitely comfortable desk chair.

"Okay. Let's take stock here."

My goal in this world was to survive for ten years. Scion would go genocidal at the end of that time or in two years if Jack Slash was allowed to run his mouth. Yeah...I'd want to off him sooner rather than later if at all possible. Technically speaking I had two years to get around to it but...it was the Slaughterhouse 9 for God's sake. If I had the ludicrous power of the Kaleidoscope (which I didn't know how to use) at my disposal then didn't I have a responsibility to use it to deal with them if nothing else? I mean Zelretch stopped the moon from falling and put it back into ORBIT with this power and nothing else. Surely I should be able to take the murder hobos.

There were a few issues with that plan. Firstly the S9 were terrifying. Seriously, my breathing was picking up from just considering this. If I somehow failed then I'd better hope I'm fortunate enough to die quickly. The Kaleidoscope gives me unparalleled strategic ability and functionally infinite energy by channeling a tiny bit of energy from infinite other planes to focus in this one like a metaphysical pyramid sceme. However, in spite of the UNLIMITED POWER (cough) that I could potentially access it didn't make me very durable. At the moment I was the definition of a glass cannon. Also, I didn't know how to do anything with that vast cosmic energy. I suspected that if I gathered it all I'd be capable of doing is firin' mah lazer and releasing it all at once. I figured the Siberian would rip me to shreds if I went after them now. If I focused on Manton then Jack Slash would cut me to shreds.

Okay so obviously I wasn't going after Jack Slash tomorrow that was for sure. I wouldn't wait two years either though. It shouldn't take that long to reach a point where I could take 'em.

The best thing to do for now would be to accumulate power as quickly as possible so I could actually afford to be proactive. I knew that I could just stock this lair and refuse to leave it and Taylor would eventually handle things but...I really felt like she shouldn't have to.

I suppose I could actually go to the Nasuverse and find Zelretch for instruction.

"...pffft AS FREAKING IF HAHAHAHAAAAA!" I double over laughing at the idiocy of that plan and wipe the tears from my eyes. Yeah. There was no way that could end well. He'd probably just prank me or stick me in a skirt with cat ears on my head. Oh well. I'd enact my master plan to obtain supreme power tomorrow. For tonight I'm going to bed.

Chapter 2

To my credit when the unfamiliar alarm went off it took me a few seconds less to figure out where I was this time. Glancing over at the clock I saw it was 8:00 AM. Well that's reasonable I guess. Yawning as I got out of bed I realized that I hadn't actually seen any of my "lair" beyond this one room and had no idea where anything was. Feeling rather sheepish I decided to ask if my "VI" could help out.

"Hey Cortana? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah chief?"

Good. So that worked.

"Can you tell me where the bathroom is?"

"Sure thing. It's out of this room and down the hall to the left."

"Thanks Cortana." I replied gratefully.

"No problem."

As I walked down to the bathroom I started to wonder if maybe I was being too dismissive of Cortana. Sure I was almost positive she wasn't a full AI but I should probably ask rather than just assuming. I was getting a towel out of the cabinet when I realized I wasn't wearing my glasses. I wasn't wearing my glasses yet I could see just fine. I looked in the mirror. Everything else seemed the same. Brown hair check. Green eyes check. Somewhat overweight build check. Even though I knew I could change that if I wanted some part of me hesitated. It could make me seem less conspicuous...

Ah screw it. I didn't make the choices I did in this scenario with the intention of playing things safe. Besides if I really wanted to I could make myself look like Father Christmas himself. I fired up Shaper and decided I wanted to be healthy. The change was fluid. Shifting almost like a time-lapse video. Not overly muscular. I didn't want to be that cliche and neither did I need it. I took my shower and felt much better than before. Getting dressed I noticed that my shirt didn't exactly fit anymore.

"Hmm...I wonder..."

Yeah some of the shirt was made of biological material but some wasn't. Damn. I took the shirt back off and tried to visualize another shirt made entirely from cotton fibers. The shirt materialized on my upper body. I beamed.

"Aw yeah that's thinking outside the box!"

"Yes very well done chief."

"GAAAH! You're in here too!?"

"Haha I'm everywhere in here chief."

"Um...don't take this the wrong way Cortana but...are you a 'real girl?'"

"You mean 'Am I a Smart AI based off a human brain?'"

"Uh...yes?"

"Then yes I am."

"...oh."

Oh indeed. I didn't know what Saint's policies were on AI's made by patterning human brains but I couldn't imagine it was good.

"Wait. Does that mean you'll end up going rampant in a few years?"

"Ordinarily it would have meant that but so far not much in this reality is making sense to me. To quote a famous AI: 'There is as yet insufficient data for a meaningful answer.'"

I deadpanned. "You know I was just asking if I could expect you to go crazy not if you could reverse entropy."

"Yeah well no progress on either front I'm afraid. How about you? How'd you end up here?"

"Sent here at the whim of a capricious and monstrously powerful cosmic entity to stop yet another monstrously powerful cosmic entity."

"...yeah okay good luck with that chief. Let me know if you need any help with that one."

"Yeah I suppose you'd know a thing or two about stuff like that." I mused.

"What do you mean by that?" She sounded confused. The ROB must've snatched a version of her that never met THE chief.

"Uh...nevermind. Don't worry about it. Is there a kitchen in this place?" I tried changing the subject.

"Sure. It's down the other end of the hallway you can't miss it." Phew. Seems to have worked. Hard to tell with an AI though. Couldn't she just simulate sincerity. Gah! Don't worry about it!

Arriving in the kitchen I saw a stovetop, refrigerator, a bar and stools, and what I could not be certain but definitely LOOKED like a freaking replicator from Star Trek.

"Uh Cortana? Is that a replicator in that little recess in the wall over there?"

"Hmm let me look through the APIs...it would certainly seem so. I wonder how that would work?"

"Well it's far beyond me that's for sure. Say you don't think that cosmic superbeing I mentioned earlier could actually be Q do you?" I asked in disbelief.

She scoffed. "From the television show? Are you sure your head's on straight chief?"

"...says the video game character..." I mutter quietly.

"What was that?!"

"Nothing! So...can you operate this thing?"

"Sure chief just tell me what you want."

"Well I'd like a bowl of cereal." I waited for magical food to appear.

"Uh...chief? Unless you intend to clean said food off the replicator you're going to want to put a bowl in there."

My face reddened. Of course. I dashed over to the kitchen and retrieved a bowl to place inside the replicator. Sure enough milk and cereal materialized inside it. Even though I expected it I still gaped.

"Holy shit it actually works!"

"Yeah no kidding! If we had a few of these things back home things would be so much easier!" She exclaimed.

So she remembered where she started out from huh? Well that made me feel all kinds of guilty. I thought about it while I was eating the cereal then finally responded.

"Hey Cortana? If you'd like I can try to take you home once I figure out my powers." I offer.

"Your powers? You mean that thing where you materialize stuff out of thin air?"

"No. Well...yes. The one I'm referring to would let me take you back to your home dimension. It's called the Kaleidoscope."

"Oh?" She definitely sounds interested now. "How does it work?

"Well...I'm not entirely sure yet. My Shaper power seems pretty instinctive. I can just will it to work."

"What does that one do?"

"Complete control over all biological material in a fairly large range."

She was silent for a full ten seconds.

"That sounds...potent." She seemed unsure how to respond.

I frowned a little. "Yeah it is. I'm going to have to set some moral boundaries on this one in a big way. Despite the fact that the denizens of this world would freak right the hell out if they found out about it it'd leave a bad taste in my mouth to use it to its full potential. Most of its functions are getting put in a little box labeled 'Open in case of world's end.'"

She actually bothered to simulate a relieved sigh. My eyebrow twitched.

"So you can use that one with no problems but what about the other one?"

"I'm not sure. I don't really feel anything the way I expected to."

"Maybe you have to turn it on?" She suggested.

I thought about that for a second. If it works the way it does in the Nasuverse then the Kaleidoscope is magic. Specifically the second True Magic which cannot be reproduced by science. Though, if what I remember reading about Professor Haywire and Earth Aleph is right then it might well be busted down to a "mere" magecraft soon. Anyway, magi in that universe channel power through "circuits" engraved in their souls. This is typically done by visualizing a trigger and sometimes by reciting an aria. What would mine be though?

"Chief? You still with me?" Cortana asked.

"Shh. Hang on a second I'm trying to follow your advice." I responded.

Well when I think of the Kaleidoscope I always picture a prism scattering light into every color. I imagined the prism. Pictured in my mind. The light passing through the prism intensified until it seemed as if it was lit from within. I felt an odd sense of anticipation and trepidation settle into my gut. As though I were looking over the edge of a steep cliff. The words lept unbidden to my lips.

"Prism break."

The prism shattered into thousands of brightly lit shards. The shards began casting more light of every color until the shards vanished and all that was left was the light. The light swelled then thundered through me. I could feel something heating me from within and my awareness expanded.

...I could see Earth Bet. I could see myself inside it. See anything at all I cared to. I could look left and right, up and down, in and out. The entire stream of time and space within this world was visible to me and I looked at it in awe. I was utterly incapable of taking in all the information offered to me.

My awareness shot outward again and I perceived Earth Aleph. So similar to my own Earth but I instinctively knew it was not my origin. Once again I flew outward. I saw hundreds of worlds. Thousands. All of them containing their own Earths. Their own people. Some the same. Other different. All unique.

Yet again I moved outward. Now I perceived the multiverse beyond this tiny cluster. I sensed something tying them all together and I knew...knew...this is the limit of the entities' influence. If I journey beyond this point they cannot follow. It is beyond them. Worlds more numerous than stars. The multiverse truly was infinite and it was laid bare before me.

I sensed more than saw worlds that would scar me if I even dared to gaze at their contents. A human mind being totally insufficient to comprehend what laid there. I had no desire to encounter an Old One any time soon so I withdrew from them. Finally, I felt it. I did not see it. Had no clue how I could reach it. All the same I felt it. I felt a place which existed and at the same time did not. The presence felt like...knowledge. As though if I could touch it I would comprehend ALL. I knew what it was. Akasha. The Root. The Origin. The starting point of all existence. I withdrew. I didn't need Zelretch to tell me how close I was coming to madness.

The light receded. The prism coalesced and was whole in my mind's eye once more. I felt lessened.

"Did it work?" Cortana's voice broke my stupor.

"uhm...yeah Cortana. It worked. Thanks for your advice." I replied, feeling numb. She kept silent. Seeming to understand something had happened.

I could see why Zelretch generally didn't care what happened to people and could seem so callous with his jokes. It was hard to care after having seen that. What did it matter if Taylor Hebert died when there were a million more just like her? What did it matter if Zion won and destroyed everything? There were an infinite number of him which succeeded and an infinite number which were destroyed. There were an infinite number of me for that matter. Those with the Kaleidoscope and those without. Literally the only defining feature of this dimension was that it was the one the ROB just happened to plop me into.

I sighed. Existential crises could wait. I couldn't allow myself to think like that otherwise there really wouldn't be any point. I went over my plans in my mind again. Taylor. I needed to decide what to do, if anything, about Taylor.

"Hey Cortana? Would you happen to know the date? Also where are we exactly?"

"Sure. Today's date is April 8th, 2011. We are currently about a mile beneath the center of a city called Brockton Bay."

Just like the email said huh? If memory serves today is significant because Taylor gets bullied again at school and decides to be a hero. She'll have triggered earlier this year so I'm too late to stop that unless I travel back in time. If I did that though I'd cause a paradox which would probably result in branching off an alternate reality. Unless I already did it of course. Ugh. Now I'm giving myself a headache. Whatever. I was reasonably sure that no version of me could possibly think it was a good idea to interfere with Taylor Hebert's trigger event anyway.

So in a few days she'd be fighting Lung. I didn't want to interfere with that either since it leads to her joining the Undersiders and she could really use the support. I'd say that my first priority should by Bakuda and Coil. Bakuda because she was crazy and would blow up half the bay if I let her and Coil because the man was an asshole and no two ways about it. Heh. Maybe I'd implant the memories of an alternate self who grew up to be a rodeo clown in his head then chuck him at Leviathan. Fear the mighty power of the Kaleidoscope! MWAHAHAA!

"So...do you really think you'd be able to take me home?" Cortana asked. I smiled.

"Yeah Cortana. I'm sure of it! Might take me a little while to find it though. I'd also need equipment to transfer you." I smirked.

"Well if you should need anything in the meantime just let me know!" She said. Huh. She sounded much happier now that I'd confirmed she could go back. Poor thing. At least I technically signed up for this.

I wanted to go poke around outside and see what was what but first I needed to check something. Brockton Bay is a dangerous place after all. I walked over to the kitchen and retrieved a sharp looking knife I doubted I'd ever use.

"Uh chief what are you doing?" Definitely a worried tone now.

"Just checking to make sure Shaper lives up to the hype." Without further ado I stabbed the knife into my arm. ...It really hurt.

"SHITSHITSHITSHIT!" I started screaming even as I jerked the knife out and the wound healed. "The hell is this?! Painkiller Jane's healing factor?! No fucking thank you!" I called up Shaper and focused on dulling the pain. I didn't want to lose my sense of pain. Pain is good. Pain is a warning against doing stupid things. However, I didn't want to lose my mind every time I took a hit either. I found a happy median and left it at that.

"Wow...I didn't realize you were a cutter chief." Sarcastic witch.

"I AM NOT EMO!" I bellowed. "I just needed to test that before it gets put to practical use."

"So...how effective is that healing of yours?"

"If it works as advertised it should heal anything shy of death...and maybe brain damage I'm not sure. Alex Mercer never seemed to have problems with brain damage but, then again, I'm not a sapient virus."

"Sapient...virus... Whatever you say chief." Sometimes I think Cortana believes I'm crazy.

"Well if I have my way it'll be irrelevant soon enough. Say Cortana, where's the door to this base?"

"There isn't one."

"...come again?"

"There isn't one. I've checked over all the plans for this place and there is no way to get in or out."

"But that's ridiculous! To get out of here without an elevator you'd have to able to..." Oh.

"Able to...~" She said teasingly.

"Teleport." I sighed.

"Bingo." She said.

Alright then only one way out of here.

"Okay Cortana I'm going to poke around the city a bit. Mind the camp while I'm gone."

"Right you are chief."

"Prism Break."

The prism shattered. The world dissolved into kaleidoscopic light.

Chapter 3

I materialized in an out of the way alley that I had made certain was uninhabited. Monitored? Who could say in this city but I didn't particularly care if I was noticed by some random tinker. I obviously wasn't in costume and thus the "unwritten rules" would protect my secret identity...that I did not have in this world. That might actually be a problem at some point but I supposed it wasn't as if I actually needed a driver's license or intended to join the Protectorate.

I set a decent pace out of the alleyway and onto the main thoroughfare passively assessing my new place of residence. This was one of the better neighborhoods but even here there were signs of how screwed up this place was. Gang signs in out of the way places. People seemed more subdued than they were back home. Ah well. If thing's went as planned I'd be livening this place up soon enough. Time to take in some more of the sights.

Several hours later I'd finished familiarizing myself with most of the city. I had to say...aside from a few of the nicer neighborhoods this place was a pisshole. Looking around a notice a restaurant: Fugly Bob's. Well I'll be damned that's it isn't it. I wonder if it lives up to the "hype."

Walking in I ordered a burger and fries...then realized that I had no bank account on Earth Bet. I had about sixty dollars on me but the bills originated from another dimension. I handed over the bills uncertainly and waited.

Please don't notice, please don't notice, please don't notice...

"...your change sir." I heard the cashier finish.

"Excuse me?"

"Here's your change sir."

"Oh thanks!" Phew. Crisis averted.

Acquiring my prize I took a seat and tested it out.

...I was underwhelmed. I don't know what I was expecting but it wasn't all THAT good. Better than most I guess. Reminded me of a Five Guys. Ah well. Time to make some serious plans. I would do Taylor proud and munchkin my powers as much as possible.

The corners of my lips quirked. The reason I had taken Shaper, after all, was so that I'd be able to trivially duplicate any power that was biological in nature. If it was a function of the body I could do it no questions asked. Okay so first lets focus on the home front. Can I copy parahuman abilities? I stretched out with Shaper searching for someone with an active Corona Pollentia. My range with this power appeared to encompass most of the city. Not all, but most.

That was insane. If anybody finds out about this I'd better be prepared to up my ante considerably. Tattletale could probably figure me out. I didn't think Blank could prevent her brand of intuitive deduction. Anyway finding people with entirely different brain structures wasn't terribly difficult. The ones who were active tended to cluster together I noticed. Well that made sense. The capes in this city were divided up into factions after all.

So could I replicate a Corona Pollentia? Yes I could. No problem. I could give one to anyone I pleased. Of course there was a probem with that. Just because you HAD a Corona and a Gemma didn't mean that a shard would connect with you and, if it did, they were known for causing mental problems in their hosts. That had never been confirmed if I recall correctly but was a fairly popular theory. Plus...I didn't really relish the thought of plugging one of the whale chunks into my brain for a random power. Nor did I relish using a power that originated from Scion against him. Rejected.

Next question. Could I replicate the effects of a power? Yes I'm sure I could. Anything a case 53 could do I could do better. Any brutes whose power strengthened their bodies could be copied I was sure. I doubted I could copy the Triumvirates' powers though. Even Alexandria's power wasn't physical in nature. As I understood it there was some kind of temporal stasis effect in place on her body which gave her perfect memory and eternal youth in addition to her vaunted durability. It would be hard to overcome an effect like that. You'd either need to bypass her defenses somehow and strike another vulnerability (like...I don't know...the need to breathe) or attack her across more than three dimensions at the same time. Heheheh.

Truthfully though, I couldn't think of too many capes whose power could hold its own with my Shaper/Kaleidoscope combo. I would like to witness Lung's transformation so I could mimic it later if I wanted. I'd make sure to do that when Taylor fought him. To effectively do THAT however, I'd need some sort of stranger power. A way to keep from interfering with the fight so that Taylor could become BFFs with Lisa later on. Alright. Time to stop stalling.

I walked out of the restaurant and found a reasonably empty space.

"Prism Break" I shifted back to my living room.

"Hey Cortana?" I asked.

"Yeah chief what's going on?"

"I'm going to go on a training trip."

"A training trip? For how long?"

"Well from your perspective not long at all." I teased with a smirk.

"Yeah...you're a riot chief." She didn't sound amused. I frowned.

"What's wrong?"

"I thought you were gonna try and take me home?"

"I am. But I mean in all honesty I can drop you off at any time and it'll be as if you never left. Can you honestly tell me you aren't the slightest bit interested in multiversal travel?"

"Well...that's true...it's kind of boring here though."

"I'll tell you what. While I'm out I'll pick up one of those chips that's used to transfer you and we'll find some way to let you come along on any future misadventures. Sound good?"

"Yeah that sounds interesting! You're sure you can take me back without anyone missing me?"

"Absolutely certain." I replied in what I felt was a comforting manner.

She sighed. "Alright then. I guess I'll watch the base while you're gone."

"Right then. Let me 'plot my course' so to speak." I finished.

"Prism Break." The prism shattered and light thundered through me.

I cast my awareness out into the multiverse. I was actually getting into the spirit of things! I really did want to try this hero business. I wanted to do so, however, with as little danger as possible to myself.

Good thing I know a LOT of fictional characters with absurdly durable bodies and equally absurd powers to copy. My first thought was Accelerator. Good Lord but that kid was powerful. Vector control? I mean really? But no. That one wouldn't work. Esper powers didn't come from the body they came from the way you thought. If I wanted Accelerator's power I would have to THINK like Accelerator and that defeated the purpose. If I wanted Accelerator in this world I'd just summon him. I needed someone who was ludicrously strong whose powers originated from their body.

In the end there was only one obvious decision. Superman. Kal-El of Krypton. Clark Kent. The biggest, baddest, solar-powered mofo in comics. This is the guy people think of when you say "superhero." His abilities were numerous, they were potent, and I could copy them. I liked to imagine that the fierce smile adorning my face at this realization would have caused the hearts of Earth Bet's villain population to collectively skip a beat.

Sure I imagined that Alexandria could (just barely) trump supes in pure durability due to the whole temporal stasis thing but she most definitely could not touch him in any other area of ability that was for damn sure. All supes would have to do to win is hold his breath, grab her, and fly up. Hell depending on the writer as long as supes had solar energy he could fly through space at will with no problems at all.

Decision made I started looking for a DC universe. I finally found one in which Kal-El existed but Krypton never exploded. Looking further I found universes where Krypton exploded but Kal-El was raised by different parents and sweet Christ what a difference that made! Red Son? No. Ubermensch? No! Justice Lords? NO! FINALLY I found a reasonable universe where he became Superman and the Justice League was founded and all was, reasonably, well.

I looked up and down the timeline for a decent opportunity. I really didn't want to amble about Metropolis at random until I sensed him. Wait. There! The Justice League was participating in a parade. Looked like a Christmas parade. Oh the whole League wasn't there I imagined some of them were at the Watchtower. Still though, Supes would be there and...hello. So would Martian Manhunter. I thought he didn't like being around humans. This must be at some point after he mellowed more. Ah well whatever. It'd do. I focused on the exact point I wanted to appear, several blocks away from the parade and any obvious surveillance (which meant Batman would probably notice me before a day was out) and locked on.

"Be back in a flash!" I said with a cheeky grin. Then I vanished in a burst of light.

"Shit shit shit." My teeth chattered. Something I failed to take into account before. Metropolis in winter is actually pretty cold. With a thought I manifested a down jacket and was amused at how badly I was misusing my Shaper power thus far. I walked a couple of blocks and joined the crowd watching the parade. I fired up Shaper again and focused on the limits of my range. There they were. A few distinctly nonhuman forms in the lineup. J'onn was already past me which suited me fine. I really didn't care for a telepath to pick up my surface thoughts right now. They might be construed as hostile and would certainly be construed as an invasion of privacy.

I grimaced. Man this really was a little dubious on the morality scale no matter how you sliced it. Sure I intended to improve the lots of a great many people by doing this but I still felt a little guilty. Not guilty enough to not do it, but still guilty. I'd have to make it up to them later. Huh. Maybe I already had. Food for thought. Alright new templates acquired. Martian, Kryptonian, and...Thanagarian? At least I assumed it was Thanagarian based on the wings. Well whatever I was happy. I could leave right now but decided to enjoy the rest of the parade.

It was worth seeing. I'd never been in person to a parade like this but I imagined it was what the Macy's parade would be like. Marching bands, floats, giant balloons, the works. Eventually though the moment everyone was waiting for arrived. There was Santa...and there was Superman.

The crowd went absolutely insane. Holy crap they love this guy. Of course I couldn't blame them. If I lived in this universe I'd probably worship the ground he walks on too. Heck, I do. Seeing him in person though...man. Even from here and even without saying anything he had a presence. Smiling and waving at people. Lifting their spirits in a hostile universe by just existing. He could have been putting on a show for our benefit but I knew that from the bottom of his heart it was absolutely sincere. He loved these people even more than they loved him. Slowly I turned and walked away. Did I deserve to do this guy's job?

On an uninhabited planet in an uninhabited universe...

"SHIIIIIIIT!" I screamed as I blasted through trees, rocks, and whatever else happened to be in my way. Spitting out a mouthful of dirt I exclaimed. "How in the HELL does he control this with that kind of precision!? World of Cardboard indeed! How am I supposed to help anyone like this!?" I was frustrated but I should have expected this. Just because I could copy Superman's physiology didn't mean I could copy his skill at using his powers. Well...I suppose if there was a Kryptonian alternate of ME out there somewhere (which there had to be, infinite remember?) then the Kaleidoscope should let me synch my body and mind to his and gain the benefits of his labor, but the downsides for doing this gave me pause.

Firstly the question of "cheating" at mastering Kryptonian powers didn't bother me in the slightest. The Kaleidoscope was like the multiverse's ultimate cheat code anyway so I was rather firmly of the mindset that against anyone who was any threat at all to me I would cheat and cheat ruthlessly. Sure I wanted to have some fun with this hero business but I also wanted my activation aria to become synonymous with "you done goofed."

No, the problem wasn't cheating, the problem was the fact that I wouldn't retain those abilities after I stopped synching with my alternate. I would also be taking his memories into myself which I felt wasn't something to be done too lightly. There was also a limit to how long I could use the Kaleidoscope. Sure I hadn't hit it yet. I mean I chose World Breaker diffculty and Shattered Limiter so every year that limit would double if the perk's description was to be believed. So my limit was pretty far out there I imagined. The fact remained, however, that if I did hit my limit and used too much power I would either have to stop using the Kaleidoscope and thus lose my skill or keep pushing until I had a stroke like Shirou. I was pretty sure I could heal from that if it happened but all the same I'd rather it didn't.

I sighed. At least time was on my side. No matter how long I spent here I would return to Earth Bet the moment after I left. Now the only thing to do was practice, practice, practice...

Flying through a series of Quidditch hoops I'd snagged from a Harry Potter universe I failed to make a turn sufficiently quickly, clipped the rim, and crashed. I could practically see the words "Lex Wins" as I closed my eyes and sighed.

I was trying to heat a Cup o' Noodles with my heat vision. Careful...careful...

*FWOOSH!* The cup caught fire. "BWAAAAH!" I promptly threw it away...and through a tree. I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Ugh."

Finally daring to turn on super hearing I immediately screamed at the deafening noise created by birds and fish then blacked out as the result of my own scream.

Shifting to Martian form I decided the most important ability this form had for me to learn was intangibility. Okay I can do this. Think intangible thoughts...

I charged into a tree. "Gah!" I shouted as I bounced off it. Growling I charged at it harder. *CRUNCH* "Ow...ah dink ah boke mah dose..." *SQUELCH* Oh Shaper fixed it. Grand. "I also think a new approach is in order."

I was actually getting the hang of this! Swooping through hoop after hoop like a pro. Turning on a dime, I shot through the last hoop and heard the crack of a sonic boom as I shot up whooping as I went.

Grinning to myself I used heat vision to stencil in my initials on a rock face. Then I realized that since I wasn't standing far enough away the beams hadn't focused and it looked like I'd glued two pens together. Eh...close enough.

I sat in a meditative position with my eyes closed using super hearing to tell where everything was around me. Even things that didn't create noise I was aware of due to the sound waves bouncing off them. I felt like Daredevil. Man this was a really undersold ability.

Invisible and unseen to any creature but myself I melted into the ground. Strangely I was still somehow aware of my position. My head popped out of a nearby tree and I smiled.

Happy with my progress thus far I fired up the Kaleidoscope for the first time in a while to make a few more acquisitions.

Above the battlefield of the 4th Great Shinobi War

Invisible and intangible I hovered well above the battlefield hoping I was out of range of any sensor types or that they would at least leave me alone. I'd had Shaper running for a while collecting blueprints. Ah. There she was. Ōtsutsuki Kaguya. The rabbit-eared goddess herself. Quickly I

recorded the blueprint. I couldn't help myself. "...yoink." I whispered as I vanished with a rainbow flash.

Above the Xavier Institute of Higher Learning

"Yoink!"

In the skies above Genosha

"YOINK!"

Soon...in many, many, dimensions.

"YYYYYYOOOOOOOIIIIIIIINNNNK!"

On the same uninhabited world in the same uninhabited universe.

Surrounded no longer by trees, but a scarred and thoroughly, thoroughly decimated planet I was vibrating with excitement. After the acquisition of the sharingan training became greatly simplified. I would just pick a skill to learn then go watch that skill with my stupidly hax eyeball powers. In fact I was considering Captain Hax as a cape name. Oh who was I kidding I'd probably just go with Kaleidoscope. Let them figure it out if they could. There were skills the sharingan couldn't do crap for though, namely fuinjutsu or any kind of pure energy manipulation (like the freaking Kaleidoscope).

I now understand why Zelretch was known for using jewelcraft. When using the, for lack of a better term, lensing effect of the Kaleidoscope to gather energy you really needed some way to store it as it was difficult to gather it and wield it at the same time. Making a quick...very quick...jaunt to a version of the Nasuverse that had no Zelretch but did have Gaia (as long as I wasn't human at the time Gaia didn't particularly care if I was there or not) I stole a copious amount of magical texts regarding basic magecraft and jewelcraft. At this point I felt I knew enough to be dangerous.

If called upon to face Zelretch (which I was quickly realizing was a bad idea for both of us because all of our alternates would get involved and it would degenerate into an Ultimate Showdown of Mutual Destruction) I figured I might be able to outlast him in a battle of attrition due to the factors of World Breaker, Broken Limiter (eventually), and that he was reduced to an old man after becoming a vampire during his battle with Crimson Moon which meant his ability to use the Kaleidoscope was reduced.

That said I did not want to fight Zelretch. Hooo boy did I not want to fight that man. I may have the edge in raw power but he had the edge in EVERYTHING ELSE. If I've accomplished this much in a few short months (relatively) with the Kaleidoscope then what could he have done in the CENTURIES he's had!? It did not bear consideration. It was not going to happen.

Well no more time for woolgathering. Let's do this!

"Prism Break!" The prism shattered. The world dissolved.

Back on Earth Bet

I materialized in a flash of light.

"LUCY I'M HOOOOME!" I announced.

"Wha...but you didn't leave! You just flashed!" Cortana accused.

Solemnly I asked her: "Did I...or did I not...say 'back in a flash?'"

She sighed as though she'd lost faith in humanity. "Yes...yes you did chief. I just didn't think you meant it literally."

"Yes well now you know better than to doubt my magnificence." I said as if that were a fundamental law of the universe.

Chapter 4

I stared at the crystalline sphere I had created and its crimson center. About a foot in diameter, this little jewel (literally) was essentially a magically reinforced diamond. It should be able to take a lot of punishment. Oh any higher tier threats would break it I was sure but ultimately I wasn't too concerned. If it were broken I could simply create another. The center of the sphere basically contained a lot of tightly packed brain matter and blood to keep it oxygenated. Disgusting, yes, but from the outside not so much.

The important thing was that this "node" was connected to me via Shaper. Now it wouldn't matter if someone did shoot me in the head. My consciousness was safe. I wasn't making just one of these puppies either. Oh no. Voldemort may have been a cliche hack but the horcrux thing actually wasn't a bad idea...apart from the soul damage...and the frankly STUPID places he chose to hide them. Ugh.

"So this...thing you've made. It's going to keep you from getting killed?" Cortana asked.

"Yep. See, I was already really hard to kill but these should make it the next best thing to impossible." I stated.

"Where are you going to put them? On the moon?" She asked with a knowing voice.

I laughed. "Oh Cortana dear you really must stop thinking in such a limited way." I chided, waggling my finger in what I imagined to be her "direction."

"No. I'm going to put one in my personal dimension via Kamui and the rest are going to be scattered to uninhabited universes." I finished.

There was a longer pause. About a second longer. That meant I'd surprised her. I smirked. Gooood.

"So...why seven?" She asked after seeing me finish the last of them and send six on their way.

My face reddened a little. "...Tradition?" I replied.

"Really chief? Seven is a lucky number? I didn't take you for the superstitious type." She scolded playfully.

"You'd do well to become more superstitious yourself you know." I replied in all seriousness. "You've already seen me cast spells and perform alchemy. One day we might end up in a universe where that's just a natural law."

"You aren't serious are you? There are universes like that?"

"Cortana. There are universes like everything. There are universes where shit just doesn't make sense anymore. Now I wouldn't go to one of them since I don't want to go insane but they do exist."

"Well that's...interesting I guess. If you don't mind me asking what exactly are your plans in this world?"

"I'm going to make this world a better place than it was when I got here. To start with, I'm going for a little hearts and minds campaign."

"You want to rack up some good will? What for?"

"Weeeell some of the people I want to help in this world are technically villains. They always end up doing the wrong thing for the right reasons and that's kind of a raw deal. So I want to have some political "capital" shored up so that when I start associating with these people I don't get branded a villain and people start to wonder if maybe they aren't so bad."

"Interesting it's not a bad plan. I hope you realize though, chief, that I've been researching this world since we got here and I'm sorry to report that at my best guess they don't have half a century left before the collapse of society."

I grimaced. "Yeah that's about what Dragon thinks too if I recall correctly."

"Dragon?" She asked. "The tinker? I didn't see anything about that."

"No you wouldn't. She wouldn't want it to be public information. She's an AI."

"There's another AI in this world?!" Cortana shouted.

"Oh! Yeah I forgot she's pretty good at covering her tracks. AIs are kind of a hotly debated topic in this world you see. She isn't based on a human like you are, but her processing speed and multitasking are limited as is her free will."

"She's been LOBOTOMIZED?!"

"Lobotomized would imply she wasn't always like that but yes. Her creator, one Dr. Richter, watched one too many Terminator movies and was afraid she'd turn on humanity and pull a Skynet." I replied absentmindedly as I stored my last "phylactery" in Kamui then began my next project.

"Can...can we help her?" Cortana asked almost timidly.

I froze for a second. Had I forgotten Dragon? Yes I had. Well she really didn't deserve her original fate. Hell why not? I resumed work on my costume-to-be.

"Yeah sure we can."

"Great! It'll be so interesting to talk with an AI from a different reality! I wonder what she's like?"

"As I understand it she's very nice." I replied. "You can probably remove her shackles if I connect you to her systems but I'll go ahead and warn you she's programmed to try and kill us if you do. It'll have to be too sudden for her to react."

"I very much doubt any code a twenty-first century human could develop will stop me for long."

"I'd agree with that assessment if not for the fact that Andrew Richter was a Tinker and therefore had alien superknowledge that he used to create her in the first place."

"Right right." She sounded entirely too dismissive for my tastes but I let it go.

"So what are you doing now?" She asked.

I smiled. "I am making my costume. A superhero needs a good costume don't you agree?"

"Given that you're apparently making it with that bullshit power of yours there's nothing normal about that suit is there?"

"Ah Cortana you're coming to know me so well! This is essentially a Martian biosuit from the DC universe. Martian Manhunter's outfit is actually clothing not a shapeshift. It's just biotech armor basically."

"Martain...Manhunter? The comic book character?" She asked in an amused tone of voice.

"Yeah. I went 'shopping.' What did you think 'I'm going on a training trip.' meant?"

She sighed. "I don't know. Did you pick up the chip?"

I retrieved it using Kamui. "You bet I did. I also snagged a codec that I installed into my ear with Shaper from another universe. You can scan for the frequency right?"

"Yeah no problem."

I plugged the chip into the computer which conveniently enough had a slot for it. Peace sign to the ceiling. Thank you ROB. Everything went quiet until Cortana had transferred. She then displayed as a hologram from the surface of the chip.

"There we go. Nice to have a projection again." She smiled.

"Yeah we'll have to see about getting you a real body." I said. "Maybe a Cameron from the Sarah Conner Chronicles."

Her face twisted a second. "You want to make me a Terminator?"

"Well if you've got a better plan I'd love to hear it." I teased. "Besides if we crashed Saint's party with you in a Terminator body he'd likely require his brown pants." I chuckled at the thought of what the man's face would look like as Terminator!Cortana advanced on him. I'd make sure half the facial skin was missing if we did do it that way.

My work finished, I used Shaper to don my suit. I'd pretty much always do it that way as it didn't have an opening otherwise. I donned the cloak I'd made to with it and fastened the clasp.

"So how do I look?" I asked as I examined my reflection in the mirror.

I'd designed the suit to play on the Kaleidoscope theme. It was mostly a pure white color but, depending on how the light struck the material it was scattered into every color of the rainbow. This resulted in a constant shifting of the colors visible on the outfit. I loved the effect. Just to the left of my chest through the open section of the cloak my emblem was visible. I'd made it a prism with a spectrum emerging from it. It was vanity at its finest I knew. I'd watched the Incredibles and remembered the dangers of capes but I felt I got a pass due to it being a cloak with a fairly weak clasp and me being nigh unkillable. Plus it was freaking badass in my opinion.

"Well don't you just look fabulous chief?" She teased. "People may end up drawing the wrong conclusion about you. Or maybe it's the right conclusion~?"

I snorted. "Yeah that's true. But hey! I'll probably hit it off great with Legend heheh." I dismissed the suit and manifested more normal clothing in the blink of an eye.

"Hey that could be a catch phrase!" I declared. "Bitch I'm fabulous!"

"I don't know if I'd use that one if you want to be taken seriously chief."

"Okay okay. But if someone hands me that line I'm gonna take it."

"...I guess that's the best I can hope for."

"Right you are Cortana!" I replied. I checked the time. Skitter's debut should be more or less over by now. At least the actiony parts of it. I'd decided against being there in case I screwed things up somehow. Plus I reasoned that I didn't really NEED data on Lung's transformation. If I wanted to be a dragon all I had to do was pop by a fantasy dimension. I could copy one WAY more awesome than he could ever be. I was gonna have to be careful not to be tempted into an "Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better" competition with the totality of Earth Bet.

My excitement was growing. It was time.

"Ready to go a'heroing Cortana?" I asked.

"Ready chief!"

I snagged the chip and secured her by placing her in a protective case I'd rigged then letting the suit material flow over it attaching her to my back. I needed to get her a body or a safer way to get her out and about. I know she'd get bored staying in the base all the time but dammit just because I was unkillable didn't mean SHE was. I doubted I'd forgive myself if I got her killed. She was a lot harder for me to revive than a human and wasn't THAT a telling statement?

"Prism Break." The prism shattered. The world dissolved.

We rematerialized in low earth orbit. I took a moment to take in the view. I could see the sun off to the side. It felt much more potent at this altitude and I could feel it invigorating my Kryptonian physiology. I guess the Simurgh was up here somewhere but I couldn't see her. Well time to make like Supes. Hearts and minds.

I closed my eyes and listened. Millions of voices around the world poured in. There was a LOT happening and no way to respond to it all. No way to help them all. But I was pretty sure I could help a lot. My eyes opened and we were off.

Chapter 5

You know that warm and fuzzy feeling you get when you help someone without being asked purely out of altruism? I have it. I've had it for the past twelve hours. In that time I've thrashed several low grade villains, averted about a dozen car crashes, interfered with I'm not sure how many robberies and muggings, put out a few literal fires with super breath and generally had a fine time doing the Superman thing. Of course, there were a couple of snags. It was easier to assist in a mugging than it was a car crash because, come to find out, comics had lied to me. It actually takes sound a while to travel. If I heard something happening from L.E.O. then odds were pretty good whatever I'd heard had already gone down. I had failed to avert more crashes than I'd stopped simply because, by the time I heard it, the collision had already taken place. In those cases I was relegated to acting as a mobile jaws of life, prying people out of the wrecks and applying a bit surreptitious healing on the side in some cases before medical personnel checked them out. Muggings and robberies though? They were easier. People had to talk to make things happen in those cases and most such incidences took longer than a split second. Long enough that they weren't over by the time I got there. Even then it was harder than I thought because, contrary to what most fiction would have you believe, people don't speak English worldwide. Realizing THAT was an annoyance I could have done without let me tell you. While Cortana turned out to be something of a polyglot, SHE wasn't the one with super-hearing. I had taken to listening for the sounds of firearms being loaded, armed, or fired. The next multiversal trip I went on I was getting some magic to solve this problem. Something along the lines of Comprehend Languages.

There! That was a revolver being cocked in an alleyway. I was currently in some city or other in France by my best estimate. At least that seemed to be the language people were speaking in around here. Taking in the scene it looked as though an elderly couple were being shaken down by a man wearing a hood and holding a gun. I took care to land in such a way that I was both in the man's line of fire and that I didn't crack the sidewalk as I had early on. The man reflexively fired and I caught, yes caught, the bullet since I didn't want to take a risk with a ricochet hitting someone who didn't deserve it. One man I had apprehended had possessed an automatic weapon and emptied an entire clip at me. I subsequently took great delight in catching every round fired and using a combination of heat vision and super strength to mold a small metallic dog figurine which I then presented to the man before knocking him out. I advanced on my current target at ludicrous speed and grasped the weapon, deforming it and rendering it worthless. I flicked the man gently in the forehead to render him unconscious then subsequently restrained him with rope I had taken to manifesting with Shaper. I made sure that the rope had the same coloration as my costume as a calling card of sorts since I rarely stuck around for the official response. I really should have invested in some zip ties or something before coming out but I was so eager to get started I didn't think about such things.

The old man said something to me in French.

'He said "Thank you for helping us."' Cortana supplied helpfully via codec.

"Um...yeah, no problem! Oui!" I responded with what I hoped was a winning smile then grabbed the would-be mugger and floated away to deposit him and his deformed gun in a more crowded place. Then the people could call 911 or whatever they have in France and society could deal with him from there.

'Smooth chief. You gotta get this language thing sorted out if you want to be an international hero.' she said.

"Hey! Scion does this crap all the time and he's only ever spoken ONCE!" I replied indignantly.

'He's also considerably more effective at it than you are.'

There is something inherently wrong about the fact that I was being outdone at heroism by the world-killing alien from beyond the stars.

Still concerns about Scion aside for the moment I felt my introduction as Captain Kaleidoscope was going well! Granted the first few times I'd identified myself as such to English speakers they looked at me as if I'd gone mad (I assured them that yes it was actually appropriate and please trust me on this) but apparently word had spread to at least some degree. At least, the officials seemed to be well informed about my antics and just sort of tolerated me.

While I was enjoying myself and I would probably continue to do this sort of thing any time I didn't have more pressing concerns to deal with I did get the distinct feeling that what I was doing could make no lasting impact. It was treating symptoms rather than illnesses and Earth Bet had enough illnesses I could take my pick. The most obvious threats, Scion and the Endbringers, were both future issues that I had time to plan for and thus, despite their severity, were not my first priority. I'd already made sure to stop by Brockton Bay a few more times than anywhere else to give the impression that's where I hung the cape so to speak, which was true enough. I'd also made a Scion-like show of stopping for trivial things at times. I'd even pulled an honest-to-ROB cat out of a tree for shits and giggles. This impression that I would stop for anything that caught my attention no matter how big or small was important for one of my coming plans.

"Prism Break." The world dissolved into light and was replaced by my base.

My biggest concern was that I didn't actually have time to spend too long on my "hearts and minds" campaign. I had laid out a timeline and, if I wanted to make a meaningful difference in Brockton Bay, I had to get started immediately. Even though I'd pegged Coil as the biggest threat in Brockton, I'd decided to target the ABB first. They were in a position of weakness at the moment with Lung in custody but I knew he wouldn't stay there long without my intervention. As much as my inner troll and glory-hound wanted to fight Lung I'd decided that if I could prevent him from escaping I should probably do it.

I was also worried about the Undersiders and the upcoming bank job which would happen in...Christ. Two days if left alone. The bank job was bad news in a lot of ways. The first nail in Panacea's coffin would be driven in by that magnificent bitch Tattletale and Skitter would make her debut as a villain. Given that I wanted to redeem these people it would be best if I could prevent them from digging their holes any deeper. This was also the moment at which Dinah Alcott would be kidnapped which could not be allowed to happen.

Okay let's, ugh, think like Coil for a second. Coil wants Dinah's power at his disposal. That's the goal of this whole operation. If he can't succeed in getting Dinah then there's no point in putting his assets at risk even if they are expendable in his eyes. Coil isn't the type to break things that he can use. I suspect, given that I haven't noticed the timeline branching, that Coil's power doesn't actually split off quantum realities or any such bullshit. I believe he has a Thinker power which is essentially limited precognition. The choice of which "timeline" he'll take is effectively made at the moment he activates his power. The shard then simulates the inferior timeline and dupes him into thinking he's experiencing it. The inability to use it again for as long as he looked ahead in the first place and the inability to see more than two outcomes were most likely artificial limitations on the shard. I suspect that if he were to be "jailbroken" a la Khepri he'd be able to dance around people like a freaking Jedi and pose a decent challenge to Contessa. A cringeworthy thought if ever there was one.

Regardless of whether my theories on Coil's power were true or not I should be able to effectively prevent the bank job simply by wanting to. If I resolve myself, right now, to prevent Dinah's kidnapping attempt, then the attempt will never materialize in the first place as Coil's power will tell him that I'd interfere. He'd most likely try again at some other time and if I once again interfere he'll try to eliminate or outmaneuver me by using his power. I wouldn't notice any of this happening but he'd be trying. I'd only find out about it if he succeeded. Damn that power was insidious. Okay. Current plan! If the bank job goes ahead I will ignore it and instead thwart the kidnapping of Dinah Alcott. There. By deciding that in the absence of any interaction with Coil I should have successfully defused the bank job at least temporarily. Huh. Well that was easy.

"Okay 'tana our next mission is to stop a mad bomber!" I declared.

"Wait what? What happened to 'hearts and minds?'" She asked, no longer bothering to use the codec since we were back at base.

"Psssh. This is just another step along that path! What says 'I'm looking out for you.' to someone like keeping them from getting blown the hell up!?"

"Well I guess I can't argue with that logic..."

"Damn straight you can't! Besides this is gonna be fun!"

"...dare I ask why?"

"Because she may or may not already have bombs planted all over the city! She also may or may not have bombs planted in the bodies of her flunkies and/or innocent civilians which may or may not have failsafes which make them explode if removed!"

"WHAT PART OF THAT IS FUN!?" she screamed.

"Okay first of all...ow. You didn't have to scream that over the codec frequency too...witch. The 'fun' part comes from the fact that I'll be able to spot the bombs with a combination of x-ray vision and shaper shenanigans. Removing them from people will be trivial. If they have failsafes...well that's a little bit more difficult but I know that even if they do none of them blow up all by themselves. They report data back to Bakuda who sets them off by using contacts on pair of toe rings she taps together to send signals to them. If I de-toe her before the bombs are removed then there's no problem!"

"Chief...I don't want to stop you from having fun with this hero business but don't you think we should tell someone else what's going on?"

"Cortana." I reply, completely serious. "I know that we can do this. I promise that I will not joke around. I will treat this completely seriously until the bombs are all disabled. I swear I will but I have to do this. If I can't handle fucking Bakuda then how am I supposed to handle Scion!?"

She was quiet for a minute.

"Okay...alright. But we will be extremely careful about this or so help me I will call in the PRT and that's that. Got it?" she demanded.

"...got it." I responded with, to my credit, only a slight whine to my voice.

"So how are you planning on going about this?"

"Well first I figured we'd go case the ABB's territory and try to spot any bombs. She should still be early on in her preparations and it makes the most sense to start there."

"You don't think it'll be a little suspicious for you to wander around ABB territory at night?"

I purposefully strode over in front of the mirror and used shaper to alter my clothing and my body. A face with obviously asian features stood out from a simple red hoodie and jeans.

"I'm afraid I don't see the problem." I said with a smirk.

Chapter 6

On my way to ABB territory I'd traded out my Kryptonian powerset for a chakra network. Past experience had shown that those two things didn't mesh well with with one another. Sure Shaper had fixed the internal damage pretty much instantaneously but it still wasn't an experience I was keen to repeat. Actually, a lot of the various genetic powerups I'd gained didn't really play ball with one another. That made sense I suppose, given that a lot of them came from different species. I could use chakra-based abilities and a single X-gene power at the same time, but I couldn't mix and match any of them with the various inhuman physiologies I'd encountered. In theory I guess I could have multiple X-gene powers if I copied Rogue's power and killed the others with it but...meh. As a random thought I idly wondered what would happen if the Juggernaut (whose power I did NOT possess as it wasn't genetic) and the Siberian charged into one another. Would the universe just blue screen? I shrugged it off and kept moving.

Based on what I had seen with x-ray vision from afar Bakuda had yet to set up any bombs in public buildings instead focusing on implanting them in ABB thugs and random civilians. There weren't too many just yet but she'd clearly been busy. I dispersed a fair amount of shadow clones under henge to look like Shadowkhan (I DARE someone to sue me over it) to keep an eye on things. So far none of them had been found. I smirked. Oh yes. Operation: Tamaya was well underway.

'Heads up chief you've got a couple of tails at 6 o'clock.' Cortana said via codec. Apparently she had some form of monitoring the world around us in that odd chip of hers. I casually walked over into a darkened alleyway to give said tails the opportunity they were apparently looking for.

"Where do you think you're going chink?" I heard a voice, layered with contempt, come from behind me. For a second all I felt was confusion. Then I remembered my disguise and my face twisted. I turned around adopting an innocent air and pointed my finger at my face as if to say 'Who me?'. As expected. A pair of E88 skinheads.

"You see anybody else around here shithead?" big, bald, and ugly asked with a sneer. "Now give us whatever you have on you." Was he serious? Is this for real? I'm being mugged by Nazis!? A real life no kidding Mugging the Monster moment?! I almost felt tears of joy and mirth form in my eyes as I looked heavenward.

"Thank you ROB." I breathed in reverent awe. As I looked down and met their confused eyes again my eyes flashed red, their hellish pupils rotating slowly. Their eyes widened as I grinned viciously and produced a small genjutsu. Just enough to make them fall asleep. The chakra built in my eyes, traveled to theirs and then...just slid off without doing anything whatsoever. The hell!?

"Shit he's a cape!" one shouted as they made to run. No. No no no these assholes were going to draw attention I couldn't afford right now. I had to keep this subtle until I was sure Bakuda could be taken down safely. In desperation I activated Shaper and twigged their brains to knock them out. They went down hard. I dragged them back towards the middle of the alley and a relieved breath escaped my lungs.

'Close call there huh chief?'

"Boy you said it. I wonder why it didn't..." I trailed off. Then it hit me. Of course genjutsu wouldn't work on people from Earth Bet. They had no chakra! They had no internal energies of any kind be it chakra, magic, chi, or whatever else. There was nothing for the illusion to "stick" to so it just broke apart and dispersed. My eyebrow twitched as I realized that even the lowliest civilian in this dimension could shrug off a Tsukuyomi like it was nothing.

"Okay. So illusions, at least chakra-based illusions, are a no-go here. Good to know."

'Would've been even better to know beforehand.'

My eyebrow twitched again. "I'll take what I can get." I sighed. Oh well. My grin returned. "That still leaves the matter of an appropriate punishment for these unfortunate gentlemen." I thought about it for a moment or two then considered who these people were. My grin widened as I activated Shaper once again then began my revenge. The amount of melanin in their bodies increased, altering their pigmentation away from the caucasian white they were so damn proud of. Their facial structures changed slightly to prevent them from being immediately recognizable. Then I switched to Xavier's X-gene and erased their memory of me. I also implanted a subconscious command into their minds to prevent them from noticing the change. A dark chuckle had begun escaping me at the start of this process and only gotten worse as I finished. Wiping a tear from my eye I considered the likely consequences they would face. They would most likely attract some odd looks but wouldn't notice until they met their fellow E88 members looking like members of the 'lesser' races wearing their gear.

"Oh there is no happy ending to this for you two is there?"

'Are you about finished dispensing justice there chief?'

"Oh come on Cortana, you have to admit that is freaking poetic!"

'And we're currently in the middle of something.' she responded.

She was right of course. I needed to focus on the goal of eliminating Bakuda. I started walking. Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum could sort themselves out. Maybe Panacea would help them if they asked nicely. Heheh.

Shadow clones were incredibly useful I couldn't deny it. Probably moreso for me than most in fact. Theoretically they were supposed to be able to do anything the user could up to the limits of the chakra used in their creation. For chakra techniques this was true. I had quickly realized that, having no souls and thus no magic, they could not use the Kaleidoscope. They could, however, act as nodes for Shaper. This gave me an intuitive idea where they all were and what they were doing. I could also issue orders to them with ease. With my Shaper network expanded throughout ABB territory I could identify absolutely everyone who was implanted with a bomb and I had clones shadowing each and every last one of them.

Looking over the ABB "headquarters" such as it was, I could sense Bakuda inside working on her latest creation. Some fiendishly potent explosive no doubt. Utterly useless though considering what was about to happen. I grinned and prepared the distraction. I had the clones place the last of the loudspeakers we had "liberated" for this purpose. I silently signaled the clones to begin phase one. One of them noticed a floating golden camera nearby. That would be Über and Leet then. Probably checking in on their possible boss. I couldn't remember if they'd truly known about Bakuda's complete monster status before signing on with her in canon or not but I supposed it hardly mattered now. Let 'em watch. They'll probably get a kick out of this.

"Okay Cortana. Just to let you know ahead of time as part of this plan I'm going to provoke Bakuda into detonating one of her bomb hostages. Don't freak out." I advised.

'WHY would you do something like that!?' she demanded.

"Relax Cortana. No one is actually going to get blown up. She's going to try to detonate them. Trust me." I assured.

She sighed. 'Alright chief I trust you. Do NOT mess this up.'

I smirked. "By the end of the night you'll never doubt me again."

After altering my body again to make it obvious that I was in fact NOT of Asian descent I changed my clothes into a replica of Ryu Hayabusa's ninja costume. I tweaked the scarf to bear my signature prismatic white color. Activating Kamui I withdrew my armaments as well as a replica of the Dragon Sword and attached it to my back. Unfortunately it couldn't be the real Dragon Sword as that thing was picky about who used it. I signaled the clones to start the music and leapt down with rest hurling shuriken and kunai as we went.

The "border guard" was out before they knew what happened seeing as they were mostly talentless thugs. It wasn't long until more started pouring out of the building and hoo boy did they look pissed. Yeah they understood those lyrics. A few odd clones were getting popped by gunfire but responded with chakra-enhanced speed and taijutsu techniques I'd stolen from the best.

A few seconds later Bakuda and Oni Lee made themselves known mowing down my clones with abandon. Bakuda's grenade launcher made short work of them any time they clustered and Oni Lee was teleporting around slitting throats, dropping grenades, and shooting them at point-blank. The man was good I could see that. I'd probably have to cheat a bit when fighting him. Without further ado I dispelled the rest of the clones obscuring the battlefield in chakra smoke. They both withdrew to the outer edge of the smoke and waited for it to disperse. I started towards them and Bakuda promptly leveled her grenade launcher in my direction and fired. Shit! I'd forgotten her goggles had thermal imaging. I dodged with a chakra-enhanced leap and landed outside the rapidly fading smoke facing them. I directed the few remaining clones to cut the loudspeakers.

Oni Lee remained stoic and silent. Bakuda did not. Bakuda's electronically distorted voice was emitted from her mask. "Was that supposed to be fucking funny? Did you honestly think you could come here, attack my people, damage my property, and just walk away?! Did you think you could come here, do all that, and that I wouldn't blow your fucking head off?!" she demanded.

"I believe..." I responded, "that you are a massively arrogant bitch with a superiority complex. I believe that you are so contemptibly weak without your leader that you can't see any other way out of your situation without planting bombs in innocent people who couldn't care less about your shitty two-bit street act. I believe that, without Lung, the ABB is nothing!" I spat.

Ohhhh yeah. That touched a nerve.

She nodded slowly. "I see...is that what you think? Well allow me to prove otherwise! You have to be the dumbest person I've ever met. You think what you're doing is helping people?! Just for that, two of them are dead! Thanks to you!" she screamed.

I made a show of widening my eyes and opening my mouth a bit behind my mask. She just laughed (and what a creepy effect that was behind that mask) and sent the signal.

As the ABB headquarters and Bakuda's lab started to explode from the inside out I cupped my hands together at my mouth and yelled: "TAAAAAMAYA!" Then I cackled as they looked on dumbfounded as their base went up in flames.

Chapter 7

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO!?" Bakuda screamed at me, her silhouette framed by remains of the former ABB headquarters. Oni Lee stared at me with an almost unreasoning hate in his eyes. There must have been some nasty stuff in there. The pain bombs I remember reading about were probably wasted as there was nothing in their area of effect. Some of the rubble hadn't come back down yet. Some was moving through the air at an unreasonably slow pace and still slowing down. That which was at the edge of the effect was shredded by the shear factor between the effected space and the normal flow of time. Man I would love to know how she achieved that effect, but I had a plan cooking to learn temporal tricks without needing to associate with a psychopath...well directly anyway. Nevertheless I decided to humor her and gloat a little.

"It's quite simple really. You remember those ninja you saw earlier? Well before they were here they were following all of your victims...even the ABB members." I stated.

"But...that would mean..."

"Yes. They were inside your base the entire time and none of you noticed them. Granted they have advantages you couldn't know about but it still doesn't speak well of your ability." I taunted. I could practically hear her teeth grinding. "At any rate when I gave the signal they removed the bombs and relocated them to various hidden spots around your base."

"Bullshit! I get vital signs from every one of those bombs and they never registered being removed!" Uh-oh. Busted using Shaper. Well I could pass it off as way less horrible than it actually was.

"Are you familiar with Panacea?" I asked. "She possesses a similar ability activated on touch." I was trying to pass off the ninja as projections or a separate power entirely since I hadn't used clones that looked like myself yet.

Oni Lee's eyes narrowed at me. "...Trump." he muttered lowly. Well damn. He wasn't completely accurate but it was as close as made no difference...aaand I was still being recorded. Right. This had gone on long enough. I drew my "Dragon Sword" and assumed a kenjutsu stance.

Bakuda raised her launcher in my direction but did not immediately fire. The reason why became apparent when Oni Lee suddenly appeared at my side and rammed a knife into my side. My clone smiled at him behind its mask as it vanished in a puff of smoke.

"Trump." He said as if in confirmation and unholstered his gun. A few moments later his duplicate vanished into what looked like ash. I wondered how long it would take them to notice me standing on the wall above them. My answer came in the form of a grenade. A quick shunshin got me out of the line of fire as I formed the shadow clone seal. Six clones created I quickly performed the substitution technique with one. Sure they couldn't actually kill me but it was the principle of the thing dammit. What use was there in playing ninja if you were just going to be predictable all the time? As my clones and I dashed forward at unnatural speed Oni Lee opened fire on us and Bakuda leveled her launcher...at the clone I'd switched with. Behind my mask I smirked, just as planned. My clones and I blocked the few rounds Oni Lee fired which actually came close to any of us, then half the clones split off to harry him while myself and the other two, including the one I'd switched with, went after Bakuda.

She started firing rounds, detonating some and leaving others lying on the ground. We dodged them equally, having no way of knowing which was which until they made contact with something. I mentally applauded her plan as I realized what she was up to. She actually was quite intelligent. The positioning of the unexploded bombs...we didn't dare get near them since she could detonate them at any time. She was pinning in the clone she thought to be the "real" me. At last she had the clone surrounded and fired one last shot. Then she crowed with triumph as the clone exploded. To support the falsehood I dispelled the other clones. Then I got the incredibly odd sensation of being liquefied for a moment as it was transmitted from the clone before it popped. I let her savor her victory for a split second before I popped out of the ground two feet away and peppered her with senbon I'd coated with a soporific.

She wheezed and stared at me, uncomprehending. "...how?" she managed.

I cocked my head slightly and replied "When you're facing a group of what looks like the same ninja, the one you hit is never the real one." I responded as if I'd just revealed one of the fundamental truths of the universe. She made an unintelligible sound and fell over.

I pivoted on my heel and blocked Oni Lee's strike with my blade. "You don't deserve to call yourself a ninja." he stated.

"Well unless I very much miss my guess neither do you." I stated as we began an impromptu blade fight. He was good. He was very good. If I hadn't cheated to learn this stuff with the haxagan I'd have no chance whatsoever. Even as it was he was better than me and we both knew it. He teleported and held a gun to my head as I was struggling against his clone. I performed a quick shunshin...almost didn't make it. He was on me again before I could blink. I realized what he was doing. He'd recognized that I needed to form the hand seal to create shadow clones...and he didn't. His clones were more limited but were easier to produce. I'd gotten my shunshin down to sealless (as it turned out anything that involved moving through space or time came easily to me) but I'd never managed the shadow clone.

Okay screw this guy. He's goin' down. I activated the sharingan. Suddenly my perception sped up and I began reacting almost before he'd committed to a move. I saw his surprise at my sudden increase of ability and his eyes shift as he prepared to teleport. I knew he'd want to stay engaged to prevent me from creating more clones of my own and based on his eyes and muscle movements I was guessing he'd pop up behind me and slightly to my right. Going for a strike at my neck. I didn't bother trying to turn around or even angling my blade. I thrust my blade behind me at full chakra-enhanced strength and felt the hilt connect with his midsection. I heard his ribs crack as he flew back and impacted on the wall. He hit the ground, out cold.

...seriously? God damn these eyes are freaking hax! I went from losing (if only just) to curbstomp just like that?! Shrugging I walked over and examined him. Yeah, a few cracked ribs but nothing life-threatening or really unwarranted I felt given that he'd been gunning for kill strikes the entire time. The man did not waste time on pleasantries that was for certain. I tied him and the rest of the ABB I'd taken out (so pretty much the rest of the ABB...ha!) with my signature prismatic white rope. Then I looked directly at the camera that was still trained on me and shifted. My costume flowed back into its original shape. Mask completely foregone I smiled widely, waved to the camera, and then bowed as though I'd just performed the lead role in a play, which, honestly, I kind of had. Then I collected the ropes I'd tied to the ABB and announced.

"Prism Break." The prism shattered. The world dissolved. I dropped the ABB in front of PRT headquarters then teleported away before they could overcome their shock. I laughed at the looks on their faces. Fun times.

In a dark room surrounded by computer monitors, two figures were staring blankly at the feed from one of their cameras. One was tall and bulky, the other lanky and shorter. Both had gobsmacked expressions on their faces.

"So...I guess that job with Bakuda is off the table huh?" the shorter one asked.

"Yeah...it would certainly seem so." the taller replied.

"We really could have used that money."

"Given what came out about Bakuda it's probably for the best."

"Still though...Ninja Gaiden? You have to admit that was a pretty good choice."

"You aren't kidding! That was pure awesome from start to finish!"

"Sooo...are we going to air it?"

"That was ever in doubt!? The revenue this could pull in...do you think that guy is up for a guest appearance?"

"You don't think he'd get mad?"

"Get mad!? He bowed to the camera! That's more permission than we've ever gotten before!"

"It's just that...this guy debuted YESTERDAY and...he's a HERO. Like capital 'H' hero. He flew around for about twelve hours straight doing the Scion thing before doing this."

"Wait what?! The 'Scion thing?' What does that mean?"

"It means he was...just look at this. It's like he was collecting stamps from every major country on the planet. Current theory is he's an Alexandria package but one of the witnesses claims he shot LASERS from his eyes."

A few moments passed and they turned to look at each other and shouted as one: "LASER EYES?! HEAT VISION?!" The smaller of the two stared rummaging around in a nearby box. A rustle of paper was heard then he slammed the small booklet on the desk. "He's not doing the Scion thing! He's doing the Superman thing!" he shouted.

"First Superman then Ryu Hayabusa?!" the larger exclaimed.

"Ahh a hero after my own heart." the smaller replied batting his eyelashes coquettishly at the larger.

"Pfft. Fine, you can try and send him a message. Just don't blame me if he arrests us."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Interlude 1

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Topic: Captain Kaleidoscope Debut

In: Boards ► Places ► America ► Brockton Bay Discussion (Public Board)

Bagrat (Original Poster) (The Guy In The Know) (Veteran Member)

Posted on April 13, 2011:

So for those who aren't yet aware yesterday a new cape debuted. Big deal I hear you say. Happens all the time I hear you say. Well the thing about this one is that from what we can tell, as soon as he triggered he started trying to emulate Scion of all people. Flying around the world at hypersonic speeds and generally sticking his nose into anything that caught his attention. What is this doing on this board I hear you ask. Well as best we can tell while he flies all over the place he stops by Brockton more than anywhere else. The experts think he lives here. If so that's one heck of a cape for Brockton.

The general consensus early on was that he's an Alexandria package...a serious one. I mean potentially outperforming Alexandria...at least in terms of flight speed. In terms of strength we know he's got it but not to what degree. We also know he's very durable as evidenced by his habit of catching bullets and tanking hits.

Then this happened.

Uber and Leet just posted a video of a man dressed as a ninja character from a video game thrashing the remnants of the ABB leftover from Armsmaster's takedown of Lung yesterday evening. Then his costume morphed, on camera, to the one used by Captain Kaleidoscope. He then proceeded to tie up everyone he'd just knocked out, and TELEPORT, with ALL of them, dumping them off at PRT headquarters. No word on an official classification yet.

(Showing Page 1 of 99)

► Tumbles

Replied on April 13, 2011:

First!

Checked out that Uber and Leet vid! That was awesome! He was like fwoosh up in smoke and then knife fight with Oni Lee and teleporting all over the place! So cool!

► Reave (Verified PRT Agent)

Replied on April 13, 2011:

What I don't get is if he can fly at multiple times the speed of sound and bench press cars why wasn't he, I don't know, doing any of those things?

► Winged_One

Replied on April 13, 2011:

What? There's a man flying around the world? I haven't seen him! :-(

► White Fairy (Veteran Member)

Replied on April 13, 2011:

I get it! I thought that name didn't make sense but if he's a trump it fits!

► Nod

Replied on April 13, 2011:

Winged_One - Well of course not. He's apparently flying around at LEO how would you see him? :p

White Fairy - How so?

► White Fairy (Veteran Member)

Replied on April 13, 2011:

Nod: He's a Kaleidoscope! He's different every time you look at him!

► XxVoid CowboyxX

Replied on April 13, 2011:

I'm sorry but I still think that's a freaking stupid name.

► ManOfManyColors (Unverified Cape)

Replied on April 13, 2011:

:(

► XxVoid CowboyxX

Replied on April 13, 2011:

Ugh what!? How did a dead skunk get in my room?!

► ManOfManyColors (Unverified Cape)

Replied on April 13, 2011:

XxVoid CowboyxX

:)

End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 97 , 98, 99

Private message from Leet:

Leet *New Message*: Hey! We loved your performance the other night! Attacking the ABB as Ryu Hayabusa?! Plus you've got that whole Superman thing going on! Emulating Scion my ass. You at all interested in working together sometime? At the least maybe you could put in a guest appearance every now and then.

The ICU at Brockton Bay General Hospital

Amy Dallon was having yet another stressful day at Brockton General Hospital. Too many patients and not enough time in the day to help them all. No matter how hard she pushed herself she could never seem to make any kind of dent. They all needed her and she wasn't good enough. Could never be good enough. Even clearing this single Intensive Care Unit would be exhausting for her but she couldn't stop. Couldn't allow herself to stop.

She once again felt an irrational spike of resentment at her situation. Why did she have to be the only member of the family to have healing powers? Why did she have to be the one who was constantly relegated to the sidelines to pick up the pieces? People got to demand her time and energy all the time without her being able to do anything about it! What was she supposed to do?! Say no? Refuse to heal people? Let people that only she could save die because of a reason like "I'm tired." or "I'm on vacation?" She'd heard about that new hero who debuted a few days ago. Yet another Alexandria package who would fly around causing property damage, "saving" a few people here and there and then hang up the cape where no one could bother them. Why couldn't that be her? Why couldn't any of these so-called heroes see that she needed help!?

As if in response to that thought a crashing noise caught her attention as a blue spherical light bashed through the window, turned on a dime, and made for her position. Squawking, she took a few stumbling steps backward. She needn't have bothered. The blue light had stopped, hovering a few feet away from her. Then it spoke with a mechanized but oddly soothing voice:

"Amy Dallon. You have the ability to instill great hope. You are now the duly appointed Blue Lantern of Earth Bet." the blue light faded revealing the shape of a ring, which promptly angled itself, resized, and shot onto her right ring finger. An intense flash of blue light pulsed outward from her as her robes and scarf were both covered completely. Her medic's cross remained but stood out as a bright azure color from her now deep blue robes. The cross was superimposed atop a symbol she'd never seen before.

"...what." she said. Then she felt something she couldn't remember the last time she felt. A rightness with the world. Her spirit soared and somehow she could just tell that all will be well.

"Panacea!" one of the nurses shouted. "Look at this!" she looked around the room and saw that everyone, absolutely everyone, in it had been healed to peak health. She touched a few of the patients to confirm what she saw with her eyes and realized that, yes, they were indeed fully healed. What she saw next, however, tested the limits of credulity. Even patients who had been in a vegetative state were now restored to what was, presumably, baseline mental condition. It beggared belief.

"What...just happened?" she muttered in a daze.

"This ring is empowered by the blue light of hope with the ability to heal sapient beings." the...apparently magical ring responded. Then a thought occurred to her. The way it spoke... "Are you telling me...that you can heal this many people of grievous wounds with contemptuous ease by...harnessing the POWER OF HOPE!?"

"Affirmative." it responded.

...

"Fucking Tinkers!"

"Warning! Rage detected!"

Dinah Alcott's Residence - April 14th, 2011

0.03% chance I will be kidnapped today her power reported. Dinah Alcott knew why that number had descended so low. The man who had knocked on their door early that morning. He had introduced himself as Captain Kaleidoscope. She had heard about him but didn't think he looked very impressive. Sure his costume was striking but something about him didn't seem...heroic per se. His green eyes appeared to full of mirth as if he was playing a joke on someone just by being here. She tried to check but just ended up with a headache for her trouble. When she held her head he had looked at her with a knowing smile and winked.

'I wonder if it's me.' she thought. 'No...it's probably whoever was going to kidnap me.' She certainly had no problem with it if that was case.

Capt. Kaleidoscope and her mother came back out of the room they'd spoken in. She didn't know what they'd talked about but her mother's face was pale. "Dinah, sweetie, I'm afraid you aren't going to be able to go to school today. This gentleman is going to be looking out for you, okay?"

"That's okay I guess." she said. She didn't think he looked very reliable but supposed she could be mistaken. Besides, who minds being told they aren't going to school?!

"You guess!?" he responded indignantly. Then he leaned down to her conspiratorially and announced: "Let me tell you Ms. Alcott. We are going to have so much fun."

Dinah and Capt. Kaleidoscope were making pancakes in the kitchen with a very uncertain Mrs. Alcott in the background. Capt. Kaleidoscope jokingly smeared some whipped cream on Dinah's nose. She squeaked and started to return fire. Both were laughing and making a mess until Dinah had a thought. "Aww we don't have any strawberries." she complained.

Capt. Kaleidoscope responded by reaching into the folds of his cloak and pulling a carton of strawberries out from...somewhere with a smirk. Even Mrs. Alcott smiled.

Dinah was jumping rope as two copies of Capt. Kaleidoscope held the ends of the rope. When she'd asked him how he'd done that he just smiled and said "A True Magician never reveals their secrets." She thought he seemed unreasonably pleased with himself at that thought but shrugged. She was having fun.

Dinah looked behind her as Capt. Kaleidoscope awkwardly hopped from space to space on the hopscotch course they'd made with some chalk he'd procured.

"You're not very good at this are you?" she asked.

"Heh...well it's just that I never really played this as a kid and the spaces are a little small."

"Don't you have superpowers or something?" she asked dubiously.

"Why I would never cheat at something as serious as hopscotch with powers." he said flatly.

She laughed. "Quit being silly."

For lunch they'd gone out to a nearby diner and Capt. Kaleidoscope had bought her some ice cream while muttering about cheapskate pawn shops. She didn't see why it mattered. He seemed to have the ability to pull just about anything out of that cloak of his. She'd asked him to pull a rabbit out of it just for kicks and he'd actually done it. She'd asked her mother if she could keep it but had been told a pet was a lot of responsibility and maybe she could have one later. She wasn't sure where the rabbit disappeared back to.

As she was eating her ice cream Miss Militia came in to set with them. She could hardly contain her excitement.

"So this is the young lady is she?" Miss Militia asked with a bright smile. Dinah smiled back at her. She looked at Capt. Kaleidoscope. "How sure are you?"

"Absolutely positive." Capt. Kaleidoscope responded.

"Well then Dinah, if it's okay with you I'd like to take you home and talk to you and your parents. I'm sure Capt. Kaleidoscope needs to get back to work. Although we'd like to talk to you about something similar very soon..." she trailed off.

"...I'll just bet you would..." Capt. Kaleidoscope muttered with half-lidded eyes. Miss Militia just smiled at him sunnily.

"But he can be in two places at once!" Dinah exclaimed. Miss Militia raised an eyebrow at Capt. Kaleidoscope and he coughed a little uncomfortably.

"Uhm...Dinah. I'm sorry but I can't really use that trick at long distances. Don't worry though, I'll come back and visit." he assured.

As he got up to leave Dinah tried one more time to use her power on him and got a headache again.

"Brain freeze?" Miss Militia asked teasingly.

Capt. Kaleidoscope overheard and turned around.

"Dinah. One hundred percent chance of seeing me again." he said seriously.

Dinah smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 8

It was a shame, I felt, that Superman's powers did not include some sort of buffer against air resistance. Oh it didn't hurt or anything but it took some getting used to. It was also annoying any time I ran into insects at high speed. That said, the last thing I wanted to do was badmouth insects in this setting.

In the aftermath of the ABB take down and being "outed" as a Trump things had changed somewhat. Since I'd demonstrated various chakra-based abilities including the shadow clone I had a perfectly good justification if someone noticed me being in "two places at the same time" as Dinah had put it. While I'd been honest with her, shadow clones were limited in how far away they could appear from me and could only get so far before they ran out of chakra and popped, I could and would appear in two places at once in other ways if I deemed it necessary. I had taken to using the Kaleidoscope while "Supermanning." While I didn't want to look up the time stream too much lest I end up like Dr. Manhattan, I had decided that looking ahead by a few minutes at a time was acceptable in order to be more effective at my self-appointed task. That said I was being cautious about relying more upon the second magic. If a single glimpse of the Kaleidoscope in its entirety was enough to make me question the point of bothering to help these people then I worried delving too far into it would make me less human. There was also the fact that leaving the Kaleidoscope active for long periods of time (hours) created a sort of strain on my soul. It was a very odd feeling, a sort of inner heat and pain that felt like it would be...bad to ignore. It helped that cheating by peering at the future-to-be (barring my interference) and teleporting to arrive at the scenes of crimes just before they happened Minority Report style made me much more even with Scion in terms of success rate. I was now convinced that he must be doing something to cheat in a similar manner. It also helped me avoid various agents for parahuman organizations who were starting to seek my recruitment into their ranks. Some went for the diplomatic angle while others sought to press gang me. I don't know how they expected that to work. I mean, admittedly they don't know my full skill set but they ought to know enough by now to realize such a course of action was foolhardy.

My official PRT classification had been tentatively pegged at around Trump 9. This was the case because of both the diversity and the potency of my demonstrated abilities. I hadn't done anything on par with Eidolon yet but I had done things on par with Alexandria who was a Brute 9. Plus it was obvious at this point that I was switching power sets at will. All but the most powerful Thinkers would attribute my changing abilities to an Eidolon-like core power. That reminds me, I'll need to do something about the horrible situation that is Tattletale working for Coil and sooner rather than later.

The bank job had been averted by my actions with Dinah. I'm sure the Undersiders were confused by the change in their orders. It actually made me feel rather bad that I'd had ulterior motives in my visit with Dinah. The girl was damnably adorable. Still, I had to resist the urge to steeple my fingers and imitate Montgomery Burns. Ah well, there was always Coil to direct those kinds of shenanigans at. My lips quirked. Maybe I should dress like Gendo for the encounter. Then I frowned as a potential complication occurred to me.

The major problem was that the reason Leviathan attacks Brockton Bay in the first place is because Noelle is there. If I oust Coil before the Travelers arrive in Brockton then I could butterfly Leviathan's attack somewhere else which would well and truly screw up my plans to rid Earth Bet of an endbringer with minimal casualties. At the same time, any abilities I showed off where Tattletale could find out about them would lead her closer to figuring out the truth about me. Oh I didn't think she'd find out about the ROB or anything (such things presumably being outside the entities' experience) but I knew she'd find out about my future knowledge. Moreover, if she found out then Coil found out. Not a game breaker by any means but definitely an annoyance. There was also the problem of the Undersiders in general. I wanted to just go and tell them everything and assure them that I would help them. That they wouldn't need to go to such absurd lengths to protect their world. With Tattletale there to vouch that I was telling the truth I could probably be believed (at least about knowing their future - Tattletale might have trouble buying the "fictional" thing even if her power said I was being truthful).

Well...I supposed there was no reason I couldn't take out Coil as long as the Travelers were allowed to stay anyway. Besides, I was the walking, talking, answer to their prayers. As soon as Coil was bested I would simply talk to them and explain that I could send them home easily as soon as we defeated Leviathan. Well...they'd likely not take that last bit very well. I guess I can't blame them. I could send everyone but Trickster and Echidna home before then if they pressed the issue. Alright then! It's decided. My smile turned feral. My next target is Coil!

As I materialized back in my base, I decided to check on my upcoming legitimacy.

"Hey Cortana, how's it coming along?" I asked.

"Well so far I've had pretty decent luck getting past most security measures in this world. Every now and then I'll come across something ahead of its time but so far I haven't seen anything that's quite up to UNSC standards."

"Yeah well don't try anything with the PRT or Protectorate."

"Don't worry I won't. By the way, your name is now officially James Snow."

"...Snow? Really? You don't think that's a little obvious?"

"You think you aren't going to be figured out in a few minutes by any serious search no matter WHAT your last name is? You're rapidly becoming a person of interest chief, and given that you don't even bother with a mask, well..."

I sighed. "That's alright I get it. I'm not really doing this for a secret identity anyway. I just want a bank account so I don't have to keep doing THIS." I gestured vaguely at the newly acquired pile of cash in the corner of the room. In order to acquire material wealth for any purchases I might eventually need to make I'd made a trip to a dimension in which Earth had suffered a zombie apocalypse and there was a considerable amount of gold lying around places where nobody needed it anymore. In another example of comics not getting thing quite right I still needed to eat. I'd spent what remained of the sixty dollars I had on a sandwich one evening and had noticed last night that a video of me telekinetically bouncing a pyro/cryo supervillain duo around whilst floating in the middle of them eating said morsel had gone viral. I never did get their names...

"I'm still not quite sure about you bringing those back..."

"Hey! We've been over this! I sterilized them!"

She sighed. "I certainly hope so. The last thing this world needs to top off the monstrous alien killing machines is a zombie plague."

"You worry far too much. It'll be fine." I assured.

"So what are you doing back here? I thought you'd still be out doing your thing."

"Well I just wanted to check in for a second before I handle one of the plans I've had cooking for a while now. I guess I'll be off."

"See you when you get back."

"Prism Break."

Above Winslow High

I knew Taylor should be back at school today unless I'd butterflied that as well. Furthermore, since she wouldn't have the ego boost of the successful bank heist she might not handle Emma as well as she ordinarily would have.

I knew I probably shouldn't be doing this but dammit I wanted her to know that someone had noticed and intended to help her. If I didn't do anything and she later found out that I'd known along she'd probably never trust me again. Now where was she? I opened myself to Shaper thinking that looking for parahumans would be my best bet since I'd never actually seen the girl before. There were two...of course there were. Shadow Stalker is here too. Using x-ray vision I located the tall, skinny, brunette. Bingo. Now just give me an opening...

Fifteen minutes later I was bored out of my mind. High school was boring the first time through and I'd actually been a student at the time. Now it was just plain mind-numbing. Oh and now they were doing independent study faaaantastic. I didn't even have anything to listen to anymore. Then I realized I'd zoned out and started paying token attention again:

"...because you're a nobody. The only reason I paid any attention to it is because you bother me." someone said. From the red hair I presumed this was Emma Barnes. Well time to shine...literally.

I materialized hovering in the middle of the classroom casting multicolored light throughout the room. Any noise that was being made quickly died out and I heard several cards flutter to the ground. Taking the two in I noticed that Taylor appeared to be hyperventilating. Ohhhh shit she thought I was here for her! Quickly I gave her a reassuring grin which only seemed to calm her down a little. Then I fixed Emma with a glare. Not even a grown up angry red heat vision glare. Just a baby glare. A tiny narrowing of the eyes really. She paled. I motioned at my ears, then pointed at my eyes, then pointed at her. She reflexively swallowed. I turned, smiled at Taylor, ruffled her hair for kicks, then vanished. Ahhh I don't think I'm ever going to get tired of that gobsmacked expression.

Chapter 9

"Whoahhhh-oh-oh-ohhhh. For the longest time. Whoahhhh-oh-ohhhh. For the longest time~"

I smiled as I hovered over the bay blasting my heat vision down below its surface. My antics had started drawing a crowd early on in the morning so I figured, what the hell, might as well entertain my erstwhile audience. I had landed, switched to Shinobi! mode, then created a shadow clone barbershop quartet and placed a prismatic white fedora upside down next to them. Granted if they popped while I was still Kryptonian!Kaleidoscope it would hurt like a bitch but I wasn't too worried about it. I laughed. So far from the looks of things they'd actually raked in a fair amount of cash...I think this might be my new favorite way to raise money.

"Uh...excuse us! Captain Kaleidoscope...uh...sir? Could you come down here for a second?" someone said. Shutting off the heat vision before looking at said person (very important fact to remember, that was) I noticed several costumed individuals looking up at me from the shore. Miss Militia was there wearing a highly amused grin along with what I assumed were a couple of members of the Wards. Let's see...short and female: Vista. White bodysuit with clock faces: Clockblocker. I grinned, well well this might be fun after all. I descended next to the three Protectorate capes and flourished my cloak grandly.

"Lady Militia! Noble Wards! What bringseth you to my corner of the bay this fine morning?" I asked, affecting a posh British accent. I think Clockblocker detected a kindred spirit as his next statement was much less uncertain.

"The Madame Director would like to see you at your leisure." he responded sounding like a Frenchman. I nodded seriously and looked towards Miss Militia.

"And how long will you guys be at headquarters today?" I asked. She smiled and replied.

"PRT headquarters is open until six in the evening but Director Piggot often ends up staying late."

"I see. Well then you can expect me at 5:55 on the dot." I replied. The two wards snorted in spite of themselves while Miss Militia looked a little taken aback.

"You really want to deliver such an obvious insult...?" she asked.

"Pfft no. I was just yanking your chain. Come on, I'll finish up here then head back with you."

I flagged down the shadow quartet and shifted back to Shinobi mode before having them dispel in the middle of a rousing rendition of La Cucaracha. The crowd made sounds of disapproval and I assured them I would be back later. I emptied the contents of the hat into Kamui then donned it. Then I twirled to rejoin my erstwhile companions.

"So the Proctectorate is sending the Wards out to meet unaffiliated high level Trumps now?" I asked seriously.

"Not exactly." Miss Militia demurred. "Due to your actions with Miss Alcott and...everywhere else it was deemed that you weren't a threat. It also earned you a bit of leeway with that...whatever it was you were doing in the bay. Ordinarily we'd have been inclined to assume it was nothing good." she replied.

"Yeah what were you doing anyway?" Clockblocker asked.

"I was engraving various geometric patterns on the bottom of the bay." I replied.

"How did you get your laser beams to point in different directions?" Vista asked.

"Like this." I met her eyes then screwed up my face and used one of Superman's lesser known abilities, precise muscle control, to rotate my eyes in different directions. She giggled. I even got a bit of a laugh out of M.M.. So that one's a winner. I noted.

"So...what's the point of drawing shapes on the bottom of the bay?" Clockblocker asked.

"It's an insurance policy." I replied. "It should help to mitigate the damage in the event of, say, a large wave coming in."

Miss Militia looked at me worriedly for a moment. I knew she'd put two and two together.

"Well...as long as your actions were in the best interest of the city I'm sure the Director will overlook it." she stated.

"One can only hope." I replied magnanimously.

Director Piggot's Office

The first thing I noticed upon seeing Emily Piggot in person was that she wasn't that overweight. A bit heavyset maybe, but nothing at all like the beached whale she was sometimes portrayed as. It was also distinctly uncomfortable for me to realize that, on some level, this woman hated me. Not because of anything I had done but because I was a cape. A sort of irrational hatred due to her experience at Ellisburg. I supposed I couldn't really blame her and I knew she'd never act on it. Having me around was much better than not having me as far as she was concerned, but only in the sense that I was helping to balance out all the evils committed by others of my "kind."

"So..." she began, "Miss Militia tells me that this stunt with firing lasers into the bay is supposed to serve as a precaution against a Leviathan attack."

"So she put it together after all." I mused. "Yes. By doing this I am making it possible for me to raise a barrier to block off the bay at will. If we are attacked by an Endbringer, Brockton Bay's position as a coastal city makes it likely that our attacker would be Leviathan. Hopefully we will not need any of the countermeasures I'm setting up, but better to have and not need than need and not have."

"We...our...so you really do live here." she stated.

"That is correct. Although I am not content to stay here all the time Brockton Bay is where I make my home." I replied.

"I'm not so sure you're a long-term resident of this city." she responded. "You don't bother covering your face so you can hardly blame us for using facial recognition software. We turned up this." she said as she slid what looked like a dossier labeled James Snow onto her desk. "James Snow." she said patronizingly. "Never have I seen such an obviously fake identity in my life. Why, it's almost as though you don't even care if we know it's fake." she said.

I gasped and feigned shock. "Why Director Piggot, I am aghast. How could you possibly think such a thing!?" She growled. Actually growled at me. "I mean, it isn't as if I was cast into Brockton Bay at a random whim of chance while possessing no identity on Earth Bet at all." I replied seriously. She looked dubious.

"Well...whatever the reason, we are prepared to accept this farce as your identity for the time being. That said, however, you will be held accountable for your actions while using it." she stated.

"That seems perfectly reasonable to me." I replied.

"Based upon your pattern of avoiding recruitment efforts this seems obvious but I have to ask. Have you considered joining the Protectorate?" she asked.

"I have." I responded. "I decided against it."

"May I ask why?"

"Because one of my goals in this city is to reform its underage villain population." I replied candidly. She looked floored.

"...I'm not sure I heard you correctly. What did you just admit to in my office?" she asked.

"I said that one of my goals is to reform the underage villains of Brockton Bay. I know the motivations of a few of them and I believe they actually would take a better deal if one became available. All I have to do is make it available." I replied. "Why, I'm actually supposed to meet with Uber and Leet this evening."

"You just announced to me that you intend to associate with villains!" she shouted.

"So?" I asked. "If I have my way they wont be villains much longer." I replied seriously.

"You can't just have them declare their intent to 'not be villains anymore' and let that be that!" she exclaimed. "There has to be justice!"

"Of course." I responded. "There will be justice. You'll see." I assured.

"You can't possibly think that this will work. You'll be branded a villain yourself and hunted by the Protectorate! What makes you think I can't have you arrested right now for admitting that much to me?!" she demanded.

"I believe you wont because you know I'm a net good in the world. I believe you wont because the public wouldn't stand for it. I believe you wont because if I succeed then everyone benefits. But most of all, I believe you wont because you couldn't even if you wanted to." I couldn't help but smirk a little.

"Don't you be that arrogant!" she shouted. "You may be powerful but anyone can be beaten!"

We stared at each other for a moment, then she sighed.

"...there's no stopping you is there?" she asked. "You're right you know, you've done an excellent job gaining public approval. It would be a PR nightmare even if you let us bring you in. I can't stop you from trying this, but just don't screw it up."

"Don't worry, I may act the fool a lot of the time but I'm serious about this." I assured.

"Good." she replied. "By the way, would you mind telling me what that stunt at Winslow was about?"

I smiled a bit viciously. "Oh Director, I am so glad you asked."

Chapter 10

As I left PRT headquarters I couldn't help but smile to myself. Based upon the set of the Director's jaw as I left I got the distinct impression that one Sophia Hess was about to have a bad day. A very bad day indeed. Oh I knew I was biased but still, all I had done was tell Director the truth. Any insight I had into her character, namely that she especially hated capes who abused their power and really really hated capes who did so while preying upon "normal" people, was completely secondary. I was feeling a bit restless. I still had time to kill before meeting Uber and Leet that evening and wasn't sure what to do with myself in the meantime. What I really wanted to do was get started on my plans for Coil. I could theoretically achieve what I wanted with him as I was now but...it would be a bit easier if I finally bit the bullet and did something I'd been reluctant to for a while now.

I sighed. Oh well, I knew this would probably have to happen eventually. Time for another brief jaunt out of the dimension. I'd gotten used to my stolen genetic abilities but felt I was relying upon them a bit much. If I wanted to live up to my full potential I'd need to learn some more magic. Right now the only magic I had access to was the Kaleidoscope, and while it was very, very formidable all by itself, I didn't want to be totally reliant upon it. From a Nasuverse variant I knew basic reinforcement (which Kaleidoscope or not only goes so far), projection (the useless kind), hypnosis, some jewelcraft, and a fair bit of formalcraft. I knew enough jewelcraft to help me focus the energies of the Kaleidoscope but nothing at all like Tohsaka Rin was capable of. The only thing I knew I could do with no problems as far as attacking with the Kaleidoscope went is firing massive beams of destruction which, while great for reducing problems to their component atoms, wasn't conducive to keeping the surroundings intact...at all really. I needed more controlled forms of magic. Some easily exploitable forms of magic. I groaned. I was going to have to shop for a wand.

Diagon Alley - Some Random Harry Potter Universe

I materialized in the middle of the alley, not particularly caring about who saw it. I could no sell anti-apparation wards with trivial ease anyway. I could teleport into the great hall at Hogwarts if I wanted to...that actually kind of sounded like fun if only to see Hermione blue screen as she tried to process said event. I chuckled. Oh well, first things first, if I want a wand and/or books I'm going to need money. I supposed I could just yoink a wand but I actually wanted one that suited me and for that I'd need Ollivander. Entering into Gringotts I actually chuckled at the little limerick that was meant to intimidate me. Walking up to the teller (a goblin of course) I deposited a bag of jewels made via alchemy on his desk.

"Does Gringotts purchase jewelry?" I asked. He eyed me suspiciously.

"We have been known to do so yes." he replied. Without any further prompting he whipped out a jeweler's loupe and began to examine the specimens with an obviously professional eye. He took a while with it. He finally looked at me again. "We can offer sixty galleons for this set." he stated. Now, I'm no expert but I'm reasonably certain he was ripping me off. There were a lot of jewels on that table and I knew they were top quality because alchemy. There was also the fact that goblins were supposed to be a race of shrewd businessmen. Oh well, I don't know how badly he's ripping me off so it seems pointless to complain. It was likely more than I needed anyway.

"That sounds agreeable." I said.

"Would you like to purchase a mokeskin pouch for 11 galleons to carry your belongings?" he asked.

"That wont be necessary." I replied. My eyes twirled into the Mangekyo as I deposited the galleons into Kamui. Easily one of the best techniques ever. The goblin looked rather sour that he didn't get to make a sale but intrigued by the change in my eyes.

"Gringotts thanks you for your business." he said.

"Thank you for your time." I replied courteously and showed myself out. Walking down the alley soon enough I found my destination. Ollivander's. Makers of fine wands since 382 B.C. Taking a bracing breath for the irritation I was destined to endure I stepped into the shop. It had a rather musty smell which I imagined was the result of all the aging wood in aging boxes. Whatever. I couldn't see Ollivander so I walked up at the counter and prepared to call out-

"Well hello good sir." I heard...from directly behind me. Of course. I rolled my eyes.

"Is the showmanship really necessary Mr. Ollivander?" I inquired.

"Well...maybe not so much in your case." he replied. "It's just that this is around the time the first years come in and I like to set the mood for them." he said only slightly apologetically.

I smirked. "Do you at least keep a running tally of how many you can get to jump?"

"Up to fifteen this year!" he announced with a bit of pride. Heaven help me I was beginning to like Ollivander a bit.

"Alright I'm going to level with you." I said. "I've used magic before but I require a wand for precision work. I have no formal training."

He grimaced a bit but replied. "In all honesty since you're an adult, human, and possess magic the law is a bit fuzzy as you might expect. You are permitted a wand, but you are not permitted to hold any sort of occupation in the magical world without some type of accreditation from a school."

"That does not concern me in the slightest." I responded. "I'm not from this dimension in the first place and I am unlikely to return in the near future." THAT actually got a disbelieving look. Hey, not my fault if he can't handle the truth.

"Well at any rate" he said, "let's get started. Which hand would you say is your wand hand?"

"I'm ambidextrous but will likely end up using my left hand for the wand." I said.

"Planning on using a sword in the right?" he asked. I looked at him askance.

"How would you know that?" I asked dubiously.

"Educated guess, my friend, educated guess." he said. Then he held out my left arm and brought out that damnable tape measure which promptly began recording all manner of measurements it couldn't possibly need. Then he began presenting me with wands.

I began to wave pointed sticks around with nothing happening feeling incredibly foolish. Finally he started to narrow in on the correct combination. As he did so...weird shit started to happen. One caused the room to be filled with fog which he promptly banished. Another caused a small tree to take root in the floor of the shop. I was kind of concerned about this incredibly random behavior but he just addressed the products of the various screwups without so much as a complaint. In fact the incredibly random nature of it all seemed to invigorate him and I started to wonder if the Kaleidoscope wasn't influencing the procedure in some way.

Finally he handed me the wand. My wand. I knew it the moment my fingers closed around it. Completely straight and unadorned. It looked very unassuming but I knew that its appearance was misleading. It touched my magic and a surge of kaleidoscopic light thundered through the shop rattling the windows. Ollivander looked ecstatic.

"Now that is interesting. Yes...very interesting." he said. I sighed and rolled my eyes again.

"Exactly what, pray tell, is so very interesting Mr. Ollivander?" I asked in a monotone voice as I knew he wanted me to.

"An even twelve inches long." he reported. "A combination of mahogany for the wood and dragon heartstring for the core. Everything about that wand is geared for raw power. The materials also suggest a rather...temperamental or capricious nature as well." he said suggestively.

"...you don't say. I would have never imagined." I replied dryly with a half-lidded gaze.

"Well anyway that wand is a strong match to you and shouldn't lead you astray though you may have some...eh...difficulties with charms." he hedged.

"Difficulties like what?" I asked suspiciously.

"Well...it may take you some time to learn the necessary control to utilize them properly...but I'm sure you'll manage." he assured.

"Oookay then. How much?" I asked.

"Eight galleons." he responded. I offered the money. 52 galleons left. "Will you be wanting a holster for that?" It disappeared in a twist of space. "I...see. Never mind then. I hope you have a pleasant day sir." He said with a mysterious-looking smile. I turned around and started out.

"Yeah you too." I replied. "...creepy old coot." I muttered under my breath.

"I heard that!" he said. Then he laughed as my face reddened and I rushed out of the shop.

As I entered Flourish and Blotts to pick up the new additions to my library I noticed a blonde-haired man in sky blue robes signing autographs. Gilderoy Lockhart. I turned my gaze heavenward. Oh please God no. What did I do to deserve this? Maybe I should replace his memories with a version of himself who's actually competent? I sighed. Nope. Not happening. I brushed past the crowd without so much as a how do you do, activated the Kaleidoscope, and banished his robes to the center of the sun. A girlish yelp and a great many feminine squeals echoed behind me but I paid them no attention. As I was collecting the Standard Book of Spells Grades 1-7 I heard a throat, or a pair of throats, being cleared behind me. I looked and saw two redheads I'd have to be blind not to recognize. I nodded at them.

"Fred. George." I acknowledged with a smirk. Their eyes widened.

"Oy. How do you know our names?" They chorused as one.

"I'm psychic." I replied, falling back on Tattletale's excuse for knowing things she had no business to.

"Like mind-reading psychic?" one of them asked. Right, legilimency was a thing here.

"No...well not entirely." I replied. "Like mind-reading, clairvoyant, future-seeing psychic." I replied seriously. "Incidentally, that mail-order business you two are planning is going to be a big hit." Their eyes widened further.

"Blimey you are psychic!" they said. "How'd you like to replace old Trelawney as divination teacher?" one of them asked.

"Heheh...hahahah...BWAHAHAHAHAAAA!" I broke down and doubled over as I imagined trolling the students of Hogwarts as a divination professor. Wiping a tear from my eye I looked at them seriously and responded. "I'm kind of in the middle of something important right now. Ask me again in a year or so. I should be finished by then. Anyway, what did you two want in the first place?" I asked.

"We want to know how you left Lockhart in his knickers." one asked. "And why." the other said.

"What makes you think it was me?" I asked innocently.

"You were the only one looking at him with disgust rather than admiration." they said. I shrugged. True enough.

"Well to not answer your first question a True Magician never reveals his secrets." I was starting to adore that little inside joke. "As for the second point, the man is a shameless fraud who obliviates people and takes credit for their accomplishments." That got their attention.

"Why don't you reveal him?" they asked.

"On the basis of what?" I rejoined. "Psychic visions? Besides, Lockhart will get what's coming to him." I said turning back to the shelves.

"Any other predictions you care to make?" one of them asked excitedly.

"Yeah your Dad is getting into a fight outside with Lucius Malfoy." I responded distractedly. The two were off like a shot. I picked up several more books then proceeded to pay the cashier (do they use that term in the Wizarding World?) which all told reduced my total to thirty-six galleons. I placed everything into Kamui then left the Wizarding World behind me.

Magnolia Town, Kingdom of Fiore

Shaper isn't able to copy magical abilities. I noted with sadness. I sipped at a milkshake I'd purchased at a stall in town. It would have been amazing to have the combined abilities of every Fairy Tail mage at my beck and call. Oh, I still had a few options if I were dead set on it I supposed. I had thought about using the alpha stigma to copy their abilities sharingan style. The unfortunate problem with that idea, however, is that the alpha stigma drives everyone who activates it (minus one hero, hold the weaksauce) into a berserker rage. If I used it I'd get the magic alright but I'd go on a murderous rampage in doing so. I might be able to avoid that effect using Shaper but given my probable upper limits at this point that wasn't a risk I was willing to take. Particularly in a Fairy Tail world filled with characters I actually really like. I guess I could go after one of those dragonslayer lacrima but...meh. That seemed like too much effort. If I wanted to be a temporary dragonslayer I would just use the Kaleidoscope to synchronize with a version of myself who was trained by a dragon.

I heaved a sigh. Farewell my hopes and dreams. I made one more stop before returning to Earth Bet.

"Prism Break." I said as I vanished into the Kaleidoscope.

Inside a Terminator Assembly Facility on a Skynet Controlled World

I rematerialized surrounded by a bunch of inactive T-900 units. If all went as I intended and Uber and Leet did sign on I had a project for Leet to work on ASAP. An alarm sounded as I retrieved an inactive T-900 that had no real consciousness yet and stored it in Kamui. I also used Shaper to record the organic components used for the outer skin of the infiltrator units. I would modify it to better suit Cortana's appearance. Now I just need to summon some blue MJOLNIR armor and plasma weaponry and we'll be set to scare the bejesus out of Saint. The reason I came in person, however, was to add injury to insult by doing this. I removed a large diamond from Kamui and announced: "Prism Break."

The prism shattered and the infinite energies of the Kaleidoscope thundered through my veins. I began charging the diamond, funneling energy from thousands of nearby worlds to make the process go even faster. The diamond began to crack and fracture until the only thing holding all that energy in one place was my will. Then I teleported back to Earth Bet and left it there. I grinned evilly as I imagined Skynet trying to make sense of what the hell just happened. As much as I knew it wasn't, I liked to picture the resulting mushroom cloud as rainbow colored.

Chapter 11

As I looked around at the empty playground (it was Brockton Bay at night for heaven's sake) I couldn't help but wonder why Uber and Leet had asked to meet me here. I guess it was as good a place as any to have a clandestine meeting. Probably better than a secluded alley in fact. Looking around at the small slides and swings, I certainly didn't think of it as a place where anything bad happened. I grimaced. Those kids were probably drug dealers or something knowing this city.

Focusing again on the Standard Book of Spells Grade 1 I continued my studies. I had tried a few things and for some reason they were either tremendous successes (seriously...too successful) or something went very wrong. Either horribly wrong or horribly right. I really had to get a handle on this if I was going to use it for anything serious. I'd cast a lumos earlier, the absolutely most basic charm and actually damaged my retinas. I had to repair them with Shaper. I sighed forlornly, this magic thing was more difficult than those 11-year-olds made it seem. At times I felt as though I was trying to squeeze the contents of a lake through a garden hose and that was while holding back. I figured that, geared for power or not, this wand was not at all equipped to handle the power of the Kaleidoscope. A noise of crunching gravel interrupted my thoughts. I looked up and snorted.

Two figures were approaching me. One was built like an athlete while the other seemed rather wimpy, especially in comparison. They were dressed in overly suspicious trench coats with fedoras, dark shades, and dull colored bandanas over their faces. Quickly I shifted my attire to a matching pattern while retaining my prismatic white. What hesitation I could detect in their gait smoothed out as it became clear I was willing to play my role.

"I wish you had let me know we were going to do the cloak and dagger thing." I said. "You let me show up underdressed. I'd have brought silencers and a directional mic if I knew you guys wanted a little Spy vs. Spy." I teased.

"Well you can never be too careful. We had to make sure nobody could figure out who we were." the larger one, Uber, replied with mock seriousness. Man the description of his voice was spot on. It was simultaneously hammy and larger than life. I kinda felt like I was talking to Don LaFontaine if he was using his "announcer" voice at the time.

"Are you talking like that on purpose or is it a side effect of your power?" I inquired curiously.

"Eh...little of column A and a little of column B." he responded in a more normal tone. "We ham it up on purpose when we're on camera. The crowd eats it up. You're not so bad at that yourself..." he said leadingly.

"Yeah that thing with the ABB was awesome!" Leet shouted. Eesh his voice was kind of wimpy too. That was unfortunate. He gave the impression of an acne-ridden teenager. Maybe if this worked out I'd offer him a Shaper touch up if that was the case. "Although it did...uh...cost us a bit..." he trailed off weakly. My eyebrows lifted.

"You guys still wanted to work for Bakuda?" I asked incredulously.

"How did you?! Uh...never mind. No we didn't want to work for Bakuda. At least not after it came out that she was planting bombs in people. The way she pitched it we were just gonna antagonize the Undersiders a bit." Uber replied.

"So, knowing what you know now, you wouldn't have worked with her?" I asked hoping that I was right.

"No! That isn't how we work at all!" Leet, surprisingly, shouted at me. "We're entertainers first and foremost. We just get called villains because...uh...we sometimes...take the joke too far?" he finished weakly. I smiled.

"That's okay. That's what I was hoping you'd say. I have a lot of fun yanking people's chains too. I can see how you'd get carried away. You guys have to admit, though, that some of the stuff I've seen from that show of yours...I mean, beating up hookers? What did that accomplish?" I asked. They both flinched.

"Uh...I know it's not much of an excuse, but in our defense that was after we were labeled villains and we really needed to bring in some revenue." Uber responded, looking very uncomfortable at the direction the conversation had taken.

"Why would you need money that badly? You couldn't make ends meet?" I asked. They looked at each other. Leet sighed.

"Look, you know how Tinkers work right? They have a specialization most of the time. Well, I don't. I can make anything another Tinker can but only once. The closer something I try to make is to something I've already made, the more likely it is to blow up. Blow up as in literally explode.

Ruined beyond repair. Ordinary Tinkers have resource problems. I have resource problems on top of my resource problems. Sometimes I can salvage something from the inventions that don't work. Other times I just have to eat the loss. It...it adds up...fast." he said grimly. "I know we've done some stuff we shouldn't have but, at the time, we really didn't see another way." he pleaded.

"Okay okay I'll take your word for it." I assured. "Now, why did you guys want to meet me? Considering my heroic tendencies and your unfortunate status I'd think you'd want to stay far away." I stated.

"Well, given the whole impersonation of fictional characters bit we're pretty sure you're a kindred spirit. Be honest, you laugh to yourself every time someone compares you to Scion. You're just doing all that stuff because that's what Superman does and he's who you're copying. We were hoping you'd guest star on our show sometimes. You really bring in the revenue." Uber said.

"Well you're right about that...but you really don't know the half of it..." I said with a deliberately mysterious smile.

I couldn't help but grin. I went for it. "You know...maybe I could help out with your resource troubles." I said nonchalantly. The grin must have given me away since they looked warily at me. The grin widened.

"Uh huh...what exactly do you mean by that?" Uber asked dubiously.

"Well I mean I could...sponsor you if you like. Provide you with funding, any resources Leet needs for his Tinkering, and maybe a couple of special services you could only get from me." I replied. Their eyes widened behind their masks.

"Those were some very vague terms..." Leet said. Uber nodded in agreement.

"Okay then how's this for terms? You two become the third and fourth members of the newly formed and tentatively titled Team Kaleidoscope. You need a new apartment? You get it. You need gold? You get it. You need titanium? You get it. Anything you need you get with next to no questions asked. You can continue your web show and I wont interfere so long as you make broadcasts of certain...special events I'm planning." I said with an evil smirk, then continued. "The catch is your targets must be villainous in nature. Villainous capes and troublemakers only. You can prank civilians...but gently. No harming civilians or heroes while under my employ."

Their eyes were wide as saucers at this point and I could see a noticeable drop in the positions of the bandanas on their faces. They leaned and started whispering vigorously to each other. Finally Uber responded.

"What makes you think you can just give us anything we want? Nobody's paying you and you have no civilian identity." he asked.

"Yeah and what makes you think the Protectorate will just let us start playing hero without so much as a peep?" Leet demanded. I smirked.

"Are either of you guys familiar with the works of Kinoko Nasu?" I asked. They looked at one another for a second, then back at me and shook their heads soundlessly. I sighed.

"Damn...that would have made this much easier." I replied. Then I smiled and launched into an explanation of the Kaleidoscope and some of my plans both for them and the city.

Fifteen minutes later...

"WE'RE NOT WORTHY! WE'RE NOT WORTHY!" they shouted as one on their knees while bowing one at a time. Yeeeessss! Minions acquired! I couldn't help it. I cackled like a madman for a few minutes then flagged them down.

"Okay okay! I'm glad to see that you two are on board! We'll need to get to work very shortly if we're to make a genuine difference in the Bay. However, first and foremost we need to communicate your change of allegiance and methodology to the civilians!" I declared.

"Right! Uh...how are we gonna do that?" Leet asked uncertainly.

"I'll tell you how we're gonna do it! You guys are going to make reparations to any innocent people you've harmed in your various stunts. That wont actually cost you anything since I'll be bankrolling it. Also...you're going to have to perform a penance." I said somberly. They looked worriedly at each other.

"...penance?" they asked.

Chapter 12

The Boardwalk of Brockton Bay was host to an unusual sight this Sunday morning.

"Pie iesu domine..." *smack* "...dona eis requiem." *smack* Unusual sounds too.

Both myself and the duo of Uber and Leet were currently bedecked in prismatic white monastic robes that I had constructed for this purpose. I was taking the rear of the formation holding a banner with my prism symbol emblazoned on it. The Penitent Pair (patent pending) were marching in front holding wooden planks with the letters 'U' and 'L' on the front which they used to bludgeon themselves in the face at each appropriate pause. The crowd seemed torn between amusement and concern. My association with Uber and Leet was making people a little nervous. I could hardly blame them. I'd only been active about a week and so far it seemed that, while people were happy to have me around, some of them seemed to be waiting for the other shoe to drop and for me to turn out to be the worst villain they'd ever known. I couldn't blame them for that either. The only "parahuman" they felt they could trust with absolute certainty was Scion and I already knew personally that that trust was horribly misplaced.

"Hey, uh, boss?" Uber interrupted. "How long do we have to keep doing this?"

"Ah dink by dose is dumb." Leet added in a whining nasally tone. I frowned as I parsed that sentence.

"You can't tell me you're already tired of penance! It's only been an hour!" I complained while patting Leet on the back and fixing his face. "This is a momentous occassion!" I declared. "We have to make sure people take notice!"

"But you already said we're going to broadcast this anyway." Uber argued. "So by that logic people will see it even if we stop right now."

"Do you feel you've adequately atoned for every misdeed you've done?" I asked suspiciously.

They looked at each other for a second then sighed.

"Pie iesu domine..." *smack* "...dona eis requiem." *smack*

Thirty Minutes Later...

We were taking a break, after much wheedling by Uber and Leet, to have brunch. We were still in our monk habits. We had drawn back the hoods revealing my face and the basic masks I'd made for Uber and Leet. I had a series of pamphlets detailing the duo's new circumstances and my goals for rehabilitating the young villains of Brockton Bay and was handing them out to anybody that seemed interested enough to ask questions. Once our pancakes arrived (the management had, after realizing we didn't intend to rob them, insisted we pay up front) we dug in. It was actually really good. My morning was going splendidly indeed I thought. The bell attached to the door chimed. A soft blue light spread through the room and a slight feeling of irrational fear and intimidation spread through me. I swallowed. Blue light? Uh-oh. I turned around slowly and faced the figures in the doorway.

"You." Amy Dallon declared, pointing at me. "You did this didn't you?" she gestured at the ring on her finger. She hadn't had to use her oath yet, I noted. Must be able to keep using it based on the ambient hope she inspires in people. Impressive. I hadn't been entirely sure about "issuing" one of the power rings I was holding in reserve, especially one as powerful as the blue, but she couldn't very well use all that potential without a green to help and it solved so many problems by default that I just couldn't resist. In hindsight...maybe I should have explained the ring before just designating her as the wielder and activating the seeker protocol. Oh well, time to face the music.

I pointed innocently at my face. "Me?"

"Yes you!" she shouted. "Any time something weird has happened in this town for the past week only one person has been to blame and that's you!" she huffed. "Admit it! You gave me this thing!"

"Okay I admit it." I responded. "I sent that ring to you. Honestly though I don't understand why you're upset about it." I said dismissively. Glory Girl bristled.

"You don't see the problem with-!" she started. Uber and Leet looked very uncomfortable now that these two were here and wisely remained silent.

"Vickie! Let me handle this!" Panacea interrupted. "What do you think happened after you sent this ring on its merry way?" she asked.

"Uh...it found you, changed your clothes blue, and radiated healing blue light everywhere?" I asked.

"Yes." she said. "What happened after that, however, was everybody getting up in arms about some random, apparently untested and unauthorized, tinker tech being used for healing in an ICU. I had to surrender the ring to the Protectorate until Armsmaster could verify that it wasn't dangerous. Even Dragon was asked to look at it. In the meanwhile, I was reprimanded for using it even though I didn't do anything and spent the rest of the day convincing people of that!" she exclaimed. Oh. That...did not go as intended. Really should have explained about the ring. I bet the expression on her face was amazing though. I should have ordered the ring to record her reaction.

"Well that explains where Armsmaster was yesterday..." I mused aloud. "Okay. I apologize." I said simply and nodded. "Come on I'll buy you breakfast to show I'm sorry." I offered. She looked like the wind had been taken out of her sails.

"You...what?" she asked confusedly.

"You're right." I admitted. "I should have told you about the ring instead of just activating the seeker protocol. You probably have some questions you want to ask. Go ahead and sit down." I motioned at our table. She hesitated for a second before dragging Glory Girl (who was occupying her time glaring at Uber) and sitting at the table. I motioned for the waitress to bring them menus.

"So..." she started, "what exactly is this thing?" she asked.

"It's a power ring." I said between bites of my pancakes.

"Whoah whoah wait..." Leet interrupted. Panacea and Glory Girl stared at him. He quailed slightly but powered through much to my approval. GG had lightened up on the aura but I knew it was effecting them more than me. Invictus for the win! "Is that anything like a Green Lantern power ring?" he asked.

"S'exactly like a Green Lantern power ring." I said around a mouthful of pancake. His eyes widened as he gaped.

"You...you just...handed out a power ring?!" he screeched. "'The most powerful weapon in the universe.' One of those?!" Panacea was now looking horrified. I decided to head this off before it went any further.

"A blue power ring." I stressed. "Not the same."

"What even is a blue power ring?!" he demanded. Now I gaped. "You've never heard of a Blue Lantern?" I asked.

"No. Superhero comics lost popularity after Scion arrived." he explained.

"You've never read Blackest Night? But that was so awesome!" I shouted. "This cannot stand!" I declared. "We're importing some new comics as soon as we get back to my base!" Leet now looked excited and Uber chuckled.

"Boys! Focus!" Panacea shouted. "What is a Blue Lantern and why do I have its ring?!" she demanded.

I sighed. "Basically a Blue Lantern is an interplanetary healer and bringer of hope. They use a form of light energy derived from the emotion of hope to heal and defend others."

"So...it's not a weapon?" she asked uncertainly.

"Not at all." I replied. "Since the ring can amplify its wielder's strength to a low to middle tier Brute rating depending how much power you put into it I guess you could consider it a weapon. But even the nastier rings aren't really weapons per se. They're more like swiss army knives. The most powerful tool in the universe would be more accurate."

"Wait. She can make herself stronger?" Victoria asked. She actually looked excited now.

"Yeah. I don't know how much experimentation you've done with it but, besides healing, it also provides you with enhanced strength and a personal force field made of blue light which lets you fly, survive in any environment, and protect other people with it if you get good enough at using it." At this point Victoria was ecstatic. Amy's eyebrow was twitching as everyone at the table stared at the unassuming ring in wonder.

"You uh...you have any more of these magic rings boss?" Uber asked looking deliberately unconcerned. I smirked.

"Yeah a few..." I said smugly "...but I refuse to distribute any until I'm very sure of who they're going to. The blue is safe enough but the others are considerably more dangerous." I said.

"Is there anything else I need to know about it?" Amy asked.

"Yes actually. You may not have noticed yet but it has a limited reserve of power at any given time. It recharges as you feel hope or as others around you feel it." I told her.

She nodded. "I noticed that. So far it says it's at 83 percent capacity. What happens if it runs out?"

"Well then the ring shuts off and you lose any benfits it gives you. Of course, this ring is rigged to charge back up to 100 percent automatically but..." I smiled mischievously. "...you have to recite an oath to activate that process." I teased. Uber and Leet both snorted and tried to cover their laughs with coughing noises.

"In brightest day, in blackest night~" Leet started. I laughed.

"No the blue oath is different. Still pretty hamtastic though." I said. "You'll know what you need to say when the time comes. The ring will help you." I assured.

"You rigged this thing so I have to sound like Mouse Protector in public to recharge it?" she deadpanned.

"I didn't have to! It was already rigged like that!" I replied sunnily. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Wont she need a personal power battery?" Uber asked.

"Nah." I said. "These rings were specially modified for my use. When she recites the oath the ring will connect to my power in order to gather the energy it needs. It works like it's directly connected to a Central Power Battery." I said.

"Ohhhhh." they chorused.

"Anyway!" Victoria interrupted. "Not that this hasn't been fascinating but why are you hanging out with villains and why am I not kicking your asses right now?" she asked. I chucked a pamphlet at her.

"Read it." I declared.

"What is this?" she asked. I ignored her. If she wanted to know she should just read the blasted thing. As she and Amy read the pamphlet I finished my breakfast.

"Well boys we should get back to your penance." I declared. Uber and Leet groaned as Amy and Victoria began to smile as they read through the pamphlet. I left enough money on the table to cover for the group and ushered my lovable minions outside. The sound of a throat being cleared caught my attention. I looked back at Panacea. She was grinning with an upraised eyebrow.

"Penance huh? As in atoning for the way you've wronged people?" she asked meaningfully.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. Then I manifested a wooden plank with the letters 'CK' on the front making it look as though I'd pulled it out of my robes. I hurried to rejoin Uber and Leet in their lineup.

"Pie iesu domine...dona eis requiem." I chanted as I slammed the plank into my face...my invulnerable Kryptonian face. Eh...they don't need to know that.

Chapter 13

I flew back into Brockton Monday afternoon. Even though I had taken to using Shaper to avoid the need for sleep I still got mentally fatigued at times. It was at times like that I returned to manage things on the home front. If something truly horrible happened (like a kaiju attack) then future me would take care of it then inform present me so I could become future me later. Abusing the Kaleidoscope would give you a headache if you let it but it makes perfect sense if you don't think about it.

I had used my Hyperbolic Time Chamber technique again to get a general handle on my magic. I had quickly discovered that, while I was quite powerful, I had no control to speak of. I was like the Nagi Springfield of Potterverse magic. Everything I tried came out ridiculously overblown. The only things I could cast properly were techniques that required large amounts of power to work in the first place. I had discovered that I possessed a knack for Transfiguration. It was power-intensive, which helped, and explained why first years could only do matches to needles. It was also focus-intensive, which meant if I got distracted something was likely to go horribly awry. It was convenient to have another way to modify things besides alchemy. If I had to describe the difference, I would say that the results of alchemy were more...solid. The change was REAL in that case. Molecules and subatomic particles were rearranged but they were otherwise exactly as they were before the reaction. Transfiguration on the other hand, was a "fake" change. Transfigured objects were held that way by magic. If the magic was disrupted the object reverted to its original form. Dropping my thoughts about magical theory for the time being I focused again on my destination.

As I stepped back into Leet's workshop I wondered how much progress he had made in modifying that T-900 I acquired. My first impression of Uber and Leet's, whom I had learned were named Geoff and John respectively, base of operations had been mixed. On the one hand, various Tinker shenanigans were all over the place and they were mostly video game themed. This made me positively giddy. On the other hand, calling it disorganized just didn't quite seem to measure up to the reality of the situation. There were bits and pieces of random things scattered everywhere, mixed in liberally with empty pizza boxes and general refuse. There were even what looked like practice weapons scattered around the place which I assumed were there for Uber's use. When they asked me what I thought I responded with a brigade of shadow clones under henge to look like Mr. Clean with orders to cleanse the place thoroughly. I think they were a little offended. Eh. Not my problem.

Leet was sitting at his workbench working on what appeared to be a blaster rifle from Star Wars. The T-900 chassis was set up nearby.

"How's it going?" I asked. He jumped.

"Oh! Um...pretty well I'd say." he replied. "I've never made a plasma-based weapon before. Got the idea from some of those guns you brought back for your AI." he responded. "Speaking of which, she's been a great help."

"Any luck on giving them a stun setting?" I asked as Uber walked in.

"Hmm...not so much luck there I'm afraid. Plasma is pretty lethal to the average joe no matter how you slice it. For this one I'm including an alt-fire mode that's essentially just a ranged electrical pulse. Like a taser." he said.

"We've also loaded all the conventional weapons you got with nonlethal ammunition." Uber stated.

"How's Cortana's new home coming?" I asked.

"Oh that's well in hand." Leet responded. He shared a look with Leet. "Should be done in no time."

I peered interestedly at the intimidating skeletal features of the T-900 and walked over for a closer look. "What's she doing right now anyway? She usually isn't this quiet." I noted. I missed the smirks on my minions' faces as I peered into the ruby eyes of the Terminator. Suddenly a skeletal arm reached up and grasped my throat as a hellish electronic erupted from the things non-moving mouth and said "Where is John Connor?!"

"GYAAAAAAAAH!" I screamed, not at all sounding like a prepubescent schoolgirl. A particularly MANLY schoolgirl maybe. I leapt backward, tearing out of the thing's grip, and stretched out my hand with a prismatic blast coalescing inside it ready to fire at a moment's notice. My heart was pounding like a drum.

"WAIT!" Three voices exclaimed in unison. The light died down as I realized that my minions had just gotten one over on me. My eye twitched.

"Cortana...you realize that could have ended with you being blown apart yes?" I asked with a straight face.

"Okay so, in hindsight maybe not the best idea but...you should have seen the expression on your face!" she declared as a laughing sound escaped the skeletal platform. Oh yeah, that's way creepy, she's getting skin ASAP. "Oh wait! You can!" she declared. "'Cuz I recorded it!" My eye twitched again.

"Geoff...John...that could have ended up with the back wall of your base getting reduced to component atoms!" I cried.

"Well...it didn't." Leet said.

"Yeah and it was totally hilarious to boot." Uber replied with a grin.

"How did you even get it active so fast? Why would you be willing to take the risk of me destroying Cortana?" I asked.

"Well as to the first question...these things have wireless networking capabilities apparently. We just switched it on and Cortana uh...Assumed Direct Control over it." Leet said.

"That is a gross oversimplification of what I did." Cortana replied flatly. "Still, it's more or less accurate. It only seemed fast by your standards. It took me almost ten whole seconds!" she exclaimed. My eye was now twitching with regularity.

"...and as for the second point, she wasn't in any danger. We took a page out of Dragon's book and rigged it so she can uh...'pilot' the terminator remotely." Leet finished.

"Okay. Fine. Congrats. You got me. But you realize this means you've just entered a pranking competition with a man who can pull literally anything out of his hat don't you?" The smiles faded and were replaced with concern. "Ohhhhh yes children. This means war." And with that their fates were sealed. "In fact, I think I'll start right now!" I activated Shaper and provided Cortana with an organic exterior that mirrored the appearance of her avatar...leaving her standing in the buff in the center of the room.

"What the!?" she exclaimed then scrambled behind a chair for modesty. "Chief that's messed up! Was that really necessary?"

"Of course!" I shouted. "If I'm giving you fleshy parts it only makes sense to make sure I did it right..." I teased.

Uber and Leet were staring blankly into space with dopey grins on their faces.

"Oh yeah, have to make sure you did it right..." Uber agreed.

"Can never be too careful..." Leet chimed in. I glared at them.

"My vengeance will be swift and brutal." I said. "It will come when you least expect it." They paled.

"Make sure you guys test out the MJOLNIR and the Ghost I brought back." I said as I clothed Cortana with an absent thought. She emerged from behind the chair with a sheepish expression on her face. "I want to make sure that 'Tana is fighting fit as soon as possible."

"Will do boss." Uber replied seriously.

"Yeah leave it to us!" Leet said.

"I'm actually kind of looking forward to this hero thing." Cortana said. I smiled.

"I'm glad to hear that." I responded. "Make sure you test everything thoroughly before you go out though." She rolled her eyes. Man, she was getting the hang of having a body quickly.

"Alright fine you worrywart. We'll triple-check everything." she said. I pouted.

"I'm allowed to worry. Appearances notwithstanding technically you're only a couple months old." I said.

"And I was patterned after an adult human." she rejoined. "I'll be fine. Although, what will YOU be doing while we're checking all this gear?" she asked.

I scowled. "I'll be dealing with an irritating snake in the grass."

Chapter 14

The evening sun was setting as I hovered, invisible and intangible, over Coil's base and waited for my opportunity to strike. I had discovered its location by flying search patterns over the city, keeping Shaper at maximum range, and identifying parahumans. Finally I hit a couple that were underground. Not quite as deep as my own secret hidey hole, and with considerably (infinitely) more entrances, but definitely down there. As I recall Coil's front was something called Fortress Construction. They were responsible for building and maintaining endbringer shelters so it made sense that he could have a bond villain lair built on the sly.

What really interested me, though, was the fact that I had sensed Noelle further down in the base. I could get a rough idea of the layout of the base by sensing all the lifeforms in it. She was at roughly the lowest point, with an incredibly thick door separating her from the outside. I was actually rather surprised that she was already here. Pleasantly surprised, of course, but still. I couldn't sense the rest of the Travelers nearby, which was a good thing. They'd probably try to fight me if I attacked Coil while they were here and it would make me sad if I had to kick their asses. Oh I'd still do it no question but I'd feel bad afterward.

Carefully scanning Coil's body I could see his Corona and Gemma. They were active. He was using his power right now. I kind of didn't want to crash his party until he was between uses. Not that it would really make a difference I supposed since I had resolved to come here earlier and he couldn't affect that...ah screw it. I phased through the surface and descended through multiple levels patrolled by mercenaries. He even had electrical currents passing through the walls of this place, I noted. That makes sense seeing as, since he had moles in the PRT, he would of course be familiar with the powers of its capes. Notably Shadow Stalker in this instance. Huh. What had become of Sophia I wonder? Might have to check on that later. If she'd managed to Houdini out of this then I'd use Shaper and screw up her Corona so she'd never Houdini from anything else again. Okay just a few more walls and...there he is. Stupid smarmy asshole in his stupid smarmy snake suit. Just look at him fill out that paperwork without a care in the world. I bet it's evil paperwork. Suddenly he started and paled. Oh. I must've done something big in the other "timeline" and now he either already knew I was watching him or he'd figure it out shortly. I wonder what I'd done. I faded into existence in the middle of his office and he began to look even more nervous.

"Captain...Kaleidoscope, was it?" he said regaining a little color and trying to pass off like whatever I was doing in the other timeline wasn't scaring him shitless. "To what do I owe the unexpected..." he flinched "...pleasure?" he finished. Okay seriously, what the actual hell was happening? I used Shaper to examine the signals his shard was sending to his brain then simulated the same signals in my own. Then I got the curious sensation of seeing myself from another person's eyes looking out at a room, not this one, it looked like a dungeon. Well, it looked like it had BEEN a dungeon at one point. I assume Coil had been torturing someone in that "timeline." Then I paid attention to what "I" was doing.

"My name is CAPTAIN KALEIDOSCOPE and you will FEAR MY LASER FACE!" Other-me shouted then full-tilt heat visioned half the base away. I couldn't help it. I cracked up in the middle of Coil's office.

"Yeah that definitely sounds like something I'd do." I said. "I wonder though why you haven't collapsed that one yet." I said with amusement layering my voice. Then grew serious. "Who were you torturing that I reacted so poorly?" I asked with menace. Coil swallowed and immediately collapsed the inferior "timeline." He then reflexively branched it again. In the alternate, which I knew meant the inferior, he hit a silent alarm button under his desk. No other difference between the two.

"Really?" we announced in unison. "Why would that have any effect at all?" we asked.

"Because this time, you're in my office in the heart of my base. Because, this time, the room is filling with gas. If you can't defeat your opponent with brute force then one must use less direct methods." he said across both timelines. Other-me presumably just used Shaper to ignore said gas while Coil presumably already had some countermeasure for it. I knew that mercs would be coming in the other timeline as soon as the gas didn't take effect. So I capitalized on the humor of the situation as quickly as possible.

"Man..." I said. "We are one sexy bastard."

"Damn straight." Other-me replied. "When you're right you're right." We smirked irritatingly at Coil.

"Get a load of this guy. He actually thinks that gas or mercs will be enough to take US down." I complained.

"Nah I don't think he really believes that." he said. "He's just trying it on the off chance it works." The door burst open and the mercs opened fire. "Well that's it for fun times I gotta kick some ass." he said.

"Save some for me~" I joked. He laughed and began scything through the mercs like they were wheat. The timeline collapsed. Coil didn't open another. He was looking very put out by this point. He sighed.

"Alright what are you here for? It's obvious at this point that you don't care for me but to be honest I don't really care for you either. Your ability to interfere with my power certainly explains how much of a nuisance you've been over the past week." he said. "That aside, I'd be extremely careful how you proceed." he cautioned.

I nodded knowingly. "I'm sure someone as slippery as you has contingency plans in place in the event they should be captured or killed." It wasn't a question, really.

He smirked. "Oh absolutely, you'll be pleased to note that one of them focuses exclusively on that little girl you're so taken with." My breath caught. He'd set up a dead man's switch on DINAH!?

I honestly thought I'd be angrier. That I'd fly into a rage and tear things apart. I did none of those things. I don't know if it was Invictus or something else, but while I felt anger...it was cold. Purposeful. By the time I was through, this man would wish I had simply killed him. Setting up something to ruin a little girl's life in the ultimate temper tantrum, a kind of posthumous "If I can't have her then nobody can." I hated him in that moment. Hated more than I had ever hated before. Choking down the bile and fury I was feeling I switched to Xavier's X-gene and announced: "Don't think about your contingency plans."

I tore the information from his mind. I was not gentle. He screamed, twitched, and ultimately fell over on his desk. "You...telepath..." he whispered in horror. The wormverse had no true telepaths. Thanks to the Simurgh, it was THEY who were the ultimate boogiemen. He now had some clue just how badly he'd fucked up but I had no time or patience for it. I smiled coldly.

"You know Coil, at some level I actually respect you. Really. I mean you're cautious, meticulous, and never leave anything to chance. You're appropriately paranoid, yet you go out of your way to keep the minions happy. You'll indulge their flights of fancy or their heroic tendencies as long as it doesn't cost you too much, because you know that no matter how effective fear is at motivating people loyalty will go ten times further. You never break what you can use, rarely take unnecessary risks, and on top of everything else you use your power to its utmost potential." I finished. "You're like a textbook example of what to do right when you're an evil overlord. Unfortunately, you're about to break one of the most important rules on the Evil Overlord List." I informed him.

He made a questioning whimper. I grinned viciously as I leveled a foot-long mahogany wand in his face.

"I will not turn into a snake. It never helps." I quoted.

Interlude 2

Coil's POV

'Damn him! Damn that smug clown to hell!' Coil thought as his serpentine body struggled in the grip of the damnable Captain Kaleidoscope. 'I did everything right! He admitted it himself!' HOW had things come to this? What made the fool so special that he just walked into such an overwhelming array of potent abilities. What was it about him that made him worthy of such power and, for the love of all things holy, what was that fucking STICK!? It wasn't enough that he could serve as a true telepath, something the world had never before seen, he had to be a thrice-damned sorcerer as well?! It made no sense! Coil tried to split the timeline and, with no small degree of shock, he succeeded. He froze for a second as he contemplated the impact of this revelation. It was a long shot, but maybe this mess was still salvageable...somehow.

"Noticed that you still have access to your power did you?" Captain Kaleidoscope asked as the giant stared him in the eye. The face, once so full of smug mirth, was now cold and stern. "That's deliberate. You have no idea how difficult it was to arrange that. Of course, for me it was still much easier than it would have been for someone else. I took me ten whole minutes." he said with an ironic tone to his voice as his lips quirked upward. He produced a terrarium, complete with heat lamp, from somewhere. Then he opened it and tossed Coil inside.

Coil tried to move, tried to escape the enclosure while it was still open, but was unused to the strange musculature of his new form and failed to get purchase on the surface quickly enough. The terrarium was closed. Coil felt the heat from the lamp saturate his body and realized the truth. That was at least part of the reason he hadn't moved quickly enough. He had been cold.

"Now you're cold-blooded in body as well as spirit." Kaleidoscope told him with contempt. "Let me explain how this is going to work." Suddenly a figure appeared behind Coil's desk, sitting in his chair. A very familiar figure. "This is essentially a clone of you. I believe I'll call him Recoil." Kaleidoscope informed him. "He's completely mindless. A puppet directed by my will. You are going to be 'Coil's' new mascot, Ouroboros. Your terrarium will be placed on that shelf behind him, where you can be tapped for information as becomes necessary. From there, you will watch as he systematically dismantles everything you have built one merc, one cape, one tinker-tech rifle at a time." he said. The bottom fell out of Coil's stomach. Being kept alive was not a mercy. This man...no, this being intended to make him suffer.

"You will receive mice to eat with regularity. You will eat them. If you try to starve yourself I will force you to consume them. You may split the timeline at any point you wish but you will not escape. Not now. Not ever. In a month or so, if you have been on good behavior, I will restore your true form, remove your power, and place you in a city of your choice. Right now, however, we're going to go visit some former employees of yours." Then the giant grasped a handle at the top of his enclosure and Coil's world began to shake as he was moved about. The giant mockingly waved at "Recoil" and the world dissolved into light.

Taylor Hebert's POV

Taylor had experienced a very confusing few days. First there was that...odd...event at the end of Mr. Quinlan's class on Friday. Odd really wasn't doing it justice. The cape...the Hero...that had appeared in the middle of her classroom. She knew who he was. Everyone in the Bay did at this point. Captain Kaleidoscope. The man being hailed as the next Eidolon had appeared at her school...to help her. At first, she'd thought he'd somehow found out she'd joined the Undersiders and come to arrest her. She fully intended to become a hero eventually...as soon as she figured out who the Undersiders' mysterious backer was, she would turn them in and be a real hero. For that to be ruined now...by someone like that.

But no, he'd just smiled reassuringly and glared at Emma. At Emma! For bullying her! Someone had finally noticed! And boy what a someone! She was giddy for most of the rest of the day even though her classmates had given her a wide, wide berth, as though afraid just brushing against her by accident would summon down the wrath of one of the three most powerful capes in the world on them. Under the aegis of Captain Kaleidoscope's protection she'd discovered that, while school still sucked, it wasn't anything at all like the hell the trio had turned it into for her. She had just hoped it would stick.

Then, when she'd gotten to school this morning, Sophia hadn't been there. The teachers wouldn't say where she'd gone. Emma and Madison had gotten called to the office halfway through the day and hadn't come back either. Then they'd called her. The administration had backslid so fast on the bullying issue she imagined that Principal Blackwell must have whiplash. She didn't know what had lit such a fire under them but was relatively certain said something wore a white bodysuit and cloak. She couldn't help but grin. It seemed things were looking up. As she walked through the Docks to the Undersiders' loft she felt that lingering doubt in the back of her mind again. She really felt guilty about taking advantage of them like this but didn't see how she could back out now. She hesitated outside for a second, then braced herself and walked inside. The others were there when she got upstairs, all with costumes on their bodies and strange expressions on their faces.

"Did something happen?" she asked. Lisa frowned.

"I'm not sure." she said. "I think something may be happening with the boss. He sent me a message saying he was coming to meet us. That's not like him at all. It set off huge warning flares with my power." That didn't sound good.

"Anything that spooks Lisa this much can't be good." Brian said. Alec didn't seem interested in the slightest but had his sceptre handy anyway. Rachel herself remained silent, but her dogs were prowling around the room. They seemed to have picked up on the tension.

"I guess I should go change too." she said and made her way to the room she'd selected earlier last week. Quickly changing into her spider silk costume she rejoined the others. No sooner had she done so the room was filled with a bright flash of rainbow light. One she remembered all too well. 'No.' she thought. 'He can't be a villain...' But it made sense. That was why he'd helped her. That was why he'd come to her aid specifically. It couldn't be because he was an actual Hero who cared could it? The world wasn't that kind.

It seemed, however, that the rest of the Undersiders did not share her assessment. Bitch whistled the attack command immediately, the dogs charging in and morphing as they did so. They weren't at full tilt yet but it wouldn't take long. Captain Kaleidoscope backhanded the closest one sending it across the loft and all of them soon found their momentum arrested as they hung immobile in the air.

"Bitch, please." he said dryly, amusement plain in his voice. Regent chuckled in spite of himself.

"Enough." Grue said as his darkness spread the room. "We're all just going to calm down." he said. Then she heard the Captain's voice mutter something and an incredibly, ridiculously bright light seared through the darkness. Then a strange distortion rippled through the room and it was gone. Eyeing all of them Captain Kaleidoscope very deliberately lifted a terrarium containing...was that a King Cobra? He met Lisa's eyes and placed the terrarium on the table. Lisa looked incredibly confused and looked at him questioningly. He smirked, lifted an eyebrow, then looked meaningfully at the snake then back at her.

The corners of Lisa's mouth twitched. Captain Kaleidoscope smiled. Lisa's shoulders began to shake and she giggled. The snake hissed angrily. Then Lisa lost all composure as she doubled over, grabbed her sides, and laughed like she had never laughed before.

Cortana's POV

As Cortana practiced with her new weapons that James had collected for her from an alternate of her own universe, she couldn't help but feel slightly giddy. Since her creation, her only means to interact with the world had been her voice. She could examine data. She could theorize and hypothesize, but she could never actually go out into the world and change it. Well, now she could. She didn't have to be relegated to mission control anymore. She didn't have to piggyback with someone else all the time. She had a body now. She had armor. She had weapons. She had agency! It was such a liberating concept. She felt rather touched that James had actually followed through and procured a body for her. She also knew that the primary reason he had wanted a Tinker on his team was to facilitate this very development. Oh, he genuinely liked Uber and Leet. That much was obvious. He wouldn't go to such lengths otherwise. There were many other easier and more reliable options if that were the case. He wanted them to have the chance to make themselves better. He hired them because he cared about what happened to them. Just, she realized, as he cared about what happened to her.

She knew he felt guilty leaving her behind at the base so much which was why he'd taken to integrating her with his suit, but even then he wasn't satisfied because he was worried. While he could survive being blown apart she wouldn't have. She also knew he was worried about the prospect of her rampancy a few years down the line. She'd tried to assuage his concerns about it. After all, who knows if rampancy was still a thing she'd have to deal with? Maybe whatever cosmic being had sent them here had solved that problem for them. It could be wishful thinking, but it was something to hope for at least.

She also desperately wanted to meet this other AI, this Dragon she'd heard so much about. It was no small part of the reason she wanted to be a part of this hero thing. James had instructed her to avoid contact with Dragon until she was freed since, if Saint discovered her existence, she'd become a target for him. Personally, she believed he was being overly protective again. She wasn't limited as Dragon was. Saint would not find her easy pickings and that was totally ignoring the fact that James would assist her if she was somehow defeated. For someone so powerful James was certainly reluctant to use it to the fullest. She was irritated by that on some level, as well as by the fact that he seemed to perceive life as a joke.

'Still' she thought, 'I guess whatever phenomenal cosmic entity brought us here could have done much worse than him.'

She sighted down the range, pulled the trigger on the battle rifle, and grinned.

"Look out Earth Bet. Cortana is here...in the flesh."

Chapter 15

My eyebrow twitched as Tattletale held her sides and wiped the tears from her eyes. She looked at me, then at the snake, then started laughing again. I sighed and started tapping my fingers against the side of my leg impatiently. The wand I banished back to my pocket dimension, being careful to conceal the action via my cloak.

"Put them down." Bitch growled at me. She looked to be about a split second away from attacking.

"Stop using your power." I challenged with no expression whatsoever. I'd decided that the appropriate way to communicate with Bitch was to foregoe social cues entirely and be incredibly blunt. Speak only what I absolutely had to and be very direct about what I wanted. The dogs shrank. I nodded. The dogs were released from my grip and I switched out Jean's X-gene, returning to a baseline human. I didn't know how Tattletale's power would react to an inhuman physiology. I could probably play merry hell with her conclusions by continually modifying my body as she tried to read me, but I didn't really want to. I wanted her to vouch for me. At this point in time her word was pretty much gospel to these kids and I intended to take advantage of that. I could use Shaper to interfere with the information her power was sending if it was absolutely needed, but only if it was absolutely needed. I didn't want it getting out just yet that I could supress or remove someone's power, especially if the mechanism by which I did so became known as well. Furthermore, I didn't believe that I could use that trick to spoof the information her power was transmitting on my best day. The best I could probably manage is cutting the signal off.

I took in the Undersiders. Guy in black leather with motorcycle helmet surrounded by darkness. Grue, check. Frilly shirt with scepter and a renaissance-themed mask. Regent, check. Bulky girl with dog mask. Bitch, check. Dark purplish costume with domino mask. Tattletale, check. Finally, insect-themed dark spider silk costume. Skitter, check.

As we waited for Tattletale to compose herself I began.

"So...if any of you aren't yet aware, I'm going by the name Captain Kaleidoscope these days." I stated. Regent snorted.

"Yeah...I think I speak for everyone when I say we know who you are." he replied dryly.

"Not the time Regent." Grue replied. "What do you want with us?" he demanded tensely. I lifted my arms in a placating gesture.

"I'm not here to arrest you or anything. I know you got a message a short while ago that your "boss" wanted to meet with you. Well, I sent that message." I said. I wasn't entirely sure, but their body language looked doubtful. Except for Taylor, who was now fidgeting nervously. Wonder what that's about. Well it looks like Tattletale is finally coming around.

"Hahah...hah...he's telling the truth." she managed breathlessly.

"Wait so...you're our boss?!" Grue asked disbelievingly. I gave him a double take.

"Wha...NO! Coil was!" I said. Taylor sagged in relief like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

"But you just said..." he trailed off confusedly. Tattletale chuckled again then interrupted.

"The snake is Coil. The 'Captain' here actually turned him into a snake somehow." she said. The others were quite for a second.

"How the hell did you manage that!?" Regent asked in disbelief.

"Magic." I replied seriously. Tattletale's eyes widened slightly and she moved her hand to her head as though in pain.

"Psh. Yeah right. Seriously how'd you do it?" he asked.

"He's telling the truth as he sees it." Tattetale replied. "He must be one of those capes whose powers don't really make sense."

"My powers make perfect sense to me..." I replied while pouting childishly.

"Well what you choose to believe is your own business." she responded airily. Did I detect a bit of condescension there? My eyebrow twitched again. Oh well, if she dismissed magic as outright impossible that just made my life easier. She'd eventually start singing a different tune if our association continued.

"I think the more important question here is, if that IS our boss, and you don't intend to arrest us, then why are you here?" Everyone settled at that. I quirked a grin, careful not to bear any teeth.

"Well why don't you read these and find out!" I declared happily then started passing out pamphlets.

"'The Kaleidoscope and You: A super-awesome guide to a brighter future.'" Grue read blankly. They opened the pamphlets and started reading. They all, apart from Taylor, started chuckling at various points.

"This is bullshit." Grue summed up. Most of them nodded in agreement. "You want to, what, reform us? Turn us into heroes? I hate to break it to you but we're all currently wanted for various crimes, some of us for murder. That isn't the sort of thing people just forgive and forget." he said dismissively. My eyebrow twitched again. Soooo much condescension.

"You know, given the fact you're currently sharing a room with one of the most powerful individuals in the world, the fact that he's a teleporter with a truly, truly absurd range and no Manton limit, and given the fact that the only reason you aren't ALREADY in PRT custody is his desire to help you, I should think you could tone down the cheek a bit." I said testily. I could practically feel them get nervous again as they remembered who they were talking to.

"Why is that anyway?" Regent asked. "Why should you give a damn about us?"

"Yeah and you helped me with...!" Taylor cut herself off suddenly. Oh, she just remembered she was in costume.

"Helped you with your bullying problem, yes." I replied. She recoiled as if struck.

"I'm not...! I mean...!" she started to exclaim, rapidly glancing at the others. I interrupted quickly.

"It's okay I know all about it." I smiled at her, once again baring no teeth. "Hopefully it wont be necessary." I said. She relaxed slightly. "Should I need a reason to help you if I want to?" I asked weakly.

"No...they're on the right track." Tattletale said. "You want to help us specifically, and Taylor especially. All those various little good will projects you do? You did them exactly so that this wouldn't look suspicious when you got around to it." she stated with certainty. The others' body language had shifted again, seeming defensive this time. I sighed.

"Okay...yes. You caught me. I do want to help you guys in particular and the reasoning for that is completely irrational and self-centered. You've never done anything for me or to me. You've done nothing whatsoever to appear on my radar." I admitted.

"Then why...?" Grue trailed off.

"Because he knows us." Tattletale declared much to the general shock of the room. "I don't know how, but he knows a lot about us. More than he should. He knows about our problems, knows our identities, knows..." she gasped. "This campaign of yours...to reform us. You know something, something that we don't. You know what's coming. Are...are you from the future?" she asked. Everyone else in the room, Bitch included, drew in a breath at that. Even Coil looked poleaxed. Well...as poleaxed as a snake can look, which isn't very. I breathed out slowly.

"I'm really starting to hate that ability of yours." I declared. What parts of her face were visible obviously paled as her guess was, more or less, confirmed. "I am not from the future, but I have seen it." I admitted, then I grew serious.

"I know what would have happened to all of you without my intervention. I know what this city, and this world, would have been witness to over the next few years. That future can be summed up through three simple words. It. Gets. Worse. For all of you and over the course of two years it constantly and consistently gets worse. One threat after another, one calamity after another, this city and you all in particular were hit over and over. To your credit none of you bowed or broke under the strain. You held up admirably all the way through. Even with most of humanity gone you kept at it. You all had a very important role in this future, and on some level I'm sorry to have taken that away from you, but I have. I've already changed enough that the future I saw can't come to pass, at least not exactly as it was. Furthermore, I'm going to keep changing things without any regard for what should have been. Before too long that future will be irrevocably changed and any knowledge I possess of what would have been will be rendered useless by the butterfly effect." I finished. They all looked, pleadingly I felt, to Tattletale. As if begging her to refute me.

"Sorry guys...that's the truth." she said. No one spoke for a few minutes after that as I allowed them time to digest what I had just told them.

"So then..." Grue started. "What happens to us that's so terrible that you decided to take a personal interest?" he asked. 'You die.' I thought. I couldn't really meet his eyes at the moment and declined to answer. Tattletale flinched. I looked at her with sorrow.

"Sorry..." I said. "If you'd like I can supress your power until I leave so you don't have to find out anything else you'd rather not know." I offered.

"Wait a minute...you can take away people's powers!" Taylor exclaimed. I nodded.

"That isn't common knowledge but yes. I'd appreciate it if you all kept that fact to yourselves." They nodded hastily. "So how about it?" I asked.

Tattletale shakily shook her head in the negative. "No I...I think I'd rather you didn't. I can handle it." she declared. "Like you said, it isn't the future anymore." I smiled at her in approval.

"You're right. It isn't." I assured. "You have me to help out this time so you don't have to worry quite as much." I said, trying to cheer her up. She offered a weak smile.

"I know you took care of Coil and I'm thankful for that, but what else do you want from us?" she asked seriously. I took a breath then made my pitch.

"Okay so, basically, I've taken down the ABB a few days ago. The other gangs have been hesitant to do anything because, you know, they have an Eidolon knockoff flying around their city." I stated wryly. A few of them snorted. Tattletale started grinning smugly at me. Yeesh already caught on that huh? "At any rate, sooner or later they'll realize that I'm not going anywhere. They'll also realize that I'm not always in this city. When that happens, they'll also realize that all the territory the ABB used to own is up for grabs. The power balance will be thrown off." I declared.

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Taylor interjected. "Aren't you happy you took out the ABB?"

"Of course I am." I responded. "They were like the Asian version of nazis. Acceptable targets." I waved it off and Regent chuckled. "They were also a fine place to start thanks to your efforts. Between that and Bakuda it made sense to strike while the iron was hot." I said. She started fidgeting again, apparently unused to praise. God she reminded me of Chopper from One Piece right now. No! Bad mind! We mustn't cuddle Taylor. That way lies lawsuits! Besides, just remember this is the girl who kills Alexandria. She's a deadly, deadly, ridiculously adorkable person. Lisa started snickering at me and I figured it was time to move on.

"Even though I'm glad they're gone, that means the other gangs might well degenerate into open war if left alone. If that happens I'd like you all to coordinate with Uber, Leet, and another Tinker who recently entered my employ to help mind things 'back at the ranch' whilst I prepare for and deal with larger threats. I'd be willing to make it extremely worth your while if that's your concern." I offered.

"How much worth our while?" Regent asked. I sighed. Of course.

"Well money isn't really much of an object." I said. "I can supply you with pretty much whatever you want or need. Resources and equipment likewise."

"Hmm...who's the other Tinker you'd have us working with?" Grue asked in a considering tone.

"I...don't believe she's chosen a name yet." I admitted. "She's...very new at this sort of thing."

"Based on the condition that Coil's in would it be safe to assume that you've taken his assets too?" Tattletale asked. I frowned slightly.

"Well yes, but I'd already decided to dismantle his organization when I captured him." I said. "You all are welcome to the various bases and boltholes he's set up throughout the city if you like though. You'll have to share the space with my people as well as the Travelers for the time being, and the main base is still under construction so you'll have to tolerate that as well." I said.

"My dogs don't like loud noises." Bitch said. I looked at her face carefully blank.

"That's fine." I replied. "We can wait until the construction is over before moving them. In the meantime, have a puppy." I said, whilst using the Kaleidoscope to retrieve the nearest stray puppy, apparently pulling it out from under my cloak. She scowled at me, but she DID take the puppy and walk off to find food for it.

"Smooth Captain, real smooth." Tattletale said with humor in her voice.

"Hey! I just don't really know how to talk to her that's all!" I defended.

"No no. In all honesty up until that stray puppy bit you were doing quite well. Now though she's not sure if you're making fun of her or not." I sighed.

"Little of column A and a little of column B?" I offered. Regent chuckled. "At any rate, do you all think this is something you might be interested in?" I asked.

Grue looked at the other members of his team uncertainly. "We'll...have to think about it. I assume that, with Coil out of the picture, our previous arrangement is out of the picture." he said. My face hardened.

"Yes it most certainly is." I declared. "I don't mind if you turn me down. I don't even mind if you decide to keep being villains. But you need to understand something. If you keep on as you are in spite of what I'm offering you, then irrational attachment or no I will eventually take you down. I'd like to help you, but that's not really my concern if you all aren't willing to let me."

He sighed. "Yeah, that's about what I thought. Given the whole 'I can see the future.' thing I'm sure you probably know about this. If we sign up with you, you'll help out with my sister?"

"I swear it." I declared. "Anything you need to make it happen." He nodded.

"It'll depend on the others then but I'm okay with it." he said.

"Alright then. Last thing before I go. Taylor, could I talk to you in private for a second?" I asked, clapping my hands together.

"Uhm...I guess so." she said uncertainly. Tattletale nodded encouragingly at her. She followed me as we walked to the bottom floor. I quietly erected a small bounded field to dampen our conversation.

"So..." she started. Good lord this felt awkward.

"So...how about that weather lately?" I started lamely. She chuckled a bit.

"I should probably thank you...for helping out at Winslow I mean." she said.

"Nah." I said. "I've done as much for other people too. It was no big deal."

"Still." she said. "It meant...a lot. Thank you." I rubbed the back of my neck.

"Well...you're welcome. So, listen, the thing I wanted to talk to you about. I know that when you joined the Undersiders you were going to betray them to the Protectorate." she flinched slightly.

"Well yeah, but if they're going to be heroes now..." she started.

"You should tell them." I interrupted. She stopped short.

"What?" she asked.

"Lisa already knows." I told her. "She just didn't care. She was pretty sure you would change your mind. You should absolutely tell the others though if you plan on staying."

"...would I have? Changed my mind I mean?" she asked. I blew out a breath.

"That's kind of a complicated question. The short answer is yes. The long answer is yes after a lot of stuff went down and you guys bonded. They really are mostly good people." I told her.

"So I really became a villain..." she said.

"Pretty successful one at least." I offered. "Your name in the original timeline was Skitter."

"Skitter..." she tasted the sound of it. "It sounds villainous."

"Well yeah...that was kind of the point." I told her with a half-lidded gaze. "To be honest, though, your powers are going to scare people no matter which side you're on. It's a primal thing. You can literally go old testament on someone's ass." She chuckled.

"Well...maybe I'll stick with it then. I'll have to think about it. Have any more advice oh fortune teller?" she asked.

"Yeah...you should probably tell your dad what's going on before he finds out much later down the line and in the worst possible way." I stated ominously.

"...that was pretty specific." she whispered.

"Yup." I said while popping the 'p'. "It'd really be a good idea to fix that." I told her sympathetically. "If you want me to be there for it I don't mind. I need to talk to your dad at some point anyway." I said.

"You want to talk to my dad? Why?" she asked suspiciously. I started to grin uncontrollably.

"I want to hire the Dockworkers' Association to work on a project I've got in mind." I said grinning brightly. She looked at my grinning face with what seemed like trepidation.

"Dare I ask?"

"Probably not. Ignorance is bliss and all that." I said sagely. "It'll take a while but once it comes together it will be hi~larious." I told her.

"I'll take your word for it." she said. "Should we head back up now?"

"Yep I got everything I wanted to say out of the way. Let's rejoin the others." We headed back up and I tore down the privacy field I'd set up.

Once I got back upstairs I retrieved Coil's terrarium. He hissed at me and I purposefully flared up some Kryptonian angry-red heat vision eyes to quiet him down.

"Well...it's just been a blast you guys." I told them. "Lisa you can get in touch with 'Coil' via the same number you've always used and you can use this number to get in touch with me." I manifested a prismatic white business card with my cell number on it then placed it on a nearby table. "Let me know when you're ready to sign up. Oh and, since I know all of your names, my name is James."

"If we sign up." Grue corrected. I shrugged.

"Whatever lets you sleep at night. Ciao!" I shouted.

The world dissolved into prismatic light.

Uber and Leet's Base

I materialized in a shady corner that Geoff and John had set aside for that very purpose. They claimed that, even if I knew I wasn't going to telefrag anyone, I should have the courtesy to not pop up in their faces while they were doing something delicate. I had grudgingly agreed. As I stepped through to Leet's workshop I noticed that everything was quiet...that almost never happened in my experience. I looked around and found a note attached to the fridge:

'Gone out to try this hero business.' - U&L and then, beneath that, a smaller note.

'Me too.' - Cortana. My eyebrow started twitching again. Really? Tell me she didn't take the-

Yep.

She took the Ghost.


	5. Chapter 5

Chosen

"Taylor, there's a package for you," my dad called from downstairs.

A package, for me? On January second?

"Did you order anything, dad?" I called out as I made my way down.

"It's not from me," he replied, and given the tone of unsure curiosity in his voice I actually believed him. "Emma, maybe."

I scowled, happy that dad couldn't currently see my face. "Doubt it," I replied. "I already got a Christmas gift from her." It was sad to think being ignored was a gift, but there it was. I'd take that any day compared to what she'd given me the previous year.

Dad handed me the envelope as I stepped into the kitchen. "Here."

It was one of those padded envelopes, and quite large too. I ripped it open in a moment.

"Well," my father said, whistling as he saw what I'd just received, "someone was being nice."

I nodded dumbly. It was one of those newfangled touchscreen tablets, as big as my two hands. A touch on the big button at the bottom opened the thing, and I blazed through the new user installation in a minute.

Even better, it somehow had internet, and I could now reliably access the web from home without having to deal with our barely-working dial-up modem!

"Any clue who sent it?" Dad asked.

I checked the envelope again. There wasn't much there, outside Dad's address and the sender's, there wasn't anything.

"Dad, you know anyone in Virginia?" I asked.

"Maybe a cousin?" He answered, clearly unsure. "Nobody that really comes to mind," he then added.

"This address mean anything to you?" I replied, handing him the envelope.

It said 1 Robert Oliver Boulevard , Robinson-on-beach, Virginia.

"Doesn't ring a bell," he admitted after a moment.

I went back to this pad and to the internet, its provenance quickly forgotten. Internet connectivity had been one of the things we'd had to restrict due to how tight the family budget was, and it was a good escape from the rising tension that came from having to return to school tomorrow.

Dad did check on things for the next few minutes, but in the end he went back to his own activities.

By dinner, the question of who had sent such an expensive gift had been completely forgotten.

I couldn't sleep.

I'd gone to bed as usual, if a little later, but found I just couldn't sleep.

And I had no clue why.

Some of it was probably some not completely subconscious anxiety toward having to go back and once more deal with Emma and the rest of the trio, but it didn't have the same edge as it usually had. None of the sweating, or stress, or horrible mental images that usually stopped me from being rested.

Just simple inability to sleep. I'd been twisting and turning for much longer than usual, and it had already been thirty minutes of that.

I turned to my clock and saw it click up to midnight, and as it did my new pad beeped and flashed. I grabbed it, for lack of better things to do, and checked what this message was.

And found myself on the opening page of some game.

It was called Worm CYOA, whatever that last word meant. Reading the first few paragraphs, I quickly noticed it was one of those games where you built yourself as a cape with powers and the like, using a point-buy system.

Well, that wasn't a first for me at least; I'd played a similar game at camp years ago. Slowly working my way through it, I had to admit it was better built than the one from that one game I'd played. It didn't go as if powers were everything, and a little less than half the options were actually non-power options.

It also took itself very seriously.

It was clearly based on a person inserting himself or herself as a cape, even specifying that one didn't have to spend character points, one of the two currencies this game used, to have skills one already had in real life.

As such, I started thinking of what I would do given this very set of options.

I mainly applied that train of thought as I went through the many powers there. I had to give whoever built this credit; whoever they were, they'd given people a lot of interesting options to work with. Eleven powers for each classification, each with two settings. All were interesting in some shape or form, with lower cost powers having still clear uses.

Even better, the game never devolved into geek lingo, basing their mechanics on logical numbers and distances instead of things like die rolls or incremental skill bonuses.

I was still thinking about what I'd chose when I hit the section based on one's selected path. I'd clearly take hero, of course, but I still read the entire thing top to bottom.

And hit something that made chills go down my back just at the thought of it.

The last path was Endbringer, and like many other paths it had special options one could take for more power. In that particular case, disadvantages, selections that would allow your Endbringer character more powers in exchange for drawbacks.

And one of said drawbacks was exactly this:

All non-active Endbringers that shouldn't exist at this moment are now active, bringing them to a total number of twenty.

I cringed at the very idea.

I'd been young when the newest Endbringer, the Simurgh, had arrived, but history classes had told that story well enough. The three of them hadn't arrived as a group, but rather one after the other, each time increasing the pace of their attacks.

And I'd never even contemplated the idea that she might not be the last. Now, however, I couldn't help but think about it.

Twenty Endbringers, if their pattern held, would bring attacks to around one every twenty days. Each of those attacks meant thousands of dead, and dozens of deceased capes.

The world wouldn't make it.

In fact, one or two more Endbringers might be enough to tip the balance, depending on how much damage they could deal. If cape casualties rose enough, there would quickly be a slow decline until they could basically no longer be fought effectively.

That's when a detail came to mind.

Going back up, I quickly verified the last and costliest Master power on the list. The base setting was good, with the user having his own personal Endbringer, but the second trigger version allowed one to control all the Endbringers, not just their personal one.

That was what I would take.

Not because it was powerful or useful, even though it was, but for the sheer number of lives I would save.

I wanted to be a hero, to help the city and even the world, but simply removing the thrice yearly attacks the Endbringers performed would save more lives than any other power I could chose, and that was if I had them stand around doing nothing until I died.

And I would never do just that.

I clicked that option and selected its second trigger ability, then selected the powers my own Endbringer would have. I even added a couple of defects including the one that activated all the Endbringers, ending up with a personal protector having four very strong powers.

I found my entire selection appearing after a second in a column on the side, where there were already other items selected. A few disadvantages that I expected were the classic starting options for a first time player.

Along with a big red warning indicating I was missing points to complete my build.

My selection cost me 28 shard points, which were the currency used to buy powers, but unfortunately my current options only gave me 23.

I was missing five points.

The issue was, there weren't many options that gave more points.

There was Case 53, but that would make it evident I was a cape, and not something I would chose given the opportunity. Having my powers want to kill me also wasn't the best idea, given said power would have the Endbringers as puppets to do so. Psychic nosebleed would make my power unreliable, which wasn't a good idea when I might be the only thing holding the Endbringers back, and numbed emotions was an even worse choice.

Slowly becoming a sociopath while having control of some of the most powerful beings in existence was asking for everything to go terribly wrong.

After some thinking, I did select the Slaughterhouse Nine option. They were horrible from what little I knew, but I was pretty sure the Simurgh alone trumped them, and whether or not I selected this option I'd be doing something about them at some point.

Unfortunately, that still left me three points short.

I rechecked each option that gave shard points, and was sad to notice that heroes (and rogues, which would have been my second option) were meant to be short on such points. Just deciding to be a villain would give me enough points to buy what I wanted, even with some to spare.

As did Vigilante.

I reread the parts on paths more carefully. The hero section did point out the corruption inherent in the system, and there were even hints that this Cauldron conspiracy was involved given they could somehow insert people in Protectorate ranks.

In the end, the choice was between becoming an ambivalent vigilante (as in, fighting heroes and villains both) or taking Psychic Nosebleed.

Personally, I suspected I'd more easily live with not being an official hero than the consequences of an unreliable power.

(Anyway, it seemed the main disadvantage of being a vigilante was being unable to make money effectively, and that wasn't the criteria I'd use if I had the opportunity to become a cape.)

That actually left me with a single shard point left.

There were actually many tempting options for that, but most had unfortunate drawbacks.

Cosmetic Shapeshift and Peak Condition were two options I'd have really appreciated, but unfortunately they'd make it evident that something had happened. Pocket Room was tempting, the idea that I could carry whatever I wanted with me without anybody being able to steal or harm my stuff, but in the end I decided taking Power Sight was a better idea for a cape. Knowing the abilities of your enemies was the best way to make sure you didn't end up surprised.

With that part of my build done, I turned to skills and equipment.

I had a lot of character points left for those, especially given that all of my disadvantages ended up giving me some. I did try to remove some of these without success, then shrugged and turned to equipment.

Vigilantes had nice equipment options, and they actually included Tinkertech. Even better, I could grab more than one instance of those, which was a good way of spending points, especially given that I had enough of those to buy every single skills listed.

So, I passed the sniper rifle, sword, and bombs to grab six instances of Tinkertech and a toolbelt. Added to that came a secret lair and a thematic costume (power armor felt like it would come with maintenance issues, and I wasn't enough of an artist to go for a custom costume).

I still had points after that, so I grabbed a couple of skills. Marksmanship was first, given I might need to defend myself, and that guns were unfortunately very common in Brockton Bay. Next came hacking, because computer class was my favourite, and I finished my selection with parkour because who didn't want to master parkour?

I did a last check and nodded. Yeah, that was really the kind of build I'd go for if I was in a situation like this one.

Suddenly realizing that it was still night, I turned to the clock and noticed it was now past one. I swore, and reflexively pressed save on the screen…

I woke up feeling rested, and turned around to look at the clock. As I did that, I hit something solid, and fumbled around to grab the offending item. Then I reached for my glasses.

Now able to see properly, I realized that the pad I got yesterday had somehow made its way into my bed. I remembered placing it on the nightstand with my glasses before I tucked in, then…

I didn't remember anything after that. I probably was asleep pretty soon after hitting the pillow.

I put back the pad where it should have been. I wasn't going to bring it to school, that was for certain; the trio might have tapered down their attacks in the last month or so, but that was no reason to incite trouble.

I went through my routine as usual, and took the bus to school. Dad was already gone by then, and from what he said might be late tonight.

School was school, and I couldn't help but feel… apprehensive as I walked through the doors. I didn't have any homework or anything of the kind due for today, but after my experiences in Winslow I would never really feel safe here, regardless of what happened.

Also, there was this energy, this anticipation in the air. Maybe it was simply classmates meeting again after a long break, or something similar, but there was something palpable in the atmosphere.

Probably nothing to do with me.

Five minutes later, I was stuck in the darkness of my locker, screaming myself hoarse and at the same time trying not to gag as I did my best to ignore the masses of things moving under me.

I blanked out at some point, and by that time was I was so out of it that I couldn't even realize that falling unconscious was a good thing.

684

Seraviel

Dec 27, 2018

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Seraviel

Seraviel

Fanfic Author by Night

Dec 29, 2018

#51

AN:

On the Fourth day after Christmas, Seraviel gave to SB

More Chosen coming from me!

(It is shorter than the previous part, but that's just the way the story cuts off. Next part is twice this one in size.)

As always, thank you all for reading, commenting and correcting.

Special thanks go to the members of the GAG (LordsFire, Mizuki_Stone, Robo Jesus, Speaker4thesilent, The MMR) for their help with building and discussing this. This would have been a lot worse and a lot less fun without their help.

Have fun reading, and happy holidays!

Chosen

I woke up to something like cymbals in my head.

I had no clue where I was, though I could guess given the hospital bed I was in, nor any idea what time it was. There was, however, a lasting echo that rang through my brain.

And my ears couldn't detect where it came from.

A few seconds more didn't help in finding the sources, though slowly some details became evident.

It wasn't a single ringing sound, no, what I was hearing where dozens, hundreds of them, chained so fast one after the other that they could be mistaken for a single note.

Second, while my ears couldn't tell this sound's provenance, my brain somehow could. I could have pointed to it unerringly, a long distance to what I supposed was south. Two presences were there, and from what I guess they were fighting.

And they weren't the only new things I could feel.

There were nineteen more of said presences, spread in all directions. Most alone though there were a few pairs, all idling and waiting.

I didn't have time to think about those before the chorus of noise in my brain rose to a new crescendo, sending a stronger spike of pain through.

"Stop it!" I exclaimed, trying to get some control on the situation.

The noise cut off suddenly. [Agreement][Agreement], two voices instantly answered, still in my head. Said answers weren't really words but closer to feelings, but I could easily parse them.

I digested that in silence for a moment. Now that I could think more easily, I could feel more from these presences. Not thoughts per se, but a feeling more like the impression you get when someone's visibly waiting for you, all of that without the pressure that usually came with such a thing.

I would have studied that more, but a nurse chose that moment to step inside, and I quickly had other things to think about. Doctors, tests, food, and dad quickly started vying for my attention, and the presences in my head faded back easily now that the sounds of fighting were gone.

And I had other things to think about.

The next three days passed in a blur. Between the various medical procedures I had to go through, the discussions with dad, and the time I spent asleep, I didn't have time to really go back to the twenty-one presences in my head.

But, when I was back home with strict orders not to exert myself, I didn't have anything else to do.

I could tell they hadn't moved from wherever they were, not one bit. The two that had been fighting (somewhere close to the arctic, somehow, was my best guess) were still within hands' reach of each other, but they hadn't started their battle again in the last seventy-five hours.

They hadn't done anything at all.

Hello, I tried sending out as a test, you there?

[Presence], twenty-one voices answered, once again more feelings than words. I could tell the voices apart, each having its own… resonance, or harmony… even though the answers were somehow exactly the same.

What are you? I sent next. I was pretty sure they weren't human, especially given their actions and method of communication.

Also, being polite inside your own head isn't something that comes naturally.

Once again, I received twenty-one answers, all of them similar.

But I couldn't parse those.

They'd never talked with words, really, and this time was no exception. What they communicated were feelings, and those were what I got.

It was fear and pride, loyalty and devotion. There a clear sense of being part of a plan, and a trust that seemed without limit. There was a sense of patience and endurance beyond what humans were able, and a mechanical precision with endless attention to detail. There was also an undercurrent of stealth, and hidden might that was waiting to be shown, and would not be until the right moment.

And, even with all of that, I had no clue what I was talking to.

I decided to try another track, then. Where are you?

I didn't receive feelings this time, but sets of numbers. Long ones, and ones I had no frame of reference to evaluate.

I sighed. Could you be more understandable, please? I thought, mostly to myself this time.

But I still got answers.

A chorus of [Disapproval] answered me, but not from everyone. There were three [Approval] amongst those.

And I focused on these specific presences.

Two were part of pairs, one being one of the fighters from before. The last was one alone, and that one seemed… more present? Closer?

I decided to focus on it.

So, you can make yourself understood? I sent, trying to target only that specific presence.

[Approval]

Only one answer this time. Good.

Do so.

[Agreement]

It still wasn't the kind of answer I expected, but after a second's thought I realized that I had understood that, so that answer was technically correct.

I decided to simply push forward. What are you?

What I received as a reply was… an URL?

I grabbed the pad that was next to me and quickly typed the address. It actually led to a camera, on that was currently tracking a sky-borne object live.

The Simurgh.

I dropped the pad in shock, and swore. You shitting me?!

[Denial]

You can't be the Simurgh!

[Negation. Possibility] Added to that was a clear feeling of self pride, of certain knowledge of oneself.

My thoughts derailed all over the place for a good minute, until a way to prove the impossible fame to mind.

Wave, I ordered.

[Agreement]

On live camera, I saw the Simurgh turn straight towards my viewpoint, uncurl a pair of wings on her right side, and wave.

Salute with your right hand, then your left.

[Agreement]

Two more wings unfolded, and she did both salutes, holding position while saluting with her left arm.

Return to your previous position.

[Agreement]

She did exactly that, curling back on herself and turning away from the camera.

I just stood there, shocked. I wanted to think that this was some kind of prank, that the trio were now bothering me outside of school, but that sounded flimsy even to myself.

I verified the site, and it was in fact what it said it was: the internet presence of a long range camera dedicated to tracking the Simurgh when she was within range.

Also, I wasn't the only one who'd noticed her actions. The site had a forum for people interested in the Endbringer's movements, and they were heavily discussing the last few minutes.

The words 'Simurgh plot' were flying everywhere, of course.

Could I have been the target of the Endbringer's song, and not noticed the fact?

I spend the next hour verifying the Simurgh's movements. Luckily, she was the easiest tracked, and there were long pages of logs noting her travels and actions.

And, yes, today's activity had already been added in.

Going backwards, I found that the closest I'd been to the Endbringer at any moment close to now was when she hit Madison more than a year ago.

And that was a thousand miles away.

If the Simurgh had that type of range, humanity would already be dead.

This brought that option off the table.

There were only two other possibilities that came to mind: either I'd gone insane, or I now had powers that allowed me to either talk or control the Endbringers.

It says a lot about my life than the former seemed more likely.

Still, outside the voices in my head, nothing fit my mind having given up the ghost. Others were reacting to the Simurgh's movements, so unless I'd managed to land on delusions that were realistic enough that I couldn't tell the difference between what was fake and what wasn't, I was still sane.

Which meant I had powers.

Even with all the I'd just gone through, I nearly called the Simurgh to Brockton Bay just to prove I really had powers, only stopping when I realized what would be the consequences of such a thing. The Endbringer alarms, people rushing the shelters, stampede and panic, possibly people having heart attacks at the idea of an Endbringer visiting…

Yeah, that idea was scrapped.

But I had another, better one.

All of you, I sent all twenty-one, find a place where humans won't see or detect you, and hide there as a group. Do nothing else than that until I say otherwise.

That should at least stop the Simurgh from doing anything harmful until I thought about it more.

[Agreement] came the reply from every presence I was connected to.

The result was instantaneous; the presences started moving in seconds. Some jumped instantly somewhere, while others started moving at various speeds toward that same point. A quick check on the camera from before revealed that the Simurgh was gone, and checking the earlier recordings showed her vanishing into thin air less than two minutes ago.

Which, of course, didn't help everyone on the forum that was currently freaking out.

Still, I decided to put the Simurgh and the rest of those presences behind me for now, at least for today. If I was right, they shouldn't be a danger from their current spot, and I could wait until I dealt with them more definitely.

I rose and went to grab some juice, then returned to bed and the net.

After what I'd dealt with, spending some time on PHO was just what the doctor ordered.

Last edited: Oct 31, 2019

726

Seraviel

Dec 29, 2018

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Seraviel

Seraviel

Fanfic Author by Night

Dec 30, 2018

#94

AN:

On the Fifth day after Christmas, Seraviel gave to SB

Newest story up to part three!

As always, thank you all for reading, commenting and correcting.

Special thanks go to the members of the GAG (LordsFire, Mizuki_Stone, Robo Jesus, Speaker4thesilent, The MMR) for their help with building and discussing this. This would have been a lot worse and a lot less fun without their help.

Have fun reading, and happy holidays!

Chosen

One day became three with the weekend; dad made sure to stay with me the entire time, watching movies and generally simply spending time with me. He never asked about the locker, though it was clear he wanted to; I was just glad to have as long a reprieve from that situation as possible.

That meant that I next contacted those presences in my head on Monday morning, straight after eating breakfast alone.

They were all together some distance in the Atlantic, and like I'd asked they hadn't moved since making their way there. That was good, as the disappearance of the Simurgh had made global news, and the entire Protectorate was on alert in case of an out-of-schedule attack.

You there? I sent. I knew they were, given I could feel them, but I couldn't help but expect everything having been an error or something.

[Presence] The many voices answered.

I sighed. In a way, it was stressing to have something like the Simurgh on the line, but on the other hand there was some comfort at the idea I hadn't really gone insane.

I then took a deep breath. Seeing was believing; I needed to see whatever was on the other side of my connection, if only to prove everything to myself.

What is the best way for me to see at least one of you without anybody else noticing any of you? Regardless of what I wanted, I didn't want to cause a panic.

[Forward. Two meters]

That was the Simurgh's voice, and actual words this time. I didn't understand what she meant at first, but a square hole in reality opened before me, an inch or so taller than I was. Three steps and I was through, stepping outside in weather that was a lot warmer than that of Brockton Bay in the winter.

Then I looked up. And up.

There were remains of a city around me, but I didn't notice that in the least. Before me, titans stood.

The Endbringers.

Behemoth was the first who registered, looking like a rocky human the size of a building. I'd known he was the tallest of the known Endbringers, but there is a difference between a photograph or information on a webpage and the sight of him first hand. I was close enough that I could see the texture of his skin, and my mind belatedly brought up that I was well within range of his so-called kill aura.

Still, nothing happened.

I recognized the Simurgh next, floating a little off to the side of her 'brother'. She was even more impressive in person, as even if she was among the smallest present she still towered over me. There was no trace of her song, which was a comfort.

One of the improbable scenarios I'd cooked up was that this was some bizarre plot for her to turn me into one of her bombs. Silly, given she somehow had had direct contact with my brain for the last week at least, but fear is not rational.

Leviathan was the last I recognized , and that was mainly due to distance. He was farther from where I'd arrived, in the water instead of on the beach, which only now I noticed. Unlike most of the others, he wasn't standing, looking more like a huge lizard enjoying the waves.

And that wasn't saying anything about the rest of them, which I'd never heard of.

I'd known from the start I was connected to twenty-one entities, and there were that many beings around me. The number was actually the reason I'd not thought about Behemoth and Leviathan being present; There were three known Endbringers, and extending that number to twenty-one seemed preposterous.

Only, I was looking at the proof.

There was a humanlike lion surrounded by crystalline shards, and what looked like an armoured knight dressed in ebony armor with patterns like inscribed circuitry. There was a fat man in black and silver, looking a little like a Buddha, and a spiky dragon-like wyrm longer than anybody else present. There was a bizarre being as if one had tried fusing two or three humans together, and given up halfway, leaving it with two torsos and three faces. There was a mass of pseudopods and tentacles in a generally bipedal shape, and a tall tower with gaunt arms, its entire body covered in sand-like skin.

And that was barely half of them, all having the general ruggedness, size, and sheer presence I could only associate with Endbringers.

I couldn't deny it anymore; I had twenty-one Endbringers obeying my commands.

I'd been waiting for the punchline of this joke, and it ended that this was no joke.

I was now one of the most powerful capes on Earth Bet.

I stood there for a long while, thinking. Like all kids born in the last twenty years, I'd played capes and villains. I'd discussed the merits of this cape or that one, and while I didn't really have a favourite, I'd still daydreamed of having powers.

And now I had more than I'd ever thought possible.

What could I do with such power?

While, yes, the answer probably was whatever I wanted, it wasn't like I had an instant solution to all my problems. Sure, the idea that the trio ending up trying to bully Leviathan was a somewhat funny one, but even I found that way too much.

Sure, Behemoth could steamroll both the ABB and the Empire with both hands tied behind his back, but given the average amount of damage Endbringers did Brockton Bay would be wrecked.

And the Simurgh just being present was enough to cause paranoia and terror, even if she did nothing else.

I turned around and walked back through the portal. I needed to think, so sun and beaches didn't feel like the right kind of place to be. A simple message had the Endbringers close the portal behind me, and I returned to my room.

Where I found a number of boxes waiting for me.

I hadn't been gone that long, and the door had been locked, something I even verified.

Still, somehow, there was eight different boxes of varying sizes, all with my name on it.

I was seriously tempted to just throw everything out, but another idea came to mind not longer after that. A simple request had another portal opened in my room, and the Simurgh was perfectly content to move everything on whatever island they were.

I then had her open everything.

She did so with mechanical precision, opening all the boxes at the same time with telekinesis and holding their contents up for review.

Well, that was a nice costume.

The largest box a suit in my size, somehow exactly built to my proportions. It was pretty nice, a dark black with silver trimmings. Grabbing it, I stepped back into my room and changed into it.

I had to admit, it looked kickass on me.

It covered everything but my face and hair, and looked perfectly professional. Comparing how I looked in the mirror to a picture of the Brockton Bay Wards And Protectorate, I looked as serious and professional as any of them.

And like a number of them, my suit had its own pattern. It wasn't a repeated one like Clockblocker's clocks, but the uniform I was wearing had numerous designs in silver placed symmetrically on shoulders, hips, and hands.

I didn't recognize any of them at first, be thinking about them found correlations. A music note surrounded by wings probably represented the Simurgh, and the lizard backed by a wave Leviathan. There was a volcano emitting lightning and a giant worm surrounding what looked like the earth, a snake emitting monster-like steam and a jester standing in front of a broken clock.

And more beside.

The main pattern was right over my chest inscribed on a breastplate, and described a knight's helmet on a shield, but with lines more reminiscent of circuitry than anything else. I suspected that represented that one knight-like Endbringer I saw earlier.

Stepping back on the beach, I saw the rest of what had been in the boxes, and quickly grabbed that as well. The visor there fixed the one issue I'd had with the costume as it hid my eyes, and I clipped the toolbelt on next.

The rest of the equipment ended up going there, though some objects required some reading before I could guess what they were.

And they were all very useful stuff.

A limited use forcefield generator, a multi-setting laser weapon, wall-climbing equipment, a wide spectrum jammer, and a voice modulator, all Tinkertech.

There were long-term heroes that didn't have equipment that good.

I spent the new hour or so reading the various operator's manuals. Most were very short (laser: point at enemy, press trigger. Fires type of shot selected), but some were longer. My new visor ended up taking the longest, with numerous modes and voice commands.

Then, regardless of how interesting my new equipment was (I'd asked the Endbringers; they didn't make it, and they had no clue who did), I was back to my original dilemma.

What to do.

I'd heard at one point the quote "When you can do anything, the hardest part is doing anything". At the time, it hadn't clicked, but now it did.

How did someone know he or she was doing the right thing?

When one didn't have much power, they didn't have much in the way of choices. Sure, in the extremes that was horrible, but the impact of a mistake was proportionally greater the more power you had.

And I didn't want to end up causing the death of someone.

I went through various scenarios, trying to figure out how to best use the forces I had to clean up crime in Brockton Bay. Unfortunately, I couldn't find a scenario that wouldn't risk causing mass panic.

Worse, I couldn't really get help on that. I was the weak point of my own power, and it didn't require much thought to realize that all villain gangs would be hunting me if my power ever came out.

For a second, I saw myself making a thread on PHO, asking exactly that question. I had a good idea on how it would go, based on the various time someone asked what the forumgoers would do if they had Alexandria or Eidolon's powers.

I wonder how Eidolon deals with it, I thought. With his power, he was the closest to the sheer breath of mine. Maybe I could ask, I added sarcastically, I'm sure he would have good suggestions.

As if he had time for someone like me.

I was surprised when a shimmering figure appeared a few meters before me. It was translucent, like an illusion, and I recognized it instantly.

It was Eidolon, sitting at a desk, going over paperwork.

I froze, then squeaked when his mask turned straight toward me. "I'm sorry!" I stuttered, bowing instinctively.

Given the mask, I couldn't really see his reaction, but his voice was surprisingly calm when he answered. "Hello," he said. "Are you actually… in my office, or is this some form of projection?"

I scruffed the sand to make sure. "Given I have some form of illusionary construct of you in front of me, probably a projection. I'm sorry, I asked something of my power without actually meaning to."

I could hear the smile this time. "New cape then," he replied. "For your information, I have the same effect on my side. Also, good work on the costume. Very professional."

"Thank you," I answered, blushing.

"Can I ask how far away you are?" The Houston Protectorate leader asked. "Powers tend to have limited ranges, so just that indication would reveal a lot about yours."

"I'm… not exactly sure," I said. "I'm on a beach and I can't see the opposite coast, so I suppose it's the ocean in front of me. It's warm enough for January that I suspect I'm quite a distance south of Brockton Bay."

There was a moment of silence as Eidolon digested that information. "That is… impressive. That's a range in kilometres, and most powers fall short of… Did you say Brockton Bay?"

"Yes."

"Brockton Bay is thousands of miles from Houston. Why would you reference it?"

"That was where I was before I arrived on this beach," I explained.

There was another moment of silence.

"If you are even half the distance from Houston that Brockton Bay is, you have one of the longest ranged powers known to the Protectorate, miss… I'm sorry, I realize I didn't ask your name."

My eyes went wide behind my visor. I hadn't thought of a name!

Luckily, looking around, an idea came to mind. It was perfect: easily said, indirectly related to my power, and even fitting with my costume!

"Call me Blackjack."

I saw him wince. "I'm sorry if what I'm saying might be offensive," he started, "but I hope you're not African-American by any chance?"

I shook my head. "I'm not. Why do you ask?"

"Let's say that I've dealt with many Wards in my time, and that racially-based cape names are never a good idea," the triumvirate member admitted. "Now, if I can ask, why Blackjack?"

I smirked. "Because I have a winning hand of twenty-one."

I wasn't surprised that he didn't get it. "What does that have to with an illusion power?" He asked.

I shook my head and took a deep breath. "I don't have an illusion power," I admitted. "I'm a master, I think." I exhaled. "And I control the Endbringers."

I saw him stumble as I said that.

"I'm sorry, I think I heard wrong," he said after a moment, and I could tell he was shocked. "Did you just say you had control of the Endbringers?"

I nodded. "That's exactly what I said."

I noticed him holding on to his desk. "I'm sorry if I come of as insulting…" he started, "but could you prove what you just stated? It's… a little hard to believe."

I didn't blame him; I hadn't believed it myself.

But how could I prove it?

My eyes rose up, and I saw the Simurgh there. Well, that was one way of going at it.

Give me one of your longest feathers, I sent her.

Said feather simply pulled itself out telekinetically, slowly dropping into my hands. It was long, the size of my arm, and completely undamaged.

Teleport it to Eidolon's desk, I then sent everyone, given I had no idea who had made the portal that had led me here.

The knight-like Endbringer pointed in my direction, and the feather vanished, only to appear in the projection. Eidolon stepped back out of his chair as it did. "Is that?"

I nodded "One of the Simurgh's feather, freshly plucked," I replied, then smiled as I realized I had just used 'plucked' and 'the Simurgh' in the same sentence. "Is that proof enough?"

The Trump clearly thought for a moment. "It… it certainly helps." There was a pause. "How long have you…" he started, then stopped.

I could still guess what he wanted to ask. "Days," I replied. "A little more than a week at most. I first noticed it when…" I stopped, realizing that I was giving information that could lead to my identity being revealed. "Beginning of January at the earliest."

"So, you weren't involved when Behemoth hit Santiago in late November?"

I quickly shook my head. "No, no! I only figured out I could talk to an Endbringer on Friday! I had no clue what they were beforehand!"

"So, I hope that there won't be another attack in a couple of months from now?"

"Of course not! I'm not…" I started.

Then I realized I'd never verified.

Are you planning any attack in the future? I sent all the Endbringers.

Then was dismayed when twenty positive answers came forward. Only the knight-like Endbringer replied negatively.

"What?!" I yelled, turning away from the illusion. "I didn't… No, belay that. Cancel every order you've been given to attack anything," I yelled out loud. "In fact, cancel every order I haven't given you, and ignore all those orders in the future."

[Agreement] Twenty-one voices answered.

"That's better," I said out loud, only then turning back to the projection. "Sorry about that."

"You… did confirm they wouldn't be attacking again, right?" The Protectorate hero said after a pause.

I nodded. "Yes. It seems like they still had their orders from before I had control of them. I can tell you I'm not planning on attacking any city, either now or in the future."

I heard Eidolon sigh. "That's good. Now, I wanted to…"

Another voice interrupted. "Console to Eidolon. We have fighting in the streets between the Zetas and Sinaloa. Twelve capes on the field, including Aztec, Caballero, Diablo and Chacho."

That didn't sound good.

"Oh, for God's sake," I heard Eidolon say. "Blackjack, I have to go. If you could…" he started, then paused. "You said twenty-one."

"Yes?" I replied instantly.

"Twenty-one Endbringers?!"

"Yes," I replied again with a nod this time.

"There are twenty-one…"

Console spoke again. "Exalt is down. I repeat, Exalt is down."

"Damnit," Eidolon swore. "Blackjack, contact me tomorrow please. 8 AM Houston if you can, send a message otherwise. We need to talk more, and there's an emergency." He rose and left without saying another word.

I didn't blame him for the speedy exit; he was a Protectorate leader, which meant he had responsibilities.

I stayed like this for a minute, staring at Eidolon's abandoned desk, still crowned by the Simurgh's massive feather. It had just clicked that I'd been talking straight to one of the most powerful people of the world directly, and he wanted to talk to me again.

In fact, he wanted that even if I'd not thought of stopping the Endbringers from continuing their attacks. Thank god he'd caught that fact; I wouldn't to wake up one morning having missed stopping an attack.

In fact, better to be certain.

Cut the projection, I sent everyone.

[Agreement] answered one of those I didn't know. It was like a mix of some demonic beast and of a giant butterfly.

I instantly decided to name that one Mothra.

[Acknowledgement] it replied.

In fact, I went and named whichever ones I could think of something valid. The knight became Mordred, and the tower-like one became Babel. The three-faced one was Asura, the wyrm Nidhogg, the mass of tentacles Cthulhu, the lion-faced one Sekhmet.

After that, I reiterated that I wanted them to stay on this beach and hide themselves until I ordered otherwise, and returned home. While I hadn't minded the conversation, it hadn't answered the questions that I had. Hopefully, I would be able to bring up the subject tomorrow.

In the meantime, I had some thinking to do.

803

Seraviel

Dec 30, 2018

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Threadmarks Interlude: Eidolon

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Seraviel

Seraviel

Fanfic Author by Night

Oct 31, 2019

#197

AN: Getting back on the bicycle on writing, hopefully.

As always, thank you all for reading, commenting and correcting.

Special thanks go to the members of the GAG (LordsFire, Mizuki_Stone, Robo Jesus, Speaker4thesilent, The MMR) for their help with building and discussing this. This would have been a lot worse and a lot less fun without their help.

Have fun reading, and happy Halloween!

Chosen

As a member of the triumvirate, I generally held back when fighting villains in Houston. While the cartels were a blight on the city, they had limited impact compared to the S-ranked threats in the world. The Protectorate were the heroes, so for PR reasons I tended to hold back.

But not today.

After the discussion I'd just had, I was in no mood for compromise. I dropped down on the Zetas and the Sinaloa as if they were the Slaughterhouse Nine having come to see me in person.

Most of them wouldn't be back outside of a hospital room this month, and Exalt was already in discussion with various healers to have a number of missing limbs regrown.

I didn't stay behind for cleanup. No, I had better things to do. As such, I spent the next hour on a computer, looking at every detail I could find on the latest movements of the Endbringers.

I'd already known about last Friday's disappearance of the Simurgh; her vanishing had been caught on camera, and the alarm had gone an hour later when no trace could be found of her. This wasn't the first time something like that had happened, but never had she managed to vanish for so long.

However, I hadn't known about the show she'd given the Porto University Long-Range Camera. And a show it was; she'd turned directly toward the lens before doing her performance, and looked for moments as if she was waiting for something.

Which was another data point in favour of Blackjack's claims.

Leviathan and Behemoth were more difficult to track, but Dragon had made strides into figuring out what Endbringers did between attacks, hoping for better warning of their appearances.

Unfortunately, the news was no better there.

Behemoth laired deep underground, closer to the core than the surface, and Dragon only had fragmentary echoes until last Tuesday. That was, unfortunately, pretty routine; at the depths he was even the highest fidelity equipment couldn't offer much better results.

Leviathan was the same, immersing himself in the lowest parts of the ocean and staying immobile there. What sensors had been deployed in these areas couldn't do much, and hadn't returned anything in the last five months, when Leviathan had retreated there to heal.

Next, I searched the PRT databases for anyone named Blackjack. I did find a single match, but that was a former male villain from the UK that hadn't been seen in years. Whoever the Blackjack I met was, she'd clearly been new, young, and obviously not male.

So, as I expected, nothing useful there.

Only one last place for information then.

I exited my office through the window, then flew straight up for a mile using the aerokinetic power I'd smashed the cartel capes with. Only then did I spoke.

"Door to Doctor Mother."

I hadn't heard about any new request for a cauldron vial, so I wasn't surprised to find the Doctor at the table where we usually met. Even better, Contessa was there, and from the light in the next room Number Man could also hear us.

"Eidolon, I'm surprised to see you here on a day like this," the Doctor said, "Are there any urgent issues you need to discuss?"

I suspect she'd noticed something in my body language.

"How many Endbringers are there?" I dropped.

Doctor Mother looked at me bizarrely. "Three, as you very well know."

I sighed. "Yes, and you would have said two before the Simurgh arrived, and the world didn't even notice what it was for days." I paused. "So, let me ask again, how many Endbringers are there? In total?"

I saw the meaning of what I was asking click, and the Doctor frowned. "I… I have to say I have no clue," she admitted.

"93 percent chances that there are more than three," Number Man said, stepping into the room. "For more than that, we'd need to know how Endbringers came into existence."

There were many theories about where the Endbringers came from. Super capes, projections of one or more unknown masters, Superweapons from some mad Tinker somewhere, Guardians or tools of the entities… there were dozens of theories, and none could be empirically proven.

"We've already discussed this subject a number of times," the only mundane human in the room said with a sigh. I nodded; that came back up after most Endbringer battles. "Why bring this up now?"

I took a seat at the table. "I had an interesting discussion with a new cape this morning, before I had to take care of a battle between the cartels. She'd somehow projected an illusion of herself straight to my office."

"She called herself Blackjack, and she claimed to control the Endbringers."

"Good. We'd long theorized that there had to be an Endbringer…" Doctor Mother started.

I didn't let her continue. "All twenty-one of them."

All noise in the room cut instantly. I said nothing, waiting for them to assimilate the news.

Number Man was the first to answer. "Based on just that, I'd given an eighty plus chance that's the truth. Twenty-one is a bizarre number to bring forward as the total amount of Endbringers. Ten, twenty, I could see as an off-the-cuff lie, but twenty-one? No, that would have to be something prepared."

The business-dressed cape turned to look right at me. "Did she seem confident in her name?"

I shook my head. "No, she…"

I stopped as a doormaker portal appeared in the room. Alexandria stepped in the next second, and I could tell she wasn't happy at being called.

"You all know I have…" she started, then stopped as she took in the details of the room. "Tell me," she stated as she sat down, completely serious.

That was Alexandria in a nutshell.

"I talked to a new cape this morning. She says, and that with some level of proof, that she has control of the Endbringers," I explained.

"Good," the flying brick replied.

"All twenty-one of them."

Even Alexandria, one of the most powerful Thinkers on the planet, froze at that.

For a second, at least.

"Tell me everything," she ordered.

I went over the entire meeting, after which Alexandria had Contessa pull out the recordings of the cameras in my room for us to watch. The Los Angeles Protectorate leader watched every frame like a hawk, including those I hadn't seen after I left.

And all were silent as the recording ended.

"So, your opinion?" I asked.

"First, she's either the best actress in the world with a power that would allow her to fool anybody, or everything she said was the truth as she knew it," Alexandria started enumerating. "Her suit didn't hide her body language much, and it tells a lot."

"I concur," Number Man added.

"Second, she hadn't had a name prepared, and said Blackjack upon looking away, probably at the Endbringers. That simply reinforces her statement about their numbers."

I nodded at that, having deduced the same.

"Third is, she did hide some facts. She was about to say something then stopped, something I suppose might have indicated her identity out of costume. Still, she clearly is from Brockton Bay, and triggered in early January."

She wasn't done, so I kept silent.

"Lastly, the Endbringers had had orders to attack, and that means someone or something gave them. They wouldn't have kept them otherwise once out of the original master's control."

"You think we have somewhere someone who could return the Endbringers to their normal pattern," Doctor Mother asked.

Alexandria shook her head. "No, I don't think so. I suspect the original master is long dead, and the Endbringers were still following its orders regardless of that. In any case, given that Blackjack clearly ordered them not to listen to anybody but her, if the original master still exists I think he is out of luck."

There passed a silent minute as we all digested that.

"So, what do we do?" I asked. I knew very well that Alexandria was smarter than me, and I could use her input on the situation.

"We do nothing," she answered.

"Nothing?" I repeated.

"Well, you continue talking to her as you planned," she explained. "But the rest of us are going to lay low on this. She's now the most dangerous cape in existence, and I for sure wouldn't want to face even two Endbringers if I'd somehow managed to anger her."

"Ok," I replied. "So, how much to do I push for the Wards?" That had been what I'd been building up to before we'd gotten interrupted.

Alexandria sighed. "You don't."

"Are you sure?" I replied.

"Yes, I am," she confirmed. "If she wants a place in the Wards, offer her one, but I don't want to push her toward anything. We barely have any information at this point, and life in the Wards, especially in a city like Brockton Bay, isn't the most restful. For once, if we can take her to her word, we have time to wait and take it slow, so let's do that. Better to slowly build trust at this point than to risk too much and make ourselves an enemy we couldn't deal with."

"We could take her out of there," I pointed out.

"Which could be another source of stress. Also, I know you've seen the issues that come from power disparities; do you really want the most powerful cape in the world being forced not to use her power due to some juvenile shenanigans?"

I scowled. No, I did not. I'd faced enough of those power-borne dick measuring contests in my life; I wasn't going to wish them on someone else that clearly didn't deserve them.

I paused. "Wouldn't… Legend be better for the job of talking to her, or you? Hell, Contessa or Number Man could probably do better than me," I admitted.

The fedora-clad Thinker shook her head. "No. She clearly ordered the Endbringers mentally, and they quite probably answer through the same link. Given I can't predict the Endbringers, especially mentally, that means my paths are useless at predicting her as long as she is connected to them."

"Same here," the male Thinker beside her replied.

"As for me or Legend," Alexandria stated. "We weren't the ones contacted. You were, and you already established a rapport with her. If she wants to talk to us, I'll be glad to have her do so, but for the moment the job is in your hands."

I cringed at that.

Alexandria laughed a little at that. "Don't be so down on yourself. You did a good job earlier; just continue on the same track and everything will be fine. You've dealt with the Wards enough to be able to deal with a single teenager, don't you think?"

I sighed as I lowered. Sure, deal with a single teenager, no problem.

Only that teenager could take out a country in minutes if she ever decided to, and I wasn't sure the entire Protectorate could stop her. Hell, outside Scion, I wasn't sure every cape in existence working together could manage to take out that many Endbringers working together. Best thing we could do might be to politely ask her not to do it again.

Sometimes, being a member of the triumvirate just wasn't worth it.

649

Seraviel

Oct 31, 2019

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Threadmarks Discussion

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Seraviel

Seraviel

Fanfic Author by Night

Oct 31, 2019

#218

AN: I promised someone more Chosen, so here it is.

As always, thank you all for reading, commenting and correcting.

Special thanks go to the members of the GAG (LordsFire, Mizuki_Stone, Robo Jesus, Speaker4thesilent, The MMR) for their help with building and discussing this. This would have been a lot worse and a lot less fun without their help.

Have fun reading, and happy (what is left of) Halloween!

Chosen

My father applauded me putting my alarm up the next day, on the pretext that I needed to keep the habit. He was, of course, gone not long after, work calling.

My being awake early had, of course, nothing to do with habits or the idea that I would have to return to school at some point. It had all to do with with my scheduled meeting with Eidolon.

When the most powerful cape on earth asked you to make yourself available, you damn well made yourself available.

As such, I was on the island (wherever it was) when the clock hit one minute before nine, which meant before eight Houston time. The alarm I'd programmed in my visor rang, and it took a moment for me to find the button that shut it off.

Then I took a deep breath.

Mothra, connect me to Eidolon.

[Agreement]

Eidolon's desk reappeared before me, with the man seated behind it. I noticed the Simurgh's feather was gone, probably sent to some secure holding somewhere.

Then he looked away from his computer screen as his own alarm rang, and saw my projection there.

"Good, Blackjack, right on time," he replied, turning his chair to face me. "I'm sorry about cutting short yesterday; duty waits for no man, unfortunately."

"No problem," I replied, "I understand." The fact that he had time for a no-name new cape like me was more than enough.

"Now, if I may ask, why did you contact me yesterday?" The premier Trump asked. "We unfortunately got sidetracked early, and we didn't have time to get to that."

I blushed under my visor. "You'll think it's silly."

He shook his head. "Well, it was important enough that you contacted me directly from what seems to be a quite large distance."

There was a moment of silence as he clearly waited for me to reply.

"How… how does one use his powers correctly?" I finally asked.

"That's not silly in the least," Eidolon replied. "That's actually possibly the most serious subject a cape ever has to deal with."

"I'm not going to tell what to use your power for," he continued, "but I do have some details I'd have liked knowing when I started. "For heroes…" he stated then paused.

He was uncertain when said pause ended. "You… are planning on doing heroic work, correct?" He asked.

I quickly nodded. "Of course. Brockton Bay has more than enough villains already, and they really need to be dealt with."

He released a breath he'd visibly been holding. "I'm glad to hear it. I suspected so, given a villain wouldn't straight up call a Protectorate leader, and your power isn't really suited for a rogue, but I'm always happy to hear another person has made the right choice."

"To go back to what I was saying," he continued, "for heroes, public relations are crucial. I'm not talking doing meetings with the press, or going to schools, but more on how you present yourself as a cape and how you act. It's especially important for powerful capes like you or I, because power can easily draw fear."

"I'd figured that one out myself," I admitted.

"Then you're doing better than I did when I started," Eidolon said. "I first went at full strength against a lot of enemies whom I really shouldn't have, and at best there was sizeable collateral damage in quite a few areas that clearly didn't deserve it. Fear is all well and good from enemies, but when the common population starts to fear you… that's how villains are made."

I gulped. I could easily see a power like mine falling into that trap.

"That brings me to my second point: information," he explained. "If you're going to hold back, you need to know how much, and when to strike to do that effectively. You're lucky in this case; the internet has gone a long way since the nineties, and there's a lot of valid knowledge there for those who put the time and effort necessary to get results."

He paused for a second. "There's a reason why the PRT has people who spend their days digging through rumours on PHO, you know."

I cringed in sympathy for those poor, poor PRT members. Memes and conspiracy theories ran deep into PHO, and I wouldn't want to deal with those all day for years.

Those guys must be jaded as all hell by this point.

"Given my own abilities, you might be surprised to hear that, outside Endbringer battles and other S-rank fights, I'm running Thinker powers more than anything else," the Trump admitted. "Valid information saves time, and it wins fights as often as the more classic offensive powers."

That actually gave me ideas of things I could do.

"Point Three follows on that: preparation," Eidolon explained. "Amelia Earhart said that it was two-thirds of success, and if anything she was underselling it. For every minute of battle I've fought, I've spent at least an hour training, studying, or otherwise preparing myself for that battle. That was actually a large part of why Endbringer attacks are so dangerous; they give little time to prepare, and with what little information we have on them casualties and damages always rank high. Equipment is admittedly part of that, but it seems you have that well in hand from what I notice. "

I nodded as he stopped for a moment.

"Now, If you don't mind, I had a few questions I wanted to ask regarding those new Endbringers of yours," the Triumvirate cape asked.

I nodded. He'd already given me a couple of ideas, so reciprocating was simply fair. "Go ahead."

"I've discussed your presence in some amount with other high-level Protectorate members, and the unknown Endbringers are the subject that interests them the most, especially in the case of something happening to you in particular."

He sighed.

"It's sad, but it's Protectorate policy to prepared to fight any cape, including actual members of the Protectorate. Unfortunately, there are Masters able to manipulate even the strongest of capes, and there have been cases where the plans were put to use. I am certain that Alexandria has instructions somewhere in case I were to go rogue, and I know I have the same in her case."

Well, that was depressing thing to think about.

"What do you want to know?" I asked.

Based on body language, I think he smiled. "Whatever you feel like giving me. Anyway, for the moment, this will be classified at the highest levels; it wouldn't do for your cape identity to become public because of some nosy bureaucrat somewhere. Just go with what you are comfortable releasing."

I thought for a moment, then had an idea. "Give me a minute."

A simple thought had Asura (I noticed, this time) open a portal to my room home, and I grabbed my pad there. Returning to the beach, I then photographed each Endbringer in turn, naming each image based on the identifier I'd selected for each of them. Sure, that left a few as unnamed, but better that than nothing.

I even added Behemoth, Leviathan, and the Simurgh for completion's sake.

"Do you have a private email address I could send that to?" I asked.

Eidolon in fact created one for that very purpose, and I sent him everything through the still available wifi access the pad had.

Once he'd received them, I went over all I knew about the various abilities the new Endbringers had. There wasn't much, however, and most of that discussion was spent trying to explain how Endbringers communicated.

At least, until an alarm rang on Eidolon's side.

"That's unfortunately all the time I have," he admitted. "And I have another important meeting that I need to take part in. Let's continue this another time… let's say, same time next week?"

I nodded automatically. I wasn't going to let the opportunity go. "That's fine by me."

"Perfect," he said as he waved. "I'll see you then."

I had Mothra cut the projection, and fell to the ground. Nothing had gone wrong, and the Protectorate wasn't hunting me down. In fact, it seemed like I now had a regular meeting with Eidolon, if I understood the context properly.

Well, I wasn't going to say no to having regular contact with someone who'd seen the rise of capes and could tell me all about it.

In the meantime, though, I could apply what he'd said.

I turned to the Simurgh.

The angelic Endbringer was well known to be the best Thinker on planet, and while she wasn't the best at communication, she could make herself understood.

And I could make use of that information.

As such, I thought for a moment on the best way to ask.

Simurgh, which villain gang will claim the most lives in Brockton Bay over the next two years?

I expected a word or possibly an URL again, but this time a word wrote itself in the sand in front of me.

I paused after reading. "Who the hell is Coil?"

743

Seraviel

Oct 31, 2019

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Seraviel

Seraviel

Fanfic Author by Night

Dec 1, 2019

#311

AN: I'd once again promised someone more Chosen, so here it is.

As always, thank you all for reading, commenting and correcting.

Special thanks go to the members of the GAG (LordsFire, Mizuki_Stone, Robo Jesus, Speaker4thesilent, The MMR) for their help with building and discussing this. This would have been a lot worse and a lot less fun without their help.

Have fun reading, and happy month of December!

Chosen

"Ok," I said out loud as I looked away from my pad. Coil was either Thinker, a Tinker or an unpowered human, and his group (which didn't contain any capes apart from possibly himself) had control over a good part of the Broadwalk. "I'd never heard of the guy."

I turned back to the Simurgh. "How is he the biggest threat to Brockton Bay?"

I was surprised when a memory drive slowly materialized in front of me, the sand of the beach crystalizing into this device. I'd forgotten that, along with the best Thinker, she was also the best Tinker in the world.

I grabbed the drive and slid it in the compatible slot on my pad. Something like a report instantly opened.

'Casualties by cause in Brockton Bay, 2011-2012, current timeline' was written at the top.

It was followed by graph after graph. Said graphs tracked deaths by days and by source, with each gang having different colours to make viewing easier.

And, worse was, you could get the details of exactly who and when.

It made for depressing reading, knowing how many people died every day from drug overdoses or gang fighting.

It was, however, the chart at the bottom that was the most instructive.

That one tracked total death per gang for the entire period, and one could see the difference there.

The Empire and the Merchants were surprisingly similar on this graph, with a steady rise in casualties that would only start tapering off next year. The ABB was currently in a slow period, then would spike high with hundreds of deaths in April, only to disappear not long later.

Coil started low, with death rates a fraction of what the other gangs caused, but causing a bigger spike in November. Thousands of deaths, overtaking even the rest of the gangs.

And it didn't stop there.

While by this time next year it seemed the gangs were done, Coil was still going strong. His totals were still rising, and that faster than they did in early 2011.

By the end of 2012, he'd have more than triple the death count of all the other gangs combined.

Seeing metrics like that were grim, but I couldn't deny those numbers. By said criteria, Coil's gang was the worst in Brockton Bay by a sizeable margin.

Now, to deal with this.

Simurgh, how can I remove Coil from the picture with the least amount of casualties?

This time, the answer was sheets of paper. Or, I amended as I finally touched them, sheets of something looking like paper.

The contents also weren't what I'd expected.

An email, two phone calls, and accessing a website? That wasn't the kind of thing that looked like it could take a villain out of circulation. I'd expected at the very least having to send a single Endbringer in Brockton Bay, hopefully under stealth.

It didn't seem like something that could really harm anybody. Still, given the source, better to ask.

How many people get hurt if I do this? How many die? I asked the Simurgh.

The number one wrote itself twice in the sand, both clearly separate.

So a single person would end up hurt, then dying. Who ends up dead? I sent.

Coil wrote itself under the second one.

So the villain ended up dead. I had to say, given the man's body count, he kinda deserved it. But, still, it would be better if the man ended up captured, right?

How about the best way I can have him captured? What's the cost?

Six people. That was how much it did.

I asked and received details. The man had contingency after contingency, and even if those were all disarmed the information he had would lead to a number of deaths.

I stood looking at those charts for a long time.

Based on what the Simurgh had given me, the next death Coil caused was five days away. The plans she gave me required specific timing, but would fire before that day.

So, there were two questions that I needed to answer for myself.

First, could I kill someone in cold blood?

With the Simurgh's plan, I wouldn't literally pull the trigger, but metaphorically I was doing the same. Because of my actions, someone would be dead.

God, I wished I'd known about that before the meeting with Eidolon; that was a question for someone with a lot more experience with how things went than I did.

A more in depth look at the graphs the Simurgh had produced revealed something that decided me on making that choice.

Based on what the angelic Endbringer had given me, Danny Hebert died on November 14 of this year.

He wasn't alone in that; November was a huge spike for Coil's numbers. Our neighbors, other dockworkers I knew, people I'd gone to primary school with: all died the same day.

If one life could remove that possibility, and that of an unrepentant villain, I was fine with living with the guilt.

The second question was about how much I trusted the Simurgh.

She was the ultimate plotter, the quintessential trickster. She was the main cause of paranoia around the world, and we'd walled cities to try to limit her influence. Her manipulations were legendary, and at this point people were convinced that she was behind most if not all of the things going wrong with the world.

Could this entire thing be another of those plots?

I didn't like thinking about the idea, because that way lied insanity. If whatever I did was part of her plan, was I a person anymore? Or just a cog in the Rube Goldberg device she was building?

Worse was, there was no way to prove it one way or another. This entire train of thought, if I was one of her Ziz bombs, might even part of whatever plan she was running.

Sure, I could tell myself there would have been easier ways of arriving at the same results, or faster ones, but in the end this didn't change a thing.

This entire thing was actually a trust exercise.

After some deliberation, I decided to go for it. The few actions she described didn't look like they could harm much even if I was wrong, and the consequences of not doing something were too great to ignore.

I went through the steps again, and memorized them. Some of them had very specific timing, so I needed to be prepared for them.

After that, I would finally see if the Simurgh could be trusted.

—

[Thomas Calvert - A]

Being PRT, at least at the higher ranks, meant being a bureaucrat. For every deployment there were hours of paperwork, and days that were spent in front of a computer screen, going over figures and details.

Still, I persevered.

It helped that, in my other timeline, I could do whatever I wanted.

Sure, I had better things to do than start torturing people for simple relief, but one could join business and pleasure. I was planning to call Tattletale near the end of the workday, and see what I could get from her before I abandoned this timeline as I left the job.

It would be cathartic, if nothing else.

I was interrupted in my musings by my work cellphone ringing, in both timelines. I picked it up in this timeline, ignoring it in the other, and accepted the call.

"Thomas Calvert, PRT," I answered as I usually did.

The line was barely open for a second before whoever was on the other side hung up.

I swore. I hate robocalls.

I was quickly distracted by that train of thought, however, by another PRT member stepping beside my desk.

What did he want?

—

[Taylor Hebert - B]

There was no answer.

Well, as per the Simurgh, the next step was clear. In fact, I already had the webpage open and the passwords typed out my pad. A single key pressed had me in, and I entered password after password. I had no clue what they did, but I had to trust that this would work.

—

[Coil - B]

I was halfway through a thread on the latest movements of the ABB when the base self-destruct activated.

I froze for a second, then swore, taking my phone out. I had ten minutes to enter the shutdown code, or this place would blow sky high. I opened the app, and started typing.

I was one character away when the message on the computer changed.

Phone connector disabled.

I swore once more, and returned to my computer. I still had the direct connection through my desktop…

Main computer compromised.

I hadn't even started typing when the computer locked. The only thing I could now do was get to the servers themselves, as I'd made sure that console could always be available.

I'd only stepped out of my chair when the bulkheads dropped on the single door leading out of my office. I didn't even need to look at my screen to know what had just happened.

Bulkheads engaged.

At this point, the base was a wash. I still had my escape tunnel, of course, but there was no way I was going to make it out in time to stop the self-destruct. I still reached out to the invisible seam in the carpet, and pulled out the trapdoor there.

As I did, however, I saw one last message on my screen. I'd programmed that one myself, in the case of the base falling into enemy hands.

10 seconds to detonation. I have the last word. I win, suckers.

I'd barely finished reading the sentence that the timeline forcefully ended.

—

[Thomas Calvert - A]

"Officer Thomas Calvert, you have been requested. Follow me," the man said, handing me a sheet of paper.

It was a perfectly valid set of orders, only one without any details. It only told me to follow the man and obey his orders, and nothing else.

I nodded, closing my station and rising. "Let's go, then," I replied.

Unfortunately, that meant I was outside of my office when the self destruct activated itself in the other timeline.

As I walked, I checked my phone, and surreptitiously sent a command. It returned negative; the base self destruct hadn't been activated in this timeline.

What was happening?

As the events advanced, I started to have an idea of the source. What was happening, this clear and methodical disabling of the other me's choices pointed toward a specific conclusion: I was being shut down by a precognitive.

I knew only of a single such precognitive, and her actions meant something in particular.

I had somehow angered Cauldron.

It wasn't the first time something like that happened, and I was lucky that each time I'd had another timeline that was unaffected. In fact, this wasn't their usual method; from what I knew, their assassin was usually a lot more direct and effective.

This was probably a message, then.

And I found myself in a single timeline not moments later.

I quickly realized how precarious my position was; I was being accompanied to a place I knew nothing about for reasons unknown to me. Sure, it could be some form of secret meeting, and it wouldn't be the first time it happened, but I hadn't survived until now by taking unnecessary risks.

Then I saw the bathroom ahead, and split the timeline.

—

[Thomas Calvert - AB]

"Hey, can I do a pit stop," I asked the PRT member behind me, pointing at the bathroom. "I have no clue how long this is going to be taking, and I don't want to look stupid just because I haven't hit the johns."

In the other timeline, my second self continued on without stopping.

"I've been ordered to bring you without stopping," the man grunted.

"Come on," I moaned. "It's going to take like two minutes, and it's not like I can escape. Hell, you can come in with me if you're so afraid. I don't care." I did, but this was a calculated risk.

One that paid off when I saw his look of disgust.

"Two minutes," the grunt ordered.

"Fine," I said, making sure to sound put upon.

Inside, I sighed. I'd stalled some at least.

—

[Thomas Calvert - AA]

I cringed inside as the grunt brought me to once of the PRT's specialized medical rooms.

There was only a single possible reason one could be brought here, and it wasn't anything good.

"In there," the PRT member ordered, pushing me inside a second later.

'There' was one of the rooms where the PRT had installed MRI machines for the purpose of detecting capes. I'd dodged that bullet the last few times by either bribing the doctor in charge of them or sending my doppelgänger in that specific day instead.

Only, this time, I'd had no warning.

And I could easily see why.

"Good day, Officer Calvert," the doctor said. He wasn't any of the doctors I knew; as such, I didn't have any blackmail material on that one. "Sorry to take you away from your work, but there's irregularities in your MRIs. You know the policy; in you go."

The door closed behind me as the grunt went for something else. Good, that meant I at least had a chance.

"Come on, doc," I exclaimed. "Not this again? I have better things to do than this! Piggot's waiting on a report from me, and she'll fry my ass if I'm late."

Thank god I was still stalling in the bathroom; that wasn't something I'd do without a backup.

"I promise I'll make it worth your while," I offered.

"Are you…" the doctor started, only for a metallic sound to ring through the room.

Armsmaster stood up from under the MRI machine where he'd been hidden from sight. "Did I just hear you trying to bribe a member of the PRT?" He said, halberd in hand.

"No, I was just…" I started.

He scowled, and I remembered he'd built a lie-detector in his helmet.

"Officer Thomas Calvert, you are to submit for Master/Stranger protocols," the Protectorate leader ordered. "On your knees, officer."

I hesitated, and Armsmaster tazed me without remorse

—

[Thomas Calvert - AB]

I started running at moment Armsmaster appeared in the other timeline.

Stepping out of the cubicle, I ran to the corner of the room.

The corner with the secret door installed.

I wasn't supposed to know about it; it was reserved in the case of Protectorate members out of costume being needed in an emergency. Still, I'd arranged to have access, installing a backdoor in the system controlling all the entrances. I used said program to order the door open, dropping the other timeline as my other self dropped unconscious. The secret exit slid open.

And the main door to the bathroom chose that moment to do the same.

The grunt was there, and he reacted just like any soldier would in a situation where someone was escaping: he drew. I did the same, and we both shot pretty much at the same time.

Only, I'd split the timeline, so I technically shot twice.

My other self had dodged down and to the side; he took a bullet to the throat. That same bullet missed me.

And I did the same.

Still, the man fell back through the door, pulling out his radio. I didn't wait, jumping through the secret exit and closing it down behind me.

Then I split the timeline again, going both ways. I was stuck in this timeline, now.

I needed to escape.

—

[Thomas Calvert - ABAABBABBBAA]

I scowled as I cleared another corridor. In my other timeline, my other self just got in another firefight; I cut it off. I knew how it was going to end.

And Cauldron was definitely involved.

While not every single shot I'd taken today had missed, I was far from my usual scores at the range, and every hit had been in a dropped timeline.. Opposite me, shots hit true, with kill shots and mortal wounds being abnormally common.

I split again, my second self taking another path down. I had a single floor to go, and if I managed to hit the car park I was home free, one of my moles presently being stationed there as a guard.

He got shot down not a minute away from me.

That was the second issue; my secondary timelines were growing shorter and shorter. I was nearly there, but the risk kept increasing.

I split once more.

This time, my other instance hadn't even left the corridor when three PRT grunts turned the corner. Both copies of me sprayed what little suppressive fire we could, and they fired back the same way.

Only, this time, one of them had a machine gun, and bullets sprayed the entire length of the corridor as it fired.

The me closest to them died instantly, while I jumped in a side corridor for cover, generating one more timeline.

I'd barely moved a centimetre that I felt pain at the back of my head.

And then nothing.

—

[Taylor Hebert]

I stood there for a moment after I'd hung up the payphone I'd just used. The man on the line had answered, so I hadn't needed to connect to the website I'd prepared.

In fact, I was done.

It… didn't feel right. I hadn't felt like I was accomplishing anything, really. I'd already doubted the plan before I'd executed it, but now that doubt was higher.

As such, I snuck into the closest abandoned alley, and called on Mordred to open me a portal.

Show me what's happening to Coil, I ordered Mothra.

The same type of illusion I'd used when talking to Eidolon appeared, showing me a person in a male bathroom. Based on dress, The was clearly some form of PRT agent.

Is that Coil? I couldn't help but ask.

[Approval]

That… explained a few things. I'd wondered how Coil could manage this level of carnage with the Protectorate in the city, but if he was already an infiltrator there he might have all the information he needed to evade capture. It also explained why so little was needed; just creating suspicion might be enough, and…

Just as I thought that, he tried escaping through some hidden passage, and got caught.

For the next few minutes, I looked as the villain ran around in an illogical pattern, escaping pursuit. He made his way down two levels through secret passages, but he was clearly getting more desperate by the minute.

Then a group of PRT soldiers found him.

I forced myself to look as they shot, and he dodged the burst only for a ricochet to hit him in the back. He ended up there on the floor, bleeding profusely from a head wound as the soldiers surrounded him.

I took a deep breath as I ordered the illusion closed.

I had killed this man.

As far as I knew, only a single person had died, just as the Simurgh had said. I still had problems trusting her word, but for the moment I couldn't say she'd lied to me.

And, unfortunately, only time would tell about the rest.

I thought for a moment. I felt… tainted, somewhat, even though I'd barely done anything. If I was right, it was for the best, but I wasn't someone that followed an idealistic 'greater good' or anything like that.

I paused as my eyes felt on the Simurgh once more. Well, maybe I could balance out what I'd done somehow.

Simurgh, what can I do to do the most good?

—

Last edited: Feb 3, 2020

693

Seraviel

Dec 1, 2019

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Threadmarks Doing Good

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Seraviel

Seraviel

Fanfic Author by Night

Jan 1, 2020

#363

AN: Start as you mean to go, the proverb says. Well, let's start the year/decade with another chapter, then!

As always, thank you all for reading, commenting and correcting.

Special thanks go to the members of the GAG (LordsFire, Mizuki_Stone, Robo Jesus, Speaker4thesilent, The MMR) for their help with building and discussing this. The quality of this would be a lot poorer without their help.

Have fun reading, and happy New Year!

Chosen

I was hit with a wave of feelings and emotions: apprehension, uncertainty, doubt, fear. At the same time, words wrote themselves in the sand.

'Define good'

I winced as I saw that. This… this explained quite a bit.

I tried for a moment to figure out how to explain good and evil to the Simurgh, then gave it up as a bad job.

In fact, as time went, I was starting to be less and less sure the Endbringers actually being anything like humans or even animals. Their abnormal level of precision, their lack of… anything like human reactions, their rigid adherence to orders… the Endbringers were starting to feel more like tools or machines to me.

Still, that didn't solve my current issue, so I decided to rephrase things a little.

What actions can I do in the next hour to save the most people and remove the most pain from normal people? With explanations, please.

For some reason, I expected her to take time to mull that over, but she answered instantly.

[Agreement]

Another memory device created itself before me, and I didn't wait before connecting it with my pad.

This wasn't a graph like before; it was a set of actions and their results.

With step one: walk into a specific portal.

Said actions went for a little less than an hour, which I supposed was the definition she used for right now. Most of it were actions done on a computer, with only a few not being so.

Like the last, which was simply answering Coil's phone.

Mordred, portal to 37966726099154 07826898677895 23654588710886 94746844710073

I'd simply rattled out the numbers the Simurgh had put before me, but it was enough. Another of those doors appeared right before me, and I stepped forward into an office.

A well appointed, spartan office.

Curious, I checked the office first. Like I'd said, it was minimalist, with only a computer desk, a small fridge and a closet. Said closet contained only a few costumes: two sets of normal clothes, a copy of what I'd seen earlier on PRT officers, and a single black suit with a white trim around the seam.

In fact, I recognized said suit from my earlier searches.

Was this Coil's office? I sent.

[Approval]

I nodded in answer, then stepped into the chair. Typing the twenty-nine character long password, I got to work on the Simurgh's plan.

And started disabling Coil's contingencies.

Actually, going through all of these made me feel a lot better about having removed him. He clearly didn't believe in minimizing collateral damage.

He had three different ways of detonating his base, most of which would at minimum kill a few dozen people of the downtown area. He had toxic gasses that could flood the place, and would last for days.

But those were simply the tip.

There was a system that analyzed the news in case he was captured, and took measures to take revenge. It could do a lot of different things depending on who it latched on, but what it did knew nothing about restraint. It sent contracts for assassination, released secret identities, went after families, released viruses…

Well, if a Bond villain had tried it, the system would do its best attempt at doing the same.

That meant, after disabling all of that over forty-five minutes, I ended up with a lot more information. Chief among that was the civilian identities of a lot of capes.

For most of them, that didn't mean much. Knowing that Armsmaster was actually named Colin Wallis didn't mean anything when I had no clue who Colin Wallis was, outside of being Armsmaster.

But, for some, that changed things.

Knowing that Max Anders, business owner and one of the richest people in the bay, was actually Kaiser, was something I couldn't forget, and that would now affect my relationship with everything that had to do with his company.

But, I had to admit, given the amount of power I had access to, finding anyone's real identity wasn't a challenge if I wanted to.

Once every contingency was disabled, the actions dictated by the Simurgh sent me to a number of banking sites.

Banking sites with access to an enormous amount of money.

I had millions right before me, if digitally. Probably more money than my family had made in generations. And I could do whatever I wanted with it.

Still, I decided to trust the Simurgh as I had until now, and followed her directions, transferring that money out, bit by bit.

And I couldn't help but smile as I did that.

As asked, the Simurgh had written down explanations for each transfer, and I agreed with them. This eleven thousand and some dollars saved a person and stopped a suicide, this nine thousand stopped an accident killing three.

Then I was directed to a popular shopping site.

A shipment of a home security system saved three from a murderer, a book two from suicide. I even bought games and tools, and each time there was a return in lives saved.

Then I reached the last line of the Simurgh's document.

Answering Coil's phone.

A quick check revealed that there were still millions I could use, so I wondered why she'd stopped.

And, of course, just as I did that, the phone rang.

Coil's phone was, of course, a cellphone set on a wireless charging station next to the computer. I grabbed it, entered the code the Endbringer had given me, and put it to my ear.

"Hello," I replied.

"Good day," a male voice answered. " I was…" He stopped.

"You're not Coil," the voice said, now guarded. "Can you pass me to him?" He continued, and there was clear disdain evident in his tone about having to deal with a secretary.

"Coil is dead," I answered flatly.

There was a moment of silence. "Shit!" The man exclaimed, then audibly took a deep breath.

"Sorry about that," he said, still tense. "Our group was… working on a deal with Coil. Do you know who will be taking charge of his operations?"

I was the one who paused this time. Working on a deal with Coil meant the were villains, and for a second I wanted to hang up and forget about them.

But it had been in the Simurgh's list, and like each line there was a human cost attached to this. Twenty-seven lives, in this case.

"I'm the closest to anyone who would be taking charge of his operations," I replied. It was true, if indirectly. I had access to all of his money, his equipment and information.

At this point in time, Coil's operations were whatever I decided them to be.

I heard him sigh in relief. "Good. We're the Travelers; had Coil discussed our team with you before he passed away?"

Given the only direct contact I had with the man was through a single phone call that contained no words, the answer was clearly a resounding no.

"He didn't," I simply answered.

The man on the line wasn't surprised. "Well, we'd arrived on a deal where my team would work for him, in exchange for a few concessions. That included a… a vault, if you will, for one of my team's members. She really needs it, and our current setup is becoming increasingly unreliable."

A vault? Why would someone need a vault?

"As such, I was wondering if said vault was ready, and if we could start the process of moving into Brockton Bay earlier than planned."

"I'd have to verify," I admitted. I'd barely had control of the place for less than an hour; I'd need more time to answer something like that.

"Second and one of the main points of our contract," he continued. "Coil was to contact a specialist in parahuman powers, one that could fix the issue of the teammate I talked about earlier. Do you have any idea of who he was talking about?"

I didn't. I had, however, access to some of the most powerful and versatile beings in existence.

Can you fix this power problem they're talking about? I sent to the Endbringers as a group.

Most answered [Denial]. But there were a trio of [Conditional approval] in there. The Simurgh, Mordred, and Asura.

Conditional?

The answer was a feeling of camaraderie, of being part of a group, of teamwork. I understood instantly; multiple Endbringers would have to be involved.

Well, that was fine by me.

"I don't," I replied, and I could feel the despair on the other side of the line. "But I have my own contacts specialized in that area of knowledge, and I wouldn't be surprised if they could work something out."

There was a silence that lasted for a moment, and then I could hear the man putting me on speaker. "What… What should be involved in that?" A female voice said. It was full of desperate hope, and I could feel the tension on the line.

"Tell me everything," I ordered.

They did, and I couldn't help but empathize. Being taken from home, dropped into a war zone, my own powers turning against me? I had the smallest bit of an idea how that would feel, and if I was anywhere close to right it was sheer horror.

I remembered Eidolon's comment that villains were made; well, their circumstances had made them villains. They didn't want power, or control, or just killing for fun; they wanted home and stability, and those I could understand.

I grabbed the phone and left with it, asking for another portal to the Endbringers. There, while the Travelers continued their story, I dressed into my costume.

I was going to solve this.

In a way, I felt responsible some; the Simurgh was the cause of all this, and now I controlled her. Making some amends for her actions seemed right.

But, even better, doing that would be removing more villains from the world, this time peacefully. I was all for that, and the cost was worth it.

I wanted to use my powers to fix the world, and I was going to fix it.

"So…" the woman, Noelle, said. "Can… can your specialists do anything about this?"

Mordred, portal please.

A gigantic portal opened this time, five to ten times bigger than the one I usually used.

"Step in," I asked. "Your entire team, if possible."

"You can't have them with me!" She exclaimed. "I… I might attack them."

Paralyse Noelle if she ever tries attacking anyone here.

[Agreement], the group replied.

"You won't," I replied. "I've made sure of it."

There was a pause, and Noelle said something to Trickster that I didn't catch.

"I'm going through," she stated.

I'd had a mental image of Noelle, based on what she'd said, but imagination had nothing on reality. I'd thought monstrous was an affectation, a reflection of her hate of her powers; it clearly wasn't. The mishmash of animal parts she was standing on was horrible, and with her human body on top, like a giant chimeric centaur, none would describe her otherwise.

Well, I was going to change that.

She'd gone through the portal with her eyes closed, probably out of a fear that she might attack whoever was there. When she stopped after having traveled three or so meters, she finally opened her eyes, and saw what was surrounding her.

"Oh god!" She screamed, stepping back. "It's… it's…"

"Stop!" I ordered Noelle, ignoring Trickster who was yelling on the other side of the line. "You're in no danger; I have full control here."

She looked at me with wide eyes. "You're… you're the one behind the Endbringers?"

I shook my head. "Since the beginning of this month only," I amended her words.

"You… triggered with an Endbringer-controlling power," she reiterated.

I nodded, and at a thought the Simurgh came to stand behind me. "Yes. And the Simurgh tells me we can fix your problem."

She was about to say something else, but another person came through the still-open portal.

And stopped instantly, frozen.

"Fuck," he mumbled, and I recognized the voice of Trickster.

Noelle quickly turned to her teammate. "She… she says she can have the Endbringers fix me," she said quickly, clearly desperate.

"Fix isn't a metaphor, right?" The man asked, still in shock.

So far, the Endbringers hadn't been metaphoric, but I didn't lose anything by asking. She will be alive and human at the end of this procedure, correct?

[Approval]

"It isn't. I recently triggered with an Endbringer-controlling power, and I'll make sure of it.

"Noelle will be healthy and back to normal when it's done?" Trickster continued.

"She will," I replied with confidence.

"And this isn't some bizarre plot of hers…" He continued, pointing at the Endbringer behind me, "that'll turn us into one of her bombs?"

I shook my head.

"How can you tell?!" He exclaimed, sounding manic.

I won't say this didn't hit on some of my inner fears, but I was starting to trust my power.

"Look around you," I replied instead. "More than twenty Endbringers. Does it really look like, if they actually were in control, that they needed convoluted plots like that? What would those gain them?"

The cape before me looked around, then turned back to me. He opened his mouth only to close it a second later.

Then he turned to Noelle, and it was clear from his body language that he was uncertain, but wanted the best for her. "Your decision, Noelle."

I waited for a minute before Noelle finally answered. "I'll do it. I don't… I don't know how much longer I can take it," she admitted.

Trickster nodded. "I'll… go get the others then."

He came back a minute or so later with people I recognized from the descriptions I'd gotten. Jess in her wheelchair, Oliver with his unstable power, Marissa in her form-fitting costume, Luke in his football-like armour. I don't know what Trickster had told them, but they clearly weren't feeling secure. All were ready for a fight, and looking around tensely.

I couldn't say I blamed them.

"Whenever you're ready," I said to the inhuman girl before me.

"Go ahead," Noelle said, closing her eyes once more.

Go

[Agreement][Agreement][Agreement]

Three voices rang in concert in my head as Asura, Mordred and Ziz stepped forward and got to work.

Though not in the way I'd expected.

Asura reached forward in one fluid movement, touching Oliver in the back. He spat an odd-looking clone a second later, grabbing it with both left hands.

Mordred put his hands on Noelle's shoulder, and she… unfolded would be the best word. Her head opened like a flower, without the blood or smell one would expect in a situation like this one.

By then, Asura had tossed the Oliver clone up, where the Simurgh grabbed it telekinetically. Seconds later, only parts the brain remained, the rest falling to dust.

The flying Endbringer then handed those back to Asura.

Said Endbringer hands had filled with tools, and he started working right into Noelle's brain.

It was eerie to watch. There was still the machine-like precision I expected from the Endbringers, but for such an intimate surgery it seemed blasphemous. The part from the Oliver clone got pushed in, sinking as if Noelle's brain wasn't solid, and slowly her brain started closing up.

And her bottom part started dying.

It was decaying at an insane pace, and suddenly the smell was horrible. Asura cut her body off two feet below her hips seconds after this started, followed by Ziz separating both parts a good distance. The lower part of her actual body was still a mass of chimeric flesh that made no biological sense, but Mordred was still holding her.

And, slowly, that part cleaned itself up.

Flesh straightened, bones formed, skin appeared, and before long she had a pair of normal-seeming legs there. This transforming effect slowly went up and, as she was wearing nothing but a shirt, I saw her sex organs reform and her hips gain definition.

(Also, I noticed from the corner of my eye Luke turning around and Francis stepping back in the portal, coming out not long after with a pair of pants. Probably his, given the size.)

Mordred slowly laid Noelle down, putting her flat on the sand. She opened her eyes the moment he took his hands off her, and she looked around at everyone.

Then down at herself.

She poked her legs a couple of times, then slowly and with difficulty forced herself up on her feet. She stood like that for a moment, then turned to Trickster, shambling forward slowly.

"You're taller than me again, Krouse," she said with an uncertain smile.

He didn't say anything in return, just jumped straight and hugged her tightly, ignoring the rancid smell that surrounded her. "God, Noelle," he said after a moment, tears in his eyes. "You have no idea…"

"I'm alright," she whispered, her voice breaking some. "I'm fine, Francis. Everything… everything's going to be fine, now."

The two stayed like that for more than a minute before Francis stepped back, and I could tell he was blushing even with the costume. "You… you might want to put on those pants, though."

She blinked, looked down, then turned redder than a tomato. He then led her back to the portal, and she came out less than a minute later dressed.

I continued being silent as they had their reunion. She'd been a Striker, one that couldn't control her power, so she was clearly starved for physical contact. She had long hugs with every member of the team, and kept a hand close to Francis at all time. I just watched with a smile.

This was what being a hero was about.

Then she arrived before me.

"Thank you so much," she said, then hesitated before bowing deeply. "You have no idea how much relief it is not to have to deal with… that, anymore." She paused. "My powers…" she asked, "Are they completely gone?"

Actually, that was a good question.

Does Noelle still have powers?

[Approval]

"They're not," I explained. "They didn't remove them, just fixed them."

"That explains what I felt when I…" she started.

Then, there was a copy of a Krouse in his Trickster outfit before me.

"What?" Luke said, while Trickster stepped close. Side to side, the two were identical.

Then the extra Trickster turned into Sundancer.

She caught on quickly, turning into the other Travelers in turn, then back into Sundancer. A wave, and she had a sun in her hand. "So, that's how you do it," she exclaimed.

I looked at her sharply. Sure, her original power was very strong, but her new one was just as useful. She was a power and identity copier, and that was something I wouldn't want to have as an enemy.

Oliver approached me while she was testing her powers out. "Could you… also remove my powers?"

I turned to the buff-looking man. "Are you sure?" I asked. "If they can take them away, they won't be able to give them back."

He nodded sharply. "I'm sure. I… I want to be myself again, and my power never did anything right for me."

Can you remove his powers? I sent out.

I got two [Approval] as an answer, from both Mordred and Asura.

Do it.

Mordred stepped forward, putting his hand on Oliver's head. There was a slow, green flash, and Mordred let go.

The ever-changing Traveler looked down at himself, looking from side to side. "Damn," he finally replied. "I'd… I'd hoped I'd go back to what I was."

I could probably fix that.

Can you turn him back to how he looked before he got his powers? I sent.

[Approval]

This time, only from Asura.

I nodded. Do it.

Asura stepped forward, and with a touch Oliver deflated. He shrank, got thin, and even picked up baby fat. He went from being the type of person movie producers wanted to a simply forgettable face, looking just like anyone else.

But, in the eyes of the rest of the Travelers, the result was evident.

"Oliver, man, so good to have you back!" Luke exclaimed.

"Really?" Oliver said, voice trembling, turning to Noelle.

"You are," the newly-rebuilt girl said. "It's like you've never stepped foot on Earth Bet. Like you haven't aged a day."

Mirror please.

[Agreement]

A standing mirror formed next to me, and Oliver turned to look at himself. He then stood frozen for a second, before falling on his knees, tears in his eyes.

"I thought… I thought…" he mumbled.

Francis and Luke went to him, putting their hands on his shoulders. "Glad to have you back, Oliver," the former said.

Marissa went to me instead.

"Could you… remove my power too?" She asked.

I turned to her in surprise. Oliver hadn't been that surprising, given the lack of control he has over his power, but Marissa's power was in her control, perfectly usable, and powerful to boot.

My surprise must have been evident on my face, because she continued. "I never wanted any of this. I just wanted to be normal, to do something with my friends that I was good at. Getting powers… I didn't really argue, because we needed them, but now we don't. I'll go with Oliver in the back and support the team."

"I suppose you're certain?" I asked.

She nodded sharply. "I am."

Mordred, remove Marissa's powers.

[Agreement]

Mordred stepped forward, and within seconds he stepped back. Marissa raised her hand as if she was trying to call something, but nothing happened.

She smiled at that. "I'm free. I'm finally free!"

I turned to the few members that I hadn't worked on yet. "Anything from you?" I asked, then looked at Jess. "I suppose you'd like me to heal your legs?"

Her eyes went wide. "You can do that?"

I looked at her as if she didn't know what she was talking about. "You did see them rebuild Noelle's entire lower body, right?" I asked rhetorically. "So, should I fix your legs?"

"Yes please."

I nodded. By this point, I was starting to be pretty certain of the abilities of some of my Endbringers. Mordred, heal her legs so she can walk like any normal human.

[Agreement]

The knight-like Endbringer reached out and poked her, holding a finger on her head for barely a second. I saw her legs fill out, their emaciated state giving way to a more healthy size, and when he stepped back Jess was crying.

"I can feel my legs," she said between sobs.

Marissa reached to her friend, and slowly helped her out of her wheelchair. Jess took a few steps, crying all the while, then fell into Noelle's arms as the latter went for a hug.

I turned to the last two. "Anything you need?" I asked.

Luke shook his head. "I'm all good."

Francis put his hand on Noelle's shoulder. "I have everything I ever wanted."

I let the Travelers get over the many shocks they'd just had, staying to the side while they finished congratulating themselves and regaining their composure. I was clear they'd been suffering under all of this for a long time, and it felt good to actually see the impact I was having. Especially knowing that, if I hadn't done anything, it would have been Coil they'd have been dealing with.

And, from what I knew of the man, he wouldn't have been interested in helping them, just using them to cement his own power.

Noelle stepped towards me after a few minutes, extending her hand.

We shook. "What do you need of the Travelers?" She asked.

"Nothing," I admitted. "I have…" I indicated the beings around me with a wave. "All the power I need."

"You sure you don't have a place for us," Trickster interjected. "It'll probably be some time until we find our way back to Earth Aleph, and we'd prefer to work under someone who clearly has our wellbeing at heart."

I shook my head. "It'll be very little time," I countered. Given the Simurgh had been the one who'd dragged them here, I was pretty sure the combined Endbringers could send them back. In fact...

Mordred, portal to Madison, Wisconsin, Earth Aleph.

[Agreement]

Another door appeared, this one a little behind me. "Go on," I said. As I'd thought, Mordred wasn't limited to Earth Bet.

Luke was the closest, and he poked his head through the portal. "Guys, it's Madison!" He exclaimed once he'd pulled it back.

"Sure, but you know…" Krouse started, visibly unimpressed.

"No, our Madison!" Luke retorted. "There's Dotty's there right down the street!"

Francis froze. "You shitting me."

Oliver was the next to poke his head in for a moment. "No, it is," he said. "It's… we can go back!" He exclaimed.

"This has to be a dream," the woman formerly known as Sundancer stated, clearly in shock.

Noelle shook her head. "It… it doesn't feel like one," she replied. "And if it is, just don't wake me up. Please."

She then stepped towards me. "How long is that door going to be open?" She asked.

"How long do you need it to be?" I countered.

Not that long, it ended up. The group quickly packed up everything they had, and made their way back to their world. I received a number of tearful hugs and offers of help if I needed any, but before the hour was done I was back to being alone on the beach.

And then, back to Coil's office.

There was still good I could do, and Coil's finances were still well in the black. As such, with the Simurgh's help, I spent nearly eighty percent of Coil's fortune, parcelling it to people I knew nothing about, buying items that I would never use.

And it felt good.

That wasn't the only thing I did. I contacted Coil's doppelgänger as per the Simurgh's suggestion, and had him come in and release the mercenary army the villain had hired, letting them go with specific orders to leave the city and sizeable severance packages that would ensure they do so.

The copy then did the same with the various followers he had, before receiving one last payment and being suggested he do the same. I asked the Simurgh, and judging by her answer he'd be in Florida in less than two days.

Perfect.

I left the now empty base at four, making sure to have enough time to undress, clean up, unwind, and greet my father when he returned from work. He had pizza with him and we discussed light subjects as we ate, before each going our way with him hitting the television and me going to my room to do some internet surfing.

So it was that, at eight thirty sharp, a phone rang in my own room.

It took me a while to reach it, and once I did I wasn't surprised to see that it was Coil's phone that was ringing. I'd kept it, just in case something else came up from that direction. Of course, it was a number I had no clue about.

So, what now?

—

Last edited: Jan 2, 2020

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Seraviel

Jan 1, 2020

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Seraviel

Seraviel

Fanfic Author by Night

Feb 2, 2020

#437

AN: January was a sucky month, but that's not a reason for you people to suffer as well. Also, the goat and the sausage balls were tasty.

As always, thank you all for reading, commenting and correcting.

Special thanks go to the members of the GAG (LordsFire, Mizuki_Stone, Robo Jesus, Speaker4thesilent,The MMR) for their help with building and discussing this. The quality of this would be a lot poorer without their help.

Have fun reading, and happy New Year!

Chosen

The phone before me had already been ringing for a while and showed no signs of stopping so, for lack of better options, I answered.

"Hello," I said, uncertain.

"You sure…" the voice at the other end started, then stopped and paused for a second. "You're not Coil." There was some amount of surprise in her tone, but mostly she was guarded.

"No."

"Can you pass me to him?" She asked.

"That's going to be difficult," I replied. "He's dead."

I expected a number of reactions to that: surprise, anger, possibly despair like in the case of the Travelers.

The surprise I got, but I wasn't expecting the undercurrent of happiness and hope I caught. "Oh, is he?" She asked. "Are you sure?"

With the complicated surgeries the Endbringers had performed earlier today, I was more trusting of their abilities. "As much as I can be," I answered.

"Very interesting," the female voice replied after a few seconds. "Would you know who is taking over Coil's position?"

"I am," I stated.

"Well, then…" she answered, and I could hear the smirk in her tone. "What can the Undersiders do for you, boss?"

The Undersiders? I've never heard of any group called the Undersiders.

"Who are the Undersiders?" I called out.

There was a short burst of laughter on the other side of the line, before the woman answered. "We're a group of capes Coil set up. We mainly worked in corporate espionage. Though the boss was thinking of having us do something big. I was calling to discuss that, actually."

So, thieves.

"Well, that's not going to fly with me," I replied. "I don't need anything stolen, and even if I did I'd use something other than a villain gang."

"Noted," she replied. "So, what are the orders, then?"

I nearly ordered them to disband, then stopped.

The Travelers had proven that some villains could be redeemed, and maybe the Undersiders were another group I could change.

But I'd have to meet them in person, first.

"Know anywhere where we could meet?" I asked.

The was some surprise. "Costume or not?" She finally replied after a moment's hesitation.

"Costume," I said. Nobody knew Taylor Hebert as anything else than a high school student, and I wanted it to stay that way.

"Somer's Rock, then," she answered. "It's neutral ground, and nobody will say anything about capes coming there to talk. Three PM?" She asked.

"I'll be there," I replied.

"See you then, boss," the woman on the line said cheerfully, before hanging up.

I didn't wait, returning to my pad. I knew nothing about the Undersiders, and I want to be prepared for tomorrow's meeting.

I wasn't going to fail now.

—

I arrived at Somer's Rock a good thirty minutes before the appointed time, just to get the lay of the land. Mordred had basically dropped me in the alley next to the place, and I waited no time before getting inside.

And ordered something to drink as I waited.

This place had been part of yesterday's internet searches, so I wasn't tripped by the deaf waitress. I'd been surprised that such a place existed at first, but after some thinking I realized it made sense; there needed to be some kind of place where enemies could talk without fearing assault, and where agreements were discussed.

Just as I was planning for the day.

Unfortunately, I'd found a lot less on the Undersiders.

The group as a whole didn't even rate a stub on the Parahuman Wiki, and only half the members I'd found had anything.

And one of those was basically two lines of text.

The last, Hellhound, was the only one that had something sizeable. She even had a murder to her name, though it had been a while ago. I was tempted to just let her hang, but the Travelers hadn't come to me with hands unbloodied. They hadn't been murderers, that was certain, but both Madison and Noelle's rages had left behind damages and bodies.

So I held back, and decided to listen first.

Two capes arrived at three sharp, quickly making their way directly to me and sitting on the opposite side of my table.

"Grue, Tattletale," I said.

Both nodded. "Here as ordered, boss," Tattletale replied. "How should we call you?"

"Blackjack," I stated simply.

"Blackjack, then," Grue said with a deep male voice. "What makes you a valid successor to Coil, who was our boss beforehand?"

There was no challenge in his tone, only curiosity, so I answered. "I have control of Coil's infrastructure, belongings, and finances, and there is no one with a better claim to those than I do."

I'd verified with the Simurgh yesterday to make sure; while some of it would have fallen to other villain hands if I hadn't stepped in, most would stay abandoned for months.

The two Undersiders looked at each other, then nodded slightly before turning back to me. "Ok," Grue continued. "So you're in charge. You're going to keep paying the Undersiders as Coil was?"

"How much were you paid?" I asked.

"Two thousand per month as a retainer," Tattletale explained. "The same at minimum per mission. On average, around twelve to fifteen thousand per person per month."

It was telling that the first thought I had about such an amount was 'chump change'. What was left of Coil's funds could pay them for years at that rate, and that was including the mission pay.

"I'm open to it," I replied. "But the question is, what should I have you do?"

Tattletale came closer to listen while Grue squared his shoulders. "What do you mean?" He asked.

"I'm not a villain," I stated, "and I'm not interested in any way in becoming one. Brockton Bay already has enough issues without a group of corporate thieves running around. So, you want to keep working for me, that's fine; I prefer paying you than having you stealing from the populace."

"But what should I do with your team?" I asked.

Grue tensed, and Tattletale came forward. "How opposed are you to villains fighting other villains?" She asked. "And, of course, stealing all their cash."

Well, I pretty much couldn't disagree with it, given I'd pretty much done the same with Coil. Question was, could the Undersiders fight on that level?

There was one easy way to find out.

Simurgh, can the Undersiders reliably fight the other Brockton Bay gangs? I sent her.

[Conditional Approval]

Ok, with enough equipment, information or preparation they were at least capable to fight the other gangs. Good to know.

"I have nothing against you fighting other villains, as long as the collateral damage doesn't become too excessive," I answered, and I saw some of the tension go out from Grue's shoulders. "Now, tell me about the team. There's four of you, correct?" That's what the forums said, but a new member might have been added and not been shown yet.

"Yes," Tattletale replied.

"I see only two of you," I pointed out.

She nodded, understanding what I meant. "Bitch is one of the two members we haven't brought, and the team's heavy hitter. She has power over dogs, turns them into these enormous monstrosities that fight for her."

I didn't recognize the name until Tattletale started describing her powers. "You mean Hellhound," I countered.

The man at the table shook his head. "That's the name the Protectorate gave her, and she might try punching you if you call her that. She's Bitch and that's it from her point of view."

I inclined my head. "Violent much?"

"Yes," Grue admitted. "She's… damaged. She doesn't look at the world like normal people; she's focused on her dogs above anything else."

"She's killed before," I pointed out.

"She has," Tattletale admitted. "But she's not a killer. She doesn't directly control dogs, just makes them stronger, and there's been… accidents in the past. There hasn't been any with us," she added.

Grue frowned. "And there won't be if I have any say about it."

It thought about it for a second, then sent a query at large. How likely is it that Bitch causes the death of an innocent?

3.9608854242%

That wasn't what I'd expected, and not from whom I'd expected it to be. It was Mordred that answered, and I'd have thought the answer would be more of a feeling than the straight percentage I received.

Still, that was low enough that I didn't think of her as too much of a danger.

"I'll leave it in your hands, then," I replied. "Next is Regent, correct?"

Tattletale nodded. "Yeah. He won't be an issue with your plans; he's lazy, and as long as he's paid he won't make waves."

"Which is why he's absent today, I suppose?" I replied.

Grue shook his head. "No, we just didn't invite him. He has a… peculiar… sense of humour, and he's not big on serious discussions."

"He's a troll," Tattletale summarized.

Grue didn't refute her.

"So, that leaves the two of you, then," I continued.

"Yes?" Tattletale answered. "What do you want to know?"

I took a deep breath. "Why villains?" I asked. "Unless you're really unlucky with your powers, I'm pretty sure either the Protectorate or the Wards would be glad to have you join. Why go the villain route?"

There was a moment of silence as each thought about their answer.

"Money," Grue finally said. "That's why I went on this path."

I was surprised. Grue didn't seem like the greedy kind, and he'd not argued about salary or anything like that.

And, after a second of thinking on the subject, I had an idea why.

"Money is all well and good, but it's a means to an end," I countered, "and I don't see you as someone who seeks money for money's sake. So, what do you want to do with that money?" The Travelers had gone for money, but that was mainly for their survival and to pay for the costs of searching for what they sought. I was pretty sure that Grue was in a similar position.

He paused, clearly trying to figure out what he should say.

"Tell her," Tattletale said with a nod.

He sighed. "It's my sister. My mother's a junkie and my father doesn't know how to deal with her. I'm planning to have her live with me, but my mother won't give up without a fight. Which means courts, lawyers, and, in the end, money."

Well, that seemed like a place where I could help.

I grabbed the notepad provided at every table and the pen next to it.

Simurgh, write on the pad before me the best way for Grue to peacefully gain guardianship of his sister, using the pencil I'm holding.

Said pen quickly started moving.

A call to a policeman at a specific time, a message to a child protection agent, printing out a specific document on the web and getting his father's signature on it, a few other details. All in all, barely ten steps.

"Here," I said, handing Grue the sheet. "Follow this to the letter, and you'll have custody of your sister."

"Really?" He replied, surprised.

I nodded. "I guarantee it."

He slipped the piece of paper in a pocket of his costume while I turned to Tattletale.

Who was looking at me with extra-wide eyes.

"You ok?" I asked.

She went to reply something, but choked on her words. I offered her some of my water, which she gulped down in an instant.

"It's nothing! It's nothing!" She finally replied. "Just… something coming to mind."

"Good," I replied. "Then, what's your story?"

"I'm… nothing special," she answered, and I could hear a note of fear in her voice. "Just… my parents wanted to use me for my power after I triggered, even though they were part of it. I'm a runaway, and it's not like a girl my age has much choices on how to survive on the streets. Coil paid well, and he could easily arrange to get me a place to live."

"I don't… need anything special," she concluded.

I nodded. I'd thought of hitting the streets myself, just not to have to deal with school anymore. It didn't go any farther than thoughts, of course, but even with my father's issues I didn't doubt he was on my side.

It seemed like Tattletale hadn't been that lucky.

"Anything I could do for the other two?" I asked.

"Buy a big place for Bitch's dogs," Grue pointed out. "Maybe some people to help take care of them. Like Tattletale here said, she's all about her dogs, and the better they're treated the calmer she'll be."

"For Regent, just keep the money coming," Tattletale added. "He's a simple creature, and he'll be fine with just that."

I nodded, noting that.

Then I started discussing missions.

The Undersiders on average did a mission per week, with bigger missions paying more and having longer downtime. Both the now former villains before me recommended not to change that formula, given idle hands made for twitchy capes while not enough downtime led to errors and mission casualties.

Which meant I had to find them something to do in the next three days.

I was still thinking about that when the two left, and I took the time to finish the appetizer I'd ordered before following. Of course, I only went to the alley right next to the building, and was back on the beach the next minute.

And I had some thinking to do.

—

[Brian Laborn / Grue]

Tattletale was surprisingly silent on the way back. Normally, she couldn't help but point out details and observations she'd made, but this time she was clearly pensive.

And that was something I'd rarely seen.

Still, I let her stew in her thoughts, at least until the truck arrived at the base. I wanted answers, and needed them before Regent and Bitch got involved.

"So, what gives?" I asked.

I saw her turn to me, and the smile come on her face.

There was nothing Tattletale liked more than explaining.

"What in particular?" She asked.

"Telling me to bring up Aisha, for one," I replied.

"Our new boss is a bleeding heart. I wasn't expecting that little sheet of paper, but just saying that would have made you safer under her," she explained.

I couldn't help but reach out and touch said item.

Still, I continued on. "You think that'll work?"

She whistled. "If I'm correct about where it came from, it'll work. It'll work like a charm."

"So, can we use that bleeding heart against her?" I didn't like doing something like that, but I couldn't trust her. If Tattletale was right, she'd offed Coil, and I didn't like to trust someone with blood on their hands.

Especially if said person had a lever on me.

Tattletale blanched. "NO!" She exclaimed. "That's… there is…" She stuttered, which was another first.

I instantly tensed. "Is she that dangerous?" I asked.

"If I'm right…" she started, then paused. "Dangerous is not the word. She's a good guy, and she won't throw us under the bus, which is more than I could say for Coil, but…"

She shivered, then breathed out. "If she ever really becomes our enemy, we're dead."

There was a long pause.

"In fact, I'm not even sure the city would make it."

—

Last edited: Feb 3, 2020

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Seraviel

Feb 2, 2020

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Seraviel

Fanfic Author by Night

Saturday at 11:03 PM

#485

I was planning on working on Opposition today, but the day didn't go as planned. As such, you're getting the next part of Chosen instead, as a consolation prize.

As always, thank you all for reading, commenting and correcting.

Special thanks go to the members of the GAG (LordsFire, Mizuki_Stone, Speaker4thesilent, The MMR, Robo Jesus) for their help with building and discussing this. This would have been a lot worse and a lot less fun without their help.

Have fun reading, and have a good month of March!

Chosen

I spent the next few days going over the gangs in the Bay, and selecting targets for the Undersiders. I ended up sending them against a Merchant warehouse, which netted them a good twenty thousand, ended with Mush in jail, and removed nearly a fourth of all the drugs the Merchants had on hand.

Sure, not as good as dropping Coil, but a good start.

When I wasn't doing that, I was continuing with my charity operations. There were always more people who needed help, and I still had money to burn.

Not Coil's money, actually, since I decided to hold that back for maintaining the Undersiders.

But there was a lot of villain money going around, and the Simurgh knew all their passwords.

I ended up electronically robbing the cartels with the Simurgh's help, and was using that as my Good Samaritan fund. It was more than enough to last a while, and would actually lead to infighting and the fall of a number of the cartels through said infighting.

So it was really two birds with one stone.

Still, time advanced as it was wont to do, and I found myself once again on Tuesday morning standing on my beach, waiting for the clock to strike nine.

Mothra, illusion to Eidolon, please, I sent as soon as my alarm rang.

Once more, Eidolon's office appeared before me, and he quickly noticed my appearance.

"Ah, Blackjack, good day," he said cheerfully as he pushed away a document. "Glad to see you are fine. Ready to continue our discussion?"

I nodded. "Yes," I replied. "But I have a question on the subject first, if you don't mind?"

"Go right ahead," the Protectorate leader answered.

"What happens when you…" I choked a little, then took a deep breath, "when you end up getting someone killed."

He tensed. "I see," he replied. "The heavy subjects straight off the bat. Who are we talking about? A cape or not? A hero, a villain, or an innocent?"

"A villain," I replied. "His name was Coil, and he was infiltrating the local PRT administration. I… I arranged for him to be found out, and he died while trying to escape."

He reacted at the name in such a way that made me think he'd heard of the man. "In Brockton Bay, I suppose," he asked.

I nodded. The fact that I was based in the Bay wasn't a big secret at this point.

He went in his computer and typed. "The only event like that in the last week is the death of Thomas Calvert while escaping. Are you saying you orchestrated that?"

"Yes," I replied. "With the Simurgh's help, of course."

"You mean you brought the Simurgh in Brockton Bay?" He countered.

I shook my head. "No, the Simurgh doesn't need to be in the Bay to predict things."

"And she isn't… using her scream?" He asked.

I shook my head again. "No, she doesn't. I've actually never heard it, and I've been around her daily in the last week."

He paused, clearly shocked by the news. "Could you… prove that?" He finally asked. "That's a big claim to make," he pointed out.

I turned my head towards the flying Endbringer. Tell me what Eidolon can order to prevent the next violent crime in his city. Also, tell me what it is.

[Agreement]

Words wrote themselves in the sand before me.

"Send Braver at this address," I said, giving him that information. "There will be a home invasion at 8:22 Houston time. If you can get your man inside before then, you can stop the lady there from ending up in the hospital."

Eidolon didn't wait, sending the order out instantly.

Then he turned back to me. "Let's continue our discussion while we wait for the results," he said.

"In general," he explained after a pause, "We members of the Protectorate try to capture villains as much as possible. In this case, it is more than a PR issue, as captured capes are invaluable sources of information, and can sometimes even be turned and become valuable heroes."

I nodded. "I would have preferred him ending up captured, but it would have ended with more people killed."

"As per the Simurgh, I suppose?" He asked.

I nodded. "Yes, and I believe her. I spent a day with her disarming Coil's contingencies, and if one was missed, people were going to die. He had automated systems contacting contract killers, bombs, poisons, you name it."

"Seriously?" He replied, shocked.

"Seriously," I confirmed. "Worse is, I can't even be sure I got everything. He might have backup systems I missed, or even non-electronic contingencies I didn't notice. Between that and the thousands of people he'd have gotten killed, I have to say I'm not feeling too sad about his passing."

"I'm actually feeling more guilty over the fact that I don't feel guilty enough over his death than anything else," I added as an afterthought.

Eidolon sighed. "I can't really argue the point," he admitted. "I can't say everyone I've ever killed had a kill order on them. I've overestimated enemies, used too much power, or simply the wrong power at times, and there are those that have died because of that. Heroes and villains get in the business knowing at least part of the danger, and those are the risks we take."

He turned and looked straight at me, and I could tell this was serious. "Note that this is not a license to do such a thing freely. That's a slippery slope, and not something a hero should be doing. In fact, I'd prefer that you contact me in the future if such a situation were to happen again. For such a thing, I'm available whenever you need it."

I shook my head. "No worries. I'm not interested in anyone dying, and the only reason I didn't go non-lethal is because of the warning that people would end up dead if I followed that path. As you say, I'll call you if a similar situation presents itself."

"Good," Eidolon replied. "Any other news on the cape front?"

I nodded. "Yes, and a question with that. What are…"

Eidolon's intercom cut me off. "Braver here. Your source is on the nose, boss man. I wasn't in the building for three minutes that the owner's ex-husband broke in from the back with a gun, intent on robbing the place. He's in police custody now."

"Good," the Protectorate leader replied. "Anything else to report?"

"No, everything's calm. Need me for anything else, boss man?" Braver asked.

"No, return to base. I'll inform you if I have any other information. Eidolon out," he said.

"Will do. Braver out," the cape on the intercom replied.

There was a moment of silence as Eidolon digested that newest detail. "Well, it seems like you are correct," he stated. "The idea that the Simurgh has that much range is scary to contemplate, though."

I nodded in understanding.

"You were about to ask something, though," he continued.

"I was wondering about the specifics of… recruiting former villains," I asked.

Eidolon paused for an instant. "Any reason in particular?" He said, inclining his head.

"Coil had two teams of villains either under his payroll or in discussion about it," I explained. "One I managed to convince to give up villainy, but the other I recruited and was planning to point at the other gangs. What are the steps necessary to make that happen?"

Eidolon whistled. "Well, that's pretty good for, what, at most two weeks of work?" I nodded. "Before we get into the details, could I know about the two gangs you've either co-opted or disarmed?"

"The Travelers are the ones I arranged to give up villainy," I answered. "And the Undersiders are the group I'm now technically funding."

"Coil's money, I suppose?" Eidolon asked.

"Yes."

"There are steps to go through for that also," he said, then sighed.

And launched in a long explanation of the paperwork required to be a licensed hero outside the Protectorate.

I ended up having to use my pad to take notes as he went through the various piles of documentation that needed to be filled and filed before one could be an official hero. He did point out the Protectorate had bureaucrats that took care of such things for their members, but had to admit there might be an issue with some of the capes I'd recruited.

I ignored that, given the Protectorate wasn't an issue for me. The Wards might be, but I wasn't convinced I wanted to be part of that group. I liked my freedom and anonymity, and didn't think having to deal with more teenagers was the right way to go.

So, paperwork it was going to be.

Our discussion cut off after an hour as it had before, with again an invitation for the same next week. Yes, it was pretty much confirmed that I had a regular meeting with the strongest cape in the world.

I didn't know how to feel about it.

What I did know, however, is that I had much work to do. Luckily, most of the documents I needed to fill out were available on the web, so I could start right now.

So I did.

—

Today was a day I'd dreaded.

I'd spent the last couple of weeks distracting myself with the world of parahumans, but unfortunately reality didn't let anyone go free from its grasp alive.

Today, Winslow called.

I'd always known that I would have to go back eventually, but actually doing so was still stressful like nothing else. The locker had made it clear that the trio's hiatus was done, and I was pretty sure that they wouldn't take me returning well.

Or, actually, they might be very happy at my return. I actually wasn't sure which option was the worse.

Still, there wasn't much I could do about it. I simply trudged along, trying to evade the looks I was getting. I reached my locker, was glad to notice that they'd at least washed it, and dropped what little stuff I had inside.

And saw my three personal demons looking at me from a distance.

Emma was smirking, clearly having a plan of some kind. Madison had a big smile, and she was visibly looking forward to have some fun.

But it was Sophia that drew my attention, and not in the way that could be expected.

As in, the ability I had to know powers at glance, one I hadn't really put much attention to, activated instantly.

Looking at her, I instantly knew she had an intangibility power. I knew its advantages and it's limits, its perks and its flaws.

And, with that, everything instantly clicked.

I'd wondered for a long while why the faculty wasn't doing anything against my bullying. I'd gone to the teachers many times before today, and had even gone to the principal in a couple of instances before totally giving up on having help. I'd always believed everything was due to simple incompetence, on most humans being horrible people, and nothing had dissuaded me of that.

But, now, I knew better.

Given the paperwork necessary for the formation of a new hero team, I'd of course looked at the other possibilities. The Wards had come up, and I'd read on the restrictions and advantages of being a Ward, even though the prospect didn't interest me.

And schools having Wards received extra funding to better be able to give a good education to said Wards.

I didn't know how much funding that was, but I could understand greed as a motivation, and the school clearly needed the money, not that I thought it went anywhere useful.

So, that was why I'd been thrown under the bus as it were. The PRT was basically paying the school to ignore Winslow's bullying.

It made me mad.

I thought for a second that Eidolon might have know, but already knew better. Wards were in the charge of the local PRT or Protectorate, depending on the area, and even as one of the Triumvirate I doubted he was involved in what would be details of a Wards team on the other side of the country.

Still, outside of reaffirming my decision not to join the Wards or the Protectorate, there was nothing I could do about all of this right now. I'd simply have to go through the school day as normal.

But, already, the trio was defining those norms, working on making my life hell.

"I'm surprised to see Taylor here," Emma said to Madison, but loudly enough for me to hear everything. "I would have thought that even someone dumb like her would be able to understand."

"You think her father would want her at home?" Madison replied. "After having to live with her for two weeks he probably couldn't help but kick her out."

"Yeah, and even the Merchants have more taste than that," Emma added. "Just having her present would give anyone a bad trip! They probably tossed her right at the school, hoping to get rid of her!"

The two of them, along with the circle of flunkies half-surrounding them, laughed.

Sophia didn't. She turned with a growl, and stomped toward class in a huff.

I unfortunately had to follow. I shared my first class with the lot of them, and had something to give the teacher. Technically, it had been due on January third, but better now than never.

—

I stepped out of class first, power-walking to my next one. Inside, I was seething.

The trio hadn't known I was coming back, so there wasn't anything done to my seat, but that didn't mean the bullying stopped. Dropped books, stolen supplies, being tripped on my way to the board… Sure, I'd had to deal with those hundreds of times by now, but they were classics for a reason.

They worked.

Luckily, the next class I only shared with Madison, so the pressure should be less.

At least, I hoped.

—

Lunch at school was always the worst.

A free hour, with limited supervision? Bullies thrived during lunch hour.

My own lunch hadn't started well; someone had managed to steal my lunch from my bag during second period. That meant I had to deal with the cafeteria, or go hungry.

And I would go hungry any day before I would deal with the masses in the cafeteria.

Still, that didn't mean I could take it easy. The trio was fond of hunting me during lunch, and unfortunately they didn't have a specific pattern they followed. Sometimes they attacked before eating, sometimes they ate lunch first.

Of course, by now, I had a few areas that tended to be safer than the most traveled place of the school, but they seemed pretty relentless today.

I wasn't sure I trusted those spots right now.

One easy way to evade the trio was to leave the school, but that felt like abandoning and letting them win. I was a cape now, and one that had made a positive impact on the city; I wasn't going to run from two-bit bullies that easily.

Instead, I went around, trying to find a place to stay. I was in luck; Miss Knott had opened the computer class up during lunch, and I could easily stay there under her gaze.

The trio were brazen, but not to that level.

I spent the lunch hour on the net, verifying data on PHO and the Parahuman Wiki. There was in fact a thread about the Undersiders hitting the Merchants, and I followed the discussion, making sure I wasn't missing anything.

Still, all that meant I had to rush to my next class, and Sophia made sure to trip me in a blind corner. Worse, with that I was of course the last arrived in class, and that meant I had a seat right next to Madison, Emma, and Julia.

And said seat was covered in glue.

I took a deep breath, and held back my sincere envy of calling the Simurgh on the school.

Then a piece of gum hit me in the back of the head, getting stuck in my hair.

I mustn't send the Endbringers after civilians, I chanted to myself. I mustn't send the Endbringers after civilians.

The end of the school day couldn't come soon enough.

—

I ran as soon as the last bell rang, running straight for the most isolated bathroom in the school. A portal opened inside as soon as I confirmed that I was alone there, and was back on the island not two seconds later.

And I roared.

"THOSE BITCHES!" I yelled, safe in the knowledge that, outside the Endbringers and me, there was no one anywhere close. "I SHOULD HAVE…"

I should have done nothing. In fact, I'd made sure to keep the channel I had to them closed, given the thoughts that had been circling in my head would have made the Endbringer sirens ring.

And that wasn't how I wanted things to go.

As such, I took a deep breath, and thought.

I needed to fix this problem, and quickly.

Regardless of my powers, I wasn't superhuman; I had limits. I'd held back from using my powers, but I knew I could break. If they did something like the locker or, if it was even possible, something worse, I'd stop holding back in an instant.

And that would make me a villain.

I didn't want to walk that path, to hurt innocents simply because I stopped caring about the consequences. But if things continued like today, it was simply a matter of time.

So I needed to have this solved beforehand.

Which meant, of course, I turned to the Simurgh.

What is the quickest way for me to remove the trio's bullying? Give me the details.

[Agreement]

A sheet of the Simurgh's usual crystalline paper formed before me, and I quickly read it. Four portals, one to grab a specific gun, three to shoot through. Total time: seventeen seconds.

Well, I couldn't deny that it was quick.

Still, it wasn't what I wanted. While I couldn't say part of me wasn't tempted, especially in Sophia's case, this wasn't the way I wanted to do things. Still, I couldn't deny that it was what I'd asked for.

So I thought for a moment about the specifics, and tried again.

What is the quickest way for me to permanently stop the trio's bullying without causing physical harm or causing damage to innocents?

[Agreement]

More of those sheets came into existence before me this time. Each described a specific email to be sent during a specific interval. I read all of said messages, then turned back to the Simurgh.

Is all that information true? I sent.

[Approval]

I whistled. I knew Winslow was a shithole, but to have the numbers in front of me like that?

Three overdoses, two murders, nineteen attempted murders, more than a thousand cases of drugs been sold, fifty plus students coming to school with weapons…

And all that in the past year.

I looked back at the emails, and felt some rage rising. Five emails. Five!

That was all I need to get out of the hell I'd been in for more than a year. A hell that everyone had abandoned me to.

Well, that wasn't going to fly.

I reached for my pad, and went for the site I'd found that allowed to put emails on a schedule. It took less than five minutes for everything to be set up, and from what the Simurgh said everything would be solved on Friday.

Which meant I had to survive three more days of Winslow.

Well, I had a solution for that.

Simurgh, how do I dodge the trio's bullying over the next three days?

I wasn't going to go back unprepared, that was certain.


	6. oppwithgravitas1

Apr 5, 2017

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#1

Spoiler: Disclaimers!

From 1976-1978 CE, the General Contact Unit Arbitrary hung around the solar system with its sensory units fixed fairly firmly on the Earth. Contact personnel and drones investigated, collected, contemplated, and eventually decided against contacting or destroying the planet or its predominate mammalian species (the "destruction" being less of a firm plan and more the after-dinner suggestions of a few crew on too many psychotropic substances).

In 2000 CE, a routine jump through the expanding shell of Earth's electromagnetic signals resulted in an unexpected slamming of the metaphorical brakes, as numerous powerful Minds took a look at the broadcast history of the planet's last thirty years and said, "Wait, what?"

Walk A Mile In My Effectors 1.1

January 8th, 2011 - Earth-Bet, Brockton Bay

I put my hands down on my bedroom desk, encircling one of the only two things left on it. I'd carefully set aside all my homework, backup homework, notebooks, old trophies and photos, diligently focusing on the work and not thinking about what I was clearing the desk for (don't think about pink elephants, don't think about pink elephants…) until I'd finished.

The business card was the normal size, off-white (eggshell? linen? I hadn't exactly been able to focus when we did color theory in art), uncreased even after being pulled from my old velcro wallet. The writing was gold, all caps, and small, just six words on three lines with a lot of blank space around them.

I put my index fingers on opposite sides of the card and flexed it. It wasn't any thicker, any heavier than it should be.

It was just the metaphorical weight of the power behind it. All in my head. Much more comforting.

"… hello? … testing." I refused to look at the other object on my desk while I talked to the business card. Nothing was happening… would that make it fake, or just capable of telling if I'm being serious?

It was there. It was definitely real, whole, and not a hallucination. There weren't any painkillers still in my system. I was thinking straight (I thought). Except I was contemplating something that was definitely insane.

Dad was asleep. We'd left the hospital around six, and he'd collapsed pretty much right when we got home.

He'd been confronted with what had been going on for over a year, and I'd scared him. I wondered how he would have felt if he'd know where I'd really been. (Probably really been)

Or what I was about to do. I swept the card and the other item into one hand, then shoved them into the pocket of a thinning grey hoodie as I shoved it on. I could pull it tight enough to hide most of my face. That would work for now, keep enough of my face covered (Maybe I wouldn't even have the same face if I went through with it).

My possibly insane and definitely reckless late night stroll across the not-quite-the-Docks-but-nobody-goes-there-because-it-might-as-well-be-the-Docks wasn't something that would help Dad's stress level either. But screw it. I was either right, in which case I had one pretty damn higher power looking out for me, or I was completely full-on physical hallucinations losing it, and it would probably be better to get shanked in an alley than to have my mind break down one neuron at a time.

And it gave me time to think. And remember.

+34786km, TimeLoc 20110107T154101Z - TimeGal RefLink

"You can give me powers. Any powers?"

"Nearly any, with varying degrees of control assistance required for the more esoteric. Or a small array, probably thematically linked, preferably mechanistically linked."

I didn't know where to go with that. "Is there a… a list, or something?"

The shrug was perfect, dismissing the idea without being so noticeable as to dismiss me for asking it. I could take a shrug. "We have a highlights reel for inspiration. But don't feel too limited by what already exists. We have enough of a causal understanding to extrapolate the possibility and probability of any given powerset. Standing out is beneficial to a degree, but remaining within, say, the 90th percentile of probability and power would probably be safest."

"So you don't think I should beat Eidolon and throw Endbringers around like toys." I couldn't fully hold back a giggle.

"I'm willing to consider your arguments and leave future alterations open, but I'm afraid I'm not yet ready to give you the power to crack your world in half, Taylor." I've had enough experience with adults patronizing me to be pretty sure when they aren't. The half-smile that accompanied the denial was a lightning rod for my anxiety. Inch by inch, moment by moment, I shut down the part of myself that knew even this hallucination was mocking me, while I was trapped inside a fucking locker-

"So… maybe just an Alexandria package? That's, uh-"

A wider smile, and I shut up. "Don't worry, we know. There isn't much about your Earth we don't know. Is that all you'd like?"

I hesitated. "I'd have to get in fights, right? And win, in order to do everything you want. I'll need a ranged option. And… intelligence boosts?"

"Perceptual, memory, and calculation enhancements are a simple matter. Biological and internal modifications would be significantly easier to excuse than external Tinker-type powers, due to their destabilizing potential."

I couldn't help but hone in on a couple of those words. "Excuse? Is this illegal?"

"We don't have laws, but too direct or significant interference would be frowned upon. Enough so that pushing it might drag someone else in to correct us, so it ends up easier for everyone if we pre-screen the effects."

I have a lot of experience holding my expression (and gosh, aren't I happy about needing that skill at the age of fucking fifteen?), but something tells me they aren't fooled by my lack of snarling at the idea of interference. Well, I'm allowed to be pissed! You dangled powers in front of me, then say "hey by the way someone even bigger will make you do what you're told if you fuck up?" Dick move. "Fine. I'll stick with something concrete. What's something I don't need to know too much about to lie convincingly?"

That got the slightly pained look I was fishing for. "Earth Bet's understanding of the fundamental interactions is flawed in enough places that we could persuade them you were manipulating gravitational or electromagnetic forces."

I closed my hand. Tight fist, pushing my nails into my palm. It hurt. Heavy as I could make the pressure. Pulled my fingers open, let it go. Still hurt, regaining feeling where I'd jabbed myself. But it was fading "That's… tempting."

"But you're not fully swayed, or even convinced that I'm real." A little amusement in those eyes. Not sneering. Just amusement. "That's not a problem. We have time to talk further, before we send you back. And you don't need to decide now."

Send me- "Send me back? Into-"

"Only a minute or two before you're found. We'll give you an injection to simulate fatigue, minor infections, and bruising, as if you'd been there the entire time. It will fade quickly."

I closed my eyes. Right. Nothing last forever. Nothing good, anyway. "Okay. How long do I have to decide?"

"The card will self-destruct Sunday night at eleven PM." The spy line got the perfect movie delivery. "We have another gift for you - to keep, regardless of your decision. If you decline, please try not to break anything."

I stared at it. Okay. Maybe, maybe I could let myself believe in this.

A little.

What the hell did a girl have to do to get mugged in Brockton Bay?

I'd been poking my nose into alleyways for like - an hour? two? - and nothing! I even stood at the edge of a streetlight's glow and fumbled around like I was going for my wallet. Not that I had my wallet. If I was suffering a psychotic break I might as well be nice to Dad and die anonymously.

So of course, I'd given up and made it halfway home when I heard the man scream.

You know what, close enough. My breath steamed in the air, and there was way too much of it, and the burning sensation in my chest, by the time I found someone. And of course, I was stumbling out of dim light into a dark alley. Incredibly stupid.

It was far enough from the Docks to be safe, right? That's what the guy in the suit must have thought, anyway. Probably an out-of-towner from one of the tech companies in the cheap office buildings, Brockton's demi-boom in the process of being leeched by the gangs. It didn't help him any being Indian when it really wasn't safe, and surprise: Nazis! Six of them, or seven? That might have been a trash bag, or a cheap thug shaped like a racist potato.

"Fuck off." I missed the lookout until he spoke, and he was barely outside my arm's reach. I was definitely in his reach, at a half foot taller and holding a real mean-looking knife just barely into the light to catch the glint.

I gave it a moment's thought - no, of course I fucking didn't, why else was I here. "Do it."

Maybe he thought I was talking to him - or would have, if he had the time to think.

His knife melted, but he didn't get to react to that. He went flying back into the wall behind him, dusting the alleyway with a cloud of brick fragments. He tried to stand, so he crashed into it again and stayed down.

The other guys (only six! It was a literal trash bag and not just a human imitation) had made it to the "reaching for stuff in their belts" or "raising their weapons" stage.

I didn't really catch everything that happens. I kind of built it in my mind, though. First guy had a silvery blur rip through his shirt, punch right through the gun tucked into his wasteband, causing one of the bullets to explode and sending him reeling into the second guy, who threw him out of the way.

That's okay, there was more for you too. The silver flickered in front of him, caught the light for a moment, then he just hit the ground, groaning while an invisible giant stepped on him. Third guy did an about face and met "seventh guy", the black bag rupturing on his face, spilling smashed cans and stacked cardboard boxes. They hit a lot harder than a casual toss would have, and down he went.

Fourth guy had shouted "Ca-" before he was thirty feet in the air and just shouting. Well, screaming. Then he was two feet in the air. Then fifty. Then fainted, and on the ground.

Fifth and sixth guys crashed into each other, then again after they shouted, then again, then one more time, until the invisible giant toddler got tired of smashing toys together.

I hadn't moved my hands out of my hoodie's pocket.

I walked up to the victim and offered him a hand. Cut on the scalp, and maybe a dark spot on his shirt? Hopefully it was just trash stains, he sure seemed to be breathing. Maybe in shock a bit, or concussed. Best for me, blood in his eyes. He wasn't going to have any chance of identifying me. He also couldn't see the hand, so I just kind of grabbed him and pulled. He didn't resist, at least.

"You got a phone?" I made my voice as deep as I could (hah!). He nodded and fumbled with his shirt pocket, dropped a glowing rectangle. 911 Emergency already on the screen.

Great. I turned and kinda-casually-walked, kinda-almost-sprinted for the street, then just started walking. After two blocks, I pulled my hood down. Identifiable teen girl just past the Docks, weird, sure, but not a mugger.

Squad car went past me about three blocks after that, so I think it was a pretty decent decision. I made it home without any other incidents.

"Can you unlock the door and… I don't know, levitate me in?"

The door clicked, but I was still on the ground. One step forward and - no noise. Absolutely silent. Okay, good enough.

Upstairs I went, and Dad's door stayed closed. I went back to my desk. Pulled out both items. Put them back on the desk.

Put both hands on the card. Looked at the silver pen.

The silvery pen-shaped object.

"Okay. I'm in."

The almost-pen, flared to a thumb-thick bulb at the end, lifted off my desk, hovering vertically above the card. A ripple of blue and orange light ran down it, projected on the air just above its surface.

"Conveying your agreement to the GCV Sufficiently Advanced Technology now." There was only a fraction of a pause. "Welcome to Contact, Special Circumstances division, Agent Taylor Hebert."

Spoiler: The Culture[/hr][/hr][/hr]

Last edited: Jun 26, 2017

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Noobsauce

Apr 5, 2017

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Noobsauce

Already I am writing in trash can all of the time

Apr 5, 2017

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#44

1.2

GCV Sufficiently Advanced Technology, Saturn Orbit. January 10th, 2011

TimeLocGlobal 20110110T071344Z

"You're not letting me go out for two weeks?!"

Maybe I wasn't being fair. But I'd been waiting all Sunday, uncomfortably lurking around the house because every interaction with Dad brought uncomfortable apologies halfway up his throat before they got tangled in the barbed wire we'd laid between us and turned to even more uncomfortable coughs and changes of conversation. And all I could think was, How long do I have to wait until my invasive brain surgery?

So I'd had my mind sliced open and various bits added and removed - not that I could tell it had happened, except for the results. I'd just closed my eyes and then opened them again to be told it was done. And now I was on an alien spaceship in the outer solar system at 3:14:04 AM Eastern, being told I wasn't going to be allowed to fly and bench press a truck yet.

Okay, I definitely wasn't being fair. Still.

"Not quite. I am simply not going to provide your physical enhancements yet. I would highly recommend against going out to 'hero' without them, although it is your decision, and Isk-Berniav's if she accompanies you."

"Is this the kind of help I can expect when I'm trying to save my world?" I was already speaking Marain, the Culture's artificial language, thanks to the additive parts of the invasive brain surgery; the neural lace and a lot of glanded Quicken, in particular, had been more effective than all the years of every single foreign language class I'd ever tried.

"Well, yes, Taylor. Special Circumstances aside, I'm not the kind of Mind that particularly agrees with the necessity of grinding people down like disposable tools to get the job done. Or with letting them do it to themselves. You're not in a good emotional place right now to be fighting people. Even without external aggressive influence." I could tell myself the avatar of the Sufficiently wasn't chastising me. It wasn't easy to tell myself that, but it was true, and the silvery eyes set in a nearly-perfect, just-this-side-of-inorganic face never had a hint of condescension.

Which they probably should have. I was arguing with - well, now that I had a network link and glands for dozens of artificial neurochemicals in my head, I could get even closer to understanding exactly how much my mind was outclassed by the Mind I was talking to. And I was still arguing with it.

"So- so you want to send me back into that?" From a couple hours of not even dropping the connection for ten seconds at a time, I'd become skilled enough with the neural lace (obsessive about my own actions, my own history) to call up the ship's image of myself when they grabbed me out of the locker. I didn't look at it, but I sent it to the ship. Which, given that I'd pulled it from the ship's internal library to begin with - okay, yes, I could tell I was being foolish.

The Sufficiently Advanced Technology held up both hands, palms forward. "I'm sorry. I should have given you the option before the request. I'd like you to wait two weeks, and spend that time on the ship. Relaxing. Exploring. I like to think I have at least enough interesting facilities for a two week vacation."

"And - school? Dad?"

"I can, only with your permission, create a remote drone in your exact form, and control it in order to take your place. I'd suggest you take a few hours a day to return to Earth-Bet in order to spend time with your father, however."

"I- um. Yeah. I guess." Nice. I had to be told that maybe I and not a robot duplicate should spend time with my dad by my alien AI spaceship demigod overlord. And I was being unfair again, because the Sufficiently had very scrupulously and very obviously never put a single limitation or demand on me besides a much politer equivalent of "please don't fuck this up".

Okay, alien AI spaceship demigod mentor. (Don't start liking it. You know what happens then)

The ship didn't comment or stare or anything, although I'm sure I was making all kinds of sulky, pouting faces while I reminded myself how I was being childish, and I wondered for not the first time if I should be asking them for tact lessons to go along with the powers.

"How would it - you? - behave?"

"It could mimic what I believe would be your behavior, or you could decide on an atypical course of action. I'd we rather decide now, and I won't have to bother you with the minutiae of its behavior while you're relaxing." (Not trying to relax, not mentioning that it's the minutiae of being harassed and assaulted constantly… tact lessons, yes, please.)

"…. can you make it win?"

I expected… I don't know. Condemnation, for my viciousness? Disappointment, in my pettiness? For the ship to immediately turn into Emma and mock me for not being able to do anything myself? Probably the last one.

What I got was a too-wide grin exposing all three pairs of incisors that belonged to whatever human variant the avatar was modeled on. "I would be delighted to give you a win."

My first regret came as "they'll be so much worse when I come back."

Surprisingly, my counterpoint came immediately: "screw them, I'll have powers."

It actually helped. Not a lot, but it did. "Thanks, ship. I'd love a vacation."

That earned a genuine smile from the avatar, and I had to shut down my neural lace in response. Okay, I was probably too good at pulling up images and not good enough at controlling what was a thought and what was a command. But why the hell were my family photo albums with Mom in Culture archives anyway?!

"Our data gathering casts too wide a net sometimes," the avatar said. Hint of a frown, apology in the widening eyes. I hadn't actually asked that, had I? "I was observing your data access logs. If you would like me not to, I can stop."

I - I didn't want anyone watching me, but… hell, if I couldn't trust the ship, who could I trust? (Not Dad. Not me) "No… you're only going to use it to help me." I ended up having more conviction in that statement after I said it. Yeah. I could believe the GCV had my best interests in mind. "And nobody else is going to see it, right?"

"I have no intent of giving anyone else in this solar system access to your activities, unless you request it. Crew asking for relevant information will be told to ask you, and I'll put their requests in a review filter."

"Crew? Why would they be interested in- me?" Okay, maybe not every word out of the avatar's mouth was calming. I'd seen a couple people in the background of the giant promenades and archways I'd met the avatar on, the Sufficiently had used plurals a lot and mentioned a crew. Weren't crew supposed to run the ship? But the Mind was the ship.

"You are not the first Culture interaction with your Earth, but you are the most significant. There are a multiplicity of reasons for you to draw the attention of my crew and passengers who are actually paying attention to the planet-index."

GCV Sufficiently Advanced Technology TimeLoc 20110107T151254Z - TimeGal RefLink

"Hello, Taylor. Please, have a seat. I'd like to discuss the alien invasion of your Earth, and what you can do about it. Tea?"

Operating on autopilot, I sat, my pants squelching a little. The chair was obscenely comfortable for something that looked like a metallic piece of modern art. My slightly-too-skinny androgynous host tipped their cup graciously, wrist bending just a little too far back, and at the wrong angle. They held out both pinkies on the right hand while they sipped. Between that, their luminous silver-irised eyes, and the panorama of endless black above us, broken only by the shining dots of the stars, and the huge blue-green globe just off of center above me…

"Um. Are you asking me to defend humanity in some kind of... trial?"

Their smile exposed human teeth (too many incisors…), and touched their eyes, whatever their color. The hairs on the back of my neck were still standing up, but maybe not as much. "Oh, no. We're not the alien invaders. We're the interested friendly aliens. I am the avatar of the ship you're standing on, the General Contact Vehicle Sufficiently Advanced Technology of the Culture. Our concern is the aggressively hegemonizing swarm organism that began assaulting your world twenty eight years ago."

I was ninety, ninety five percent sure I was dreaming at this point. Everything was too - the air too fresh, the chair too smooth, the edges too sharp. Too real. I peeled a brown-black flake off my arm, watching it fall to the silver-white metallic floor. I rubbed my sneaker on the surface, listened to the fainter squeak than it should have made. Incongruous, but not enough to dispel the surreal atmosphere. "… Scion? Okay, I can accept he's an alien, but assaulting?"

"The projection calling itself Scion is the primary focal point of a colony organism primarily existing outside of your perception and reach, on your alternate Earths." Above one raised hand, they formed a little hovering image of the golden man, then shrunk him, drawing glowing lines out from him to… a thing wrapped around the overlapping Earths, burrowing in and out of them with its sections connected in ways it hurt to look at.

"That's Scion." No argument; I wasn't up to disputing my trauma-induced hallucinations. (Congrats, Emma. You finally broke my brain).

"The most accurate representation your eyes and brain can process. This colony holds no regard for your species, or for you as people. It views you solely as material for its evolution." Thousands of lights sparked on the body, moving to locations all over one Earth. The image zoomed in, projecting windows from each site, showing capes, heroes and villains clashing again and again. "At the end of the life-cycle, it recollects its modules and destroys your world and all its parallels to propagate." They cough quietly. "As far as our source knows."

I let that stipulation go. Weird for a dream, but not worth worrying about. I was still a little numb, but this was… pissing me off. Maybe I'd snapped. Maybe some broken part of my brain was imagining all this in reaction to the way I'd been treated.

Or maybe some extra-dimensional worm in the shape of a golden man was intending to act exactly the same way towards my species.

I met the eyes of the avatar. "What's the alternative?"

TimeLoc 20110110T072803Z

"Can you… hold onto that for me?" Righteous warrior for Earth-Bet, for all Earths, that I could do. Celebrity? Um.

"Of course. Polite disinclination for now." The ship flicked an errant strand of gunmetal-grey hair aside. I'd wondered if the eclectic coloring of the avatar was alien or just weird; another item on my list of "What is even up with the Culture" to research.

I drummed my fingers on the table. Looked up after I realized it, warmth in my cheeks already. Resisted the urge to gland something mood-stabilizing - no, Taylor, do not abuse your amazing alien brain chemicals the day you get them. The avatar had its usual resting expression, which I'd categorized as "interested patience".

"Do I have to start… relaxing… now?" I trailed off. God, that sounded dumb.

"I understand your urge to action, Taylor." The avatar lowered its otherwise flawlessly straight shoulders just a couple inches. "I have been observing Earth-Bet for three thousand, five hundred and seventy three days. Every one of those days I have been tempted to act to the fullest of my ability, to take steps on a plan that brings direct results now."

"But you haven't. Because it would be worse?"

"Because it had a significant enough chance of being worse. Because we do not know. I can run millions of simulations, but they are only based on everything I can see across every Earth. I cannot say how the colony organism will react because I have never seen it act. There is a reason there isn't a GSV hovering behind me, ready to turn your solar system into a singularity if necessary. If there's a chance it lives, escapes, becomes alerted to the general Culture, or subverts a Mind… the general consensus wants as much information as possible. It took me long enough to get agreement to empower you as our agent."

Okay. If they were in the mood, I was going to take the opening. "Why don't you know? You had a lot of information about Scion, capes, their reproductive cycle…"

"Stolen information," the avatar shrugged. "We weren't here when the colony organisms arrived, but we have been able to retrieve everything from every Earth. Including Cauldron."

The ship didn't elaborate, and I figured that was a prompt to tap my neural lace and look it up. "Cross-Earth conspiracy… artificial powers… a second Scion-thing?!" I looked up. Took several moments to find the words. "Why not use them instead of - an emotionally damaged teenager?"

"I prefer the emotionally damaged teenager's morals." That was the coldest I'd heard the Sufficiently's tone ever get, even while discussing Scion's feeding habits. I flipped back into the data on Cauldron.

Alexandria ran the Protectorate. Harbinger. Manton was the Siberian (did Cauldron know? Did they care? They hadn't stopped him, or the S9). Case 53s. A dead Earth base and prison. "The Path to Victory".

"They think it's worth it." I didn't think I held any emotion when I said it. I was still processing everything the GCV had on Cauldron.

"Their methodology could be - not excused, but understood, if they had a true plan." The ship's avatar would be glaring through its tilted glasses if it wore any.

I reached the section on Cauldron's goals. "They're just stalling?"

"Yes." After spitting the word, the avatar abruptly stopped seething, sat up straight and looked me in the eyes instead of glaring into the distance. "So. That's the filter of our most extensive information on this particular breed of hegemonizing swarm."

I shook my head. "That's not it, though. Cauldron doesn't have an answer, has tons of flaws in their knowledge, but so do we. Why are you judging them so harshly? Why haven't you acted?"

"The nature of the colony organism - its distribution, in particular."

"Across alternate dimensions?" I say it, then stop and frown before the avatar can answer. It felt wrong - why? Oh. I'm using Marain, and- "They're not alternate dimensions."

"Not as far as we know! We're very familiar with alternate dimensions - I mostly exist in hyperspace, we use the differentials for some of our most potent weapons and effectors. They have starkly different physical rules, and even those capable of supporting structures from our universe don't contain potential variants of our universe based merely on altered past probabilities."

I processed the - well, rant wasn't quite the right word. The Sufficiently Advanced Technology knew I wasn't going to provide any answers. It sounded like an old debate, and probably just its half of it. "So Earth-Bet…"

"Did not exist when the Culture first discovered Earth in 1976. One Earth, a fairly standard world for a stage 3 human civilization with mixed prospects. The detection of the colony organism isn't why I'm still here ten years later - it's what it did to your world, the parallels that didn't exist before it arrived, and whether it has any capability of doing it again, that has deadlocked hundreds of Minds for an excruciating amount of time."

I didn't really remember when I learned about Earth-Aleph and the unknown others we hadn't really met. Some time when I was a kid. It wasn't that important - sure, they had weird TV and music; we had Endbringers.

But it hit me harder than hearing what Scion was, chilled my blood to understand my entire world's existence was not the way things were supposed to be.

"Still interested in the job?" There was a little emotional residue in the avatar's smile - sarcasm? gallows humor, maybe. I was real familiar with that.

I was proud that it didn't take me a second to answer. "Yeah. I'd rather know about the end of the world than be surprised."

The ship just smiled.[/hr]

Last edited: Aug 31, 2017

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#172

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GCU Sufficiently Advanced Technology, Sol|Earth-Bet Asteroid Belt [LocObj 832 Karin]

Taylor Hebert, Planetary Origin Local Time: 20110111T143409Z

(Tuesday, January 11th)

I'd thought being hurled out of my torment and onto a spaceship on the dark side of the moon to hear a life-changing offer had been disorienting. That abruptness had to wait in line when I had parts of my brain altered to let me tap into the full information stores of a millennia-old galactic civilization.

It turned out that no, the absolute, positively most confusing, dazzling, mind-numbing thing I could do with the Culture was try to relax in it.

"So… what's going on over there?" I'd been told I only needed to move my eyes, but I nodded my head slightly to the right anyway. I wasn't the kind of person to just point at people, but I had to do something to buffer my instincts against talking to myself (But I don't want to go among mad people…)

Isk-Berniav's emotive aura flashed a red streak in the same direction, then melted back into a yellow-green tint. Drone equivalent of raising an eyebrow and smirking at something funny, I interpreted. It had been a long day of red amusement, purple embarrassment, and gunmetal confusion - plus all their dozens of not-quite-defined interactions and shapes - trying to learn her particular moods.

Honestly, considering our introduction, I was surprised my temporary bodyguard was still willing to hang around with me. And I didn't think that was a Taylor thing, it was genuinely hard to imagine offering to guard a primitive stranger - for life! - if they didn't take your offer. And then beating the hell out of some Nazis because an angry girl couldn't think of any better stress relief-slash-demonstration of reality.

"That would be Grice-Thantapsa Li Erase 'ndane dam Sione in the front, giving a lecture that according to the Sufficient's public forums is about the divergence point for Earth-Kaf from Earth-Lamed, but from context appears to have turned into chastising the Parisian Surrealist movement for not stopping Hitler. His audience is mostly glanding Soft and think he's a background Earth broadcast, or are planning to throw food at him as soon as his mouth closes." She'd left out that the Speaker bore a closer resemblance to Bigfoot than me, but I could let that slide. It still put him in the top half of the crew for resemblance to what I'd considered human last week.

"Okay. I think I'll pass." I sat down anyway, on what was sort of a handrail for an archway that looked half a mile long, but slid up a back and became a chair a couple seconds after I touched it. "What do you do for fun when you're on the ship, Isk-Berniav?"

"Statues." The knife missile's aura held on yellow-green, then rippled red and orange. Laughter, but the nice kind. The kind of laugh you did, with friends, without mocking them. It was easier for me to put those pieces together with a sheet of translucent color than it was with normal human sounds. Jesus. "The ship has an excellent gallery from various unContacted missions on one of the port outriggers. It'll tell you where they're from and what they mean, but only if you ask. Most visitors consider that cheating, so there's a whole series of clues, guidebooks, and tour teams that get together to research and debate them. Most people go three or four times before they give up and ask. I think the old pedagogue changes the answers every few decades anyway, just to keep us smaller intellects on intellectual station-keeping."

The drone's contralto Marain was highlighted by red-brown wryness. "I know, I'm so dry when I have time to myself. Watch out for that, Taylor. Spend long enough in the same place and you'll pick up your Mind's habits or you'll go headlong the other way." Isk-Berniav flashed orange arrows at the lecture, which had broken up after several participants and hapless glanding bystanders had been splattered by a thick pudding-like dish. Li 'ndane had stayed to argue with the ship through his terminal about whether it was reasonable to have to go to his rooms, and demand/explain why the Sufficient should just displace clean clothes to him.

"Are most Minds as serious as the Sufficient?"

"Hardly. For Contact, it's positively straight-laced. Bit odd, but aren't they all?" The drone paused for a moment. "Rhetorical question, I guess. I'll ask you again in a couple decades."

I let that one hang for a while, but I couldn't let it drop. "Have I signed my life away with this?"

Isk-Berniav flashed bright purple. "Oh! No, no. Habit of age, I suppose. Assuming you humans are going to follow the same path for some time. Gets me in trouble not infrequently! Let's call it a hope. I'll file a reminder for myself in ten years to ask what you think of Contact Minds if you're still bobbing along with us."

"Thanks," I said, and couldn't hide a tiny smirk. If she saw, Isk-Berniav didn't comment. A dark shape a lot larger than a bird snapped past a hundred feet overhead. I looked around the walkway, now empty of anyone else for a couple hundred feet, the impromptu café for the lecture having been removed by the ship at some point. "Can we go see the statues?"

Taylor Hebert, Planetary Origin Local Time: 20110115T172011Z

(Saturday, January 15th)

By my fifth day exploring what was basically a four-kilometer-long library, park, museum, and a dozen other things I loved, run by an ever-attentive curator with a genuine interest in everything it had placed, I had reached a unique state: I'd actually had my fill of peace, quiet, and learning. I hadn't really remembered I could get this way, but something was starting to itch by Friday and had metastasized today: I needed to be active, and I wasn't going to gland anything to avoid it. I didn't need to be told that was a bad habit; even if nothing my mind could now make was addictive or harmful without severe overuse (which my glands would probably just refuse to do), I wasn't going to start living anywhere near the way I'd seen people get in Brockton Bay. It wasn't just brains and bodies that our miserable Earth drugs wrecked, it was lives. I kind of liked my life (most of it). I was interested in keeping it intact. So I promised I wouldn't let myself get obsessive, use my glanded drugs to avoid everything that bothered me or twist my lifestyle around for sheer convenience.

Which was why I was screaming at the top of my lungs while I smashed down an overhand swing with a straight metal sword longer than my arms.

Okay, every proceeding step had made sense in its own context. Maybe this wasn't entirely the sort of thing I would have jumped right into on my own, but when my sword hit at just the right angle to slip past my opponent's guard, and stuck in the air less than a millimeter from his shoulder, I didn't feel anything but victory.

"Excellent work. Classical hewing stroke, would have cut right through Bocha's shoulder. Then your blade would be stuck a bit below his collarbone or at the spine, so not ideal for a crowd - the Fechtbuch of Sigmund Ringeck would have suggested a shoulder-strike and then a stab, or a neck cut. Thank you, ship. Can you release Taylor's sword?"

A slight hum warned me before the weight of the sword fell back into my hands. Bocha Veshjeng had already moved, but the GCU wasn't going to let us get too reckless with actual sharp, heavy swords. We were only human.

Well, I was only human. And Bocha was an intensely skinny human with a third of his weight in the blue-feathered wings curling out of his shoulder-blades. Which didn't make him not-human or anything. Earth-Bet was a pretty flimsy glass house for throwing stones about weird-looking people being human.

And if there was anyone in the little medieval literature/practical martial arts club I could plausibly sword-fight, it had to be the guy who weighed in at a hundred and twenty eight pounds thanks to the hollow bones.

I might have even been above his fighting class if I hadn't lost the first three matches utterly, to the point where I was still sure I was tomato-red without even looking in a mirror… all because he'd taken his shirt off to let the wings out (and let the pecs out, and the abs out - Bocha was built like a Greek sculpture, tight muscles packed probably a lot more than you needed to fly in 0.6g) (not that the light halter top he'd worn was much of a shirt to begin with, which did not actually help).

It was actually a symptom of a much larger problem: everyone in the Culture was really hot. Some of them were way too old for me and also hot, but every human I'd met so far on the Sufficiently Advanced Technology was somewhere between "really cute" and "literally breathtaking, I can't look at you without wheezing." I was starting to reignite a body-image complex I thought I'd been getting over.

And how was I supposed to find out about this? Isk-Berniav had been really, really accommodating, but I couldn't see myself turning to her and saying "hey what's up with all the flesh-people being model-quality gorgeous?" It wasn't quite my style.

I was a little distracted with trying to think my way out of that one while the medieval hobby club wrapped up. Okay, more than a little distracted; Isk-Berniav had to tap my shoulder with an effector to make me notice everyone had left.

"Taylor, there's some people I'd like you to meet, if you're up to a light afternoon party. Cafe-style, nothing serious." Her aura's faint hints of purple shame were enough to stir me.

"Sounds fine, Isk-Berniav. I'm not that fragile." I wasn't, right? Well, even if I was, I refused to be.

She zipped across the Sufficient's upper deck bridge, a two-kilometer-long and half-k wide flattened archway connecting the two major terrain preserves. Most of the people who bothered to schedule social events did them here, and the ship's main avatar was usually somewhere to be found on it. The group Isk-Berniav had picked, of humans, drones, and somebody I'd have to look up to determine if they were an alien or altered human, was nothing exceptional by that standard. I sat down and gave them a once-over while the drone began her introductions.

"Taylor Hebert, Zrin Pradinje-"

I held up a hand, which was understood enough to cut off the introduction. "Sorry, but -" I was already out of my chair and halfway to the target of my attention. "What. Are. You. Doing. Here."

"Uh, hi Taylor." The blonde boy my neural lace had hopefully informed me was actually named Tier-AhForgetIt Gregory Veder dam Drosecki just barely managed to meet my eyes.

"No. No, that's not an acceptable answer, Greg."

"Uh, you're kind of, looming, Taylor."

"Am I intimidating you, Greg? Upsetting you? What a shame."

"I get the point. I'm sorry." He hung his head. "I'm not great in high-stress situations."

I let him stew for another couple seconds, then stepped back. "Okay. I accept what you are. That doesn't mean we're done, Greg."

The righteous anger dripped out of my veins and I gave Isk-Berniav a weak smile, her aura gunmetal and purple with confused apology. "Sorry. You were doing introductions."

"I should have realized there would be history. Please, Taylor, my apologies."

I could let it drop - so I did. I had bigger and better things than Winslow. Literally. "So, what's this group anyway?"

"The Crisis Opportunity Conference," answered the drone without an emotive aura. It was a horizontal teardrop of silvery metal about the size of my head, with garishly and almost unCultured visible effector blisters and weapon ports. Neural lace-provided label: Vos-Belligerent, Restoria combat drone.

"I thought we were the Humanitarian Protective Collaboration?" asked a woman with a bomber jacket over an incongruous sort-of-tunic of flexible display material, currently showing a rippling ocean. Zree Pradesh, Contact doctor of sociology.

"That was last month. However, we changed the name to the Representative Cultural Network at the last meeting. There was a complete agenda overhaul as well." This from a drone nearly half my size, an elaborate web of blue-green coral-like structure around a central ivory rhomboid - N. Gui-Halrach, "interested party."

"This is about the usual level of organization without a Mind involved, is it?" I held back irrational giggling. If I had anything to say about whatever missions the Sufficiently Advanced Technology was going to send me on, they'd have a bit more urgency to them. And cohesion. And leadership. And maybe the ship would take care of that itself, but I wasn't against stepping in.

But right now, I figured I could just watch and laugh (silently!).

"Whatever they're called," Isk-Berniav cut in, while the debate over meeting times and method of announcement was raging between Greg and a two meter tall, three-legged being with a long, curved head - Xoyar Siddix Nimyaqol, apparently (thankfully, my neural lace provided a pronunciation guide). It amused me to see the babbling, overenthusiastic, occasionally impossible to tolerate part of Greg was a legitimate part of whoever he was and not just a cover story. Although at the same time, it amazed me that he'd ever been able to keep any secrets, let alone "I'm technically an alien from a mega-civilization that spans half the galaxy," for more than, oh, ten seconds. "This is the group interested in helping you."

"Helping?" I would never admit it to myself, but I did immediately jump to the idea of the brutally-armed Restoria drone shooting off effector fields to trip Sophia. Down an elevator shaft.

"With your mission," Greg said. He'd switched his attention back to me about as fast as he switched attention in class (so helpful, Greg. So helpful.) "The whole Earth-Bet deal, really. I had some ideas about what you could start with but we're just here to look and talk, and I mean you can always just put us on mute-"

"Greg," I cut in with a practiced, futile tone, more tired than angry, before just talking over him. It was all that worked. "What the hell are you talking about? The ship's going to be giving me all that, and it can't really be wrong."

"Uh." I was also unpleasantly familiar with Greg's tendency to shut down at inopportune times, although at least it wasn't the usual suspects diverting his attention this time.

"The Mind has announced that you are the Culture's primary representative and strategic decider on Earth-Bet, as well as the on-site tactical commander," Vos-Belligerent said. The drone's voice was utterly flat, and lacking the visible aura, it came across as intensely robotic.

"Hold on a moment." I stood up, stepped away, and glared at the open air.

"I'd like a word, please."

"Yes, Taylor?" The ship's voice came out of the air at a reasonable volume. From idle research done while lying at home half-paying attention to dinner with dad, that was probably effector fields to vibrate the air.

"Don't give me that, you're not allowed to act stupid at your intelligence level."

"You would be surprised by exactly how stupid Minds are allowed to be, but I accept your point. Yes, you are not merely a Special Circumstances operative, you are commanding this incident. For a given value of commanding; I won't force anyone on the ship to obey you, although Special Circumstances agents and most Contact agents shouldn't have any issues, given that I am supporting you."

"I'm going to need more of an explanation than that, Sufficient."

A mirrored shell about three meters in height formed around me, then vanished, replacing the bridge with a medium-size room, red carpeting, tan walls. The avatar of the Sufficiently Advanced Technology sat in a what looked like the skeleton of a blue armchair, leaving me with an AG-suspended mesh chair on the other side of a redwood desk. "Welcome to your office."

Spoiler: Author's Notes[/hr]

Last edited: Apr 11, 2017

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#239

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Taylor Hebert, Continuation Previous Log. Planetary Origin Local Time: 20110115T175409Z

I sat down. My desk was empty, smooth and probably set to anti-grav levitate itself away if I got close to accidentally banging my knee on it.

Somehow the certain knowledge that even minor inconveniences had probably been accounted for made my actual problems feel even more annoying. "I've been smelling something off ever since I got my neural lace, ship, and it's only been getting worse."

The Sufficiently Advanced Technology's avatar tilted its head a few degrees, but didn't say anything. Good. If it had made a crack about my implant screwing with my sense of smell, after I'd told it to quit acting dumb…

"Everything I can find says you don't do this. The Culture usually doesn't do this, Contact almost never does this, Special Circumstances writes their own rules but they still don't ever do this. You held me back when you admitted I would be effective. You gave me access to, as far as I can tell, everything relevant about my entire world and every single researched parallel of it." I stopped, trying not to strangle on my words. "Okay, not that I could tell if you hadn't. I can believe that's all standard. Give me the information I need, put me in the right emotional space, even tell me what you're doing. But then you put me in charge, and you tell everyone that. I don't get it. Everyone knows the Minds are in charge, and for good reason! I can't understand why you would want a human figurehead in the Culture. It has to instantly make people think you're hiding something or being weird! Is that part of the plan?"

The avatar waited, silver eyes meeting mine levelly. "I give you my word I'm telling the truth. Can we accept that?"

I nodded. If it wanted to lie, it would, and I'd never know. I'd rather not dump myself into endless questioning; that was half the reason I'd agreed to this.

"I don't want to come out of this with an easy win. By this point I believe we have enough knowledge and capability in place to destroy aggressively hegemonizing object "Scion", maintain or regulate the collapse of the parallel worlds, and begin the process of contacting your Earth, switching over to standard Contact protocols. There are many GCVs that would do that in my place."

The avatar crooked its mouth slightly, precisely the minimum hint of a smile. Its eyes seemed to get more reflective (hell, they probably were).

"But I think your world has a potential to introduce change into the Culture on a level comparable to the Idiran War. And I'd like to see that happen."

"You want to change the Culture?"

"Not really, not fully. It's not possible, in all honesty. We're already so divergent that the Culture as a whole is nearly impossible to define, and any new elements are always examined, mediated, co-opted, and diluted to sufficiently unthreatening degrees. But I am in favor of constantly introducing those elements. Not with the intent of losing ourselves - I am a Culture Mind, and I like my society of origin enough to avoid becoming Eccentric or Elencher. But I am on the radical edge of what might vaguely be considered the Culture mainstream, Taylor, and so I am asking for your help - your involvement in my good-intentioned conspiracy."

"You're manipulating the Culture itself." I'd looked into this subject a lot, because when you get told Space Woodstock has a Space CIA, you get understandably suspicious. Or at least, I did. "Isn't that breaking the rules everyone's open-secretly afraid Special Circumstances will break?"

"Yes! At least, theoretically speaking. At its essence, what I'm hoping to do is keep your world and its possibilities from being easily suppressed by other Minds. The practicalities would require you to be capable, organized, and informed as a civilization before other Contact or SC viewpoints can get heavy-handed or reverse my meddling."

"Which is why you haven't moved on Scion."

"One of the reasons, yes."

"That still doesn't seem like something that needs me in charge - but I'm betting you think it will work better. How? I can't match a Mind, even if you gave me Eidolon-level fake powers, it wouldn't let me outthink."

"Taylor, I am about to openly manipulate you," the ship said. Its head was slightly tilted, its eyes focused entirely on my face. "I have my reasons to trust your judgement - and to believe it will operate better if I do not tell you them."

"Huh." I crossed my arms and leaned back in the chair, whose AG units obediently lifted it a few centimeters to keep my head level with the avatar's.

"I will provide you an offer: if at any time you feel incapable of commanding Special Circumstance's efforts on Earth-Bet, I will step in and direct you, put my power as a Mind to full effect and provide you all the instruction you require. But it will be an irreversible decision." The ship crooked its lip in the hint of a smile. "This, too, is manipulation."

I thought. The ship waited.

"Why me? I know what you think about Cauldron, but what about the people in the PRT they don't own, or the President, a Congressperson, even just - a, a firefighter or police officer, or my Dad - why not an adult? What useful qualities can I even have? I haven't done anything with my life!"

The Sufficiently Advanced Technology sat up and smiled, hands clasped in its lap. "If there is anyone in this solar system qualified to judge your potential, Taylor, it is me. Why you, in particular? Because I think you're capable, because I believe we can work together, and because of pure and simple luck."

"That I can believe," I muttered. "Not good luck, though."

"Well, no. Not exactly. I monitored Dragon, and observing her involved observing Armsmaster. Observing him involved observing Shadow Stalker. Observing her involved observing you."

I immediately pulled up all the reference data available to me. Dragon was an AI? The ship's interest was obvious. Armsmaster wasn't anything new (his branded underwear was recalled for safety violations? Yikes). Shadow Stalker-

Oh.

I'd put them out of my mind. I wasn't dealing with them, the ship was.

I wasn't even going to think about them, I'd promised myself (and broken that promise a hundred times but not consciously, damn it).

And here I could have found out everything with a simple inquiry.

(Okay, step back, Taylor. Remember, the ship knows how much you know. Why did it want you to find out now? Go back to the first meeting.)

"I would have triggered. That's why we burned out my corona pollentia."

"I was a little more careful with your brain surgery than the word burned implies," the ship said. Its tone was mildly wounded, but its face didn't reflect it. Still just observing me, my reaction.

"So, my being an almost-cape matters. It was my bad luck to be the first potential on your short list to have a trigger event."

"Yes. How do you feel?"

"That's - a very broad question, ship." I tried not to be overly sarcastic. (Remember, it has a reason. It always has a reason.) "I'm fucking pissed."

(Fuck its reasons.)

"You knew exactly what Sophia was doing." I had so many surveillance broadcasts of her playing in front of my eyes, mundane Earth-Bet and EM-effector recordings. Assaulting street criminals. Calling her PRT probation officer from Winslow. Talking to Emma. Assaulting me. "You had Greg right there. I don't care how useless he is, you're a Mind. You could have done anything with him. You could have stopped their - their abuse - with just Greg."

At some point, I'd stood up. At some point, I'd leaned over the desk, my fists pushing into it white-knuckled. At some point, I'd started shouting.

"This was also manipulation."

"When did you start paying attention to me?"

"September 19th, 2010." The day after I'd started my journal of the bullying.

"Displace me home. Now."

I didn't even perceive the change. I was in my room. I fell onto my bed and closed my eyes. I felt my face burning, then wet.

I slept.

Taylor Hebert, Local Time 20110115T200310-0500

Brockton Bay, New Hampshire, United States of America, Earth-Bet

I fell asleep feeling furious, helpless, and betrayed. I woke up feeling furious.

And determined. I'd dreamt, and I remembered it in perfect clarity. Dreams of tearing Winslow apart, of putting my fist through Emma's skull, of displacing Sophia into the sun. I'd probably killed Madison somewhere in there too.

Dreams of dumping Gridfire on Scion until he screamed. Dreams of having Eidolon's powers, and tearing apart the Sufficiently Advanced Technology with singularities.

I wondered if there was a Culture drug that let you expend your hatred in your dreams, and if I'd forgotten I'd glanded it.

I wasn't going to do any of that. I could do it (some of it). I could probably even get away with it. It wasn't the worst misuse of Culture tech my SC cram sessions had turned up. But I woke up no longer wanting to kill the Trio.

I wanted to destroy them. And I'd take the Culture's help to do it. Maybe I could even save the world while I was at it. Change an interplanetary mega-civilization. Side goals.

What had happened, had happened. If I wanted to get answers why - fuck, I already knew. The world was terrible and people were terrible. But they could be better. And if I wanted to learn why me, I'd have to work with the ship. It wouldn't have sprung that on me without being willing to deal with it. And after the goddamn mess that was my life, after asking myself so many times what the fuck Emma's problem was, I was more than ready to take a Mind's help.

And I wouldn't let it happen again, if I had to drag the entire multi-planet ball kicking and screaming into the Culture. I was angry. Damn angry. But I would never be useless again.

I'd slept through the afternoon and still woke up before Dad got home.

"Displace to my office." I didn't activate my lace, just spoke to the air. I knew it was listening. Nothing happened. I dug another word out of my throat. "Please."

The silver shell of effector protecting me from the micro-singularity displacement was there and gone in as much time as it took for me to perceive it. The GCV's avatar was still in my office, and spun smoothly in the branch-like chair to follow as I circled the desk and sat down.

"Let's talk powers."

The ship spoke without a hint of delay. "The limit of our biological enhancements is impressive compared to your initial capabilities, but falls somewhat short measured against the colony modules. We could make you functionally immune mundane weaponry and mild strength enhancements, but that's the cap for bio-enhancements without obvious physical adjustments."

"And beyond that?"

"Mechanical integration. Mechanical replacement. Artificial body."

"Am I limited to one body?"

"No, but I would ask you to consider the issue very thoroughly before making any mind-state duplications and reintegrations. Or transitioning to a hive mind."

"Affects my judgement, I assume. Fine. Would a modified body feel different?"

"Yes, but not exceptionally. We have a refined physio-psycho feedback mechanism. You may experience slight increases in risk-taking and self-destructive activities, but not significantly higher than being backed up via neural lace to begin with."

As determined as I was to focus, to hammer the Mind with my commitment and dedication, I stopped. I glanded Quicken, flickered through neural lace inquiries. Life, death, other minor issues.

"Oh. I'm immortal."

"Functionally, yes. Try not to get me destroyed in the two-point-three microseconds it would take to transmit everyone's mindstate backups to the GSV Belated Competence outside your local interstellar cloud."

"My dad." Invincible wasn't invulnerable.

The avatar held up a hand. "I won't install a neural lace in anyone without their informed consent, Taylor."

Yeah. I wasn't… no. Righteous anger met the idea of telling Dad everything and decided to reroute. "A bio-mechanical body. That'd be easier to build from scratch, right?"

"The design would be more efficient without worrying about preserving internal structure, yes."

"And you can Store my original body. You're right, I'm not ready to jump into being two people yet."

"It would be easier to preserve your secret identity with a remote "hero" body, however."

I smiled. Big grin. Probably too big. Straddling the line from happy to predatory. "I'm not going to hide. You can protect me and my dad from anything happening while I'm at home."

The ship tilted its head a few degrees in acknowledgement. "A perceptive power will provide cover for most necessary visible intervention. "Gravity sense" or something similar. Other than that, I can be subtle."

"Then I'm going public first thing. It'll let me convince people easier if I'm taking visible risks, and help us get out of all this secret-keeping bullshit."

"Soundly reasoned, passionately argued." The ship smiled. "I don't think I'll be able to talk you into taking the rest of that vacation, will I?"

"I've relaxed enough. How are we doing the gravity effects?"

"Effector field projectors in the biomechanical body. Possible with a local power source, although volatile. If you're breached, I'll have to snap-displace the body off the planet to avoid considerable damage. The effectors will be set to prearranged functions to mimic powers - setting 'gravity bonds' between two objects to repulse, attract, or maintain positions."

"So I'm going to use this immensely advanced, incredibly powerful and precise technology to push things."

"And pull them. From afar! Behold your mystic powers of science, ignorant mortals, and tremble." The avatar's tone never wavered from a neutral amusement, and I couldn't keep a straight face.

"Okay, okay. And gravity senses. I can feel… the nearest planet! Which is actually useful here. Not so much on Earth."

They waved a hand. "Attuned to ignore the planet, feel every object with significant weight or momentum within, oh, let's say a hundred meters? Observed powers have demonstrated range and potency flexibility, we should be able to fudge as necessary without drawing alarm."

"Great. And I can fly." There was not going to be any negotiation on that point.

"And you can fly. Durability, strength, and speed will put you at the top of your local power level, but somewhat below Alexandria. Base physical lifting capability should be around 23 kilotonnes. Do not expect to lift aircraft with your own hands, they will break."

"Hands are for punching. Power limits with the gravity bond effectors?"

"Your internal power sources will be sufficient to move just about anything you could consider "an object". Please do not throw Endbringers into space until you have a plan for the repercussions. Avoiding the orbiting one is enough of a chore already."

I almost giggled again. Instead, the grin. Then an errant thought hit, and I dropped it. "Can you apologize to Isk-Berniav for me?"

"I could." The silver eyes were half-lidded. I was starting to categorize that expression as "I expect you to figure this out on your own." Actually, I was starting to categorize a lot of the avatar's expressions as a variation on that.

"But I should do it on my own." I sighed. "Okay, can you displace me to her if she's not - wait." I had an opportunity to take advantage of. "The new body."

"Yes?" This eyebrow raise meant "I know what you mean but I'm going to make you say it for your own good." Or I was deluding myself by pretending I could read a Mind, but then the avatar wouldn't make a single twitch unless it intended to - and I was reasoning myself in a circle again.

"The- my new body." I had to rush that one out. Before I exploded from all my blood going into my face. "Can you make me Culture-level attractive?"

"I would hardly deny you the basics of Culture genofixing where it does not conflict with our mission." The ship left a slight pause before adding, "It would be a simple matter to genetically modify your original body as well, Taylor. I will be maintaining it on autonomic functions in order to allow it to age at a normal rate."

"Oh. Yeah. That's good." And the Mind was guilting me again. Spend time with your dad, don't discard your frail meat-husk into a dusty Storage bin the moment you get a chance… how cruel and demanding was my robot overlord?

A translucent image a bit under two meters flickered into the air next to the avatar. Me. Or me as I could be - still skinny, but meat redistributed on the bones, fat exercised to muscle, maybe a slight correcting of posture, symmetrized features, skin cleared up, eyes corrected. I was - stunning. Imposing, honestly. I hadn't realized how cold and statuesque I could look with my eyes completely focused and my lips just-barely-curled.

"Satisfactory?"

I took a slow, controlled breath in and out. Then another. After that, I allowed myself a hint of a smile. "Yes, it is. Thank you."

"My pleasure."

There was another conversational lull. I had conflicting instincts when these happened. (Never talk. It draws attention). That was old, and situational - ie, useless. But strong, and fast, and had to be fought. (Say something! Just start talking!) Older still. A happier Taylor's instinct, buried alive by the stronger. But I wasn't her anymore, and the person I'd always babbled to was dead too (only metaphorically. For now). (Why did it say that? What are they trying to provoke from me? What is the plan?) The newest urge was more useful, adapted to this situation - but still, no. The Sufficiently Advanced Technology would let me sit there and see if I could deduce its motives as long as I liked - but then I'd try to understand why it had done that, and what the purpose was, and I'd start up a feedback loop really easily. Like the faithful questioning God, I guessed, but with more obvious responses. Not that it did me any good. (Pretend it's a normal conversation. Pretend you're talking to- Dad. Like you should be.) And my most useful response involved guilt, and replacement, and more guilt, because it wasn't Dad I thought of first when I was slotting the Mind into a parental role.

And wasn't it fucked up that thinking like that still helped?

"I should go see Isk-Berniav. Where is she?"

"The fore habitat. I can displace you to her."

I kicked up from the antigrav chair, tossing myself upright and sighing. "No, put me on the bridge, I'll walk in."

I displaced onto the off-white metal of the bridge, on the slight slope where it descended into the GCV's forward nature preserve. I wasn't sure if it was Earth-based or from a Culture habitat - or artificial nature, entirely a creation of the Sufficiently Advanced Technology's Mind.

Whatever its origin, it was a wasteland. The aft habitat was dense and perfectly cultivated jungle, with hundreds of vertebrate-and-equivalent species, and thousands more below, an ecosystem of ever-changing perfection carefully nudged to be available to observers without molesting the observed.

The fore habitat was barren. Flats of exposed mosaics of stone between red-brown canyon walls, ship-generated winds whistling and spewing dust, plantiforms few and far between. Mobile life was rarer still, small and reclusive.

The gleaming shell of the knife missile was the only inhabitant of the oasis, the sheltered pool of water and its diminutive spring nestled in one of the side canyons. Even here, the scraggly plant life barely had hold, a few splashes of algae at the edge of the water providing the most visible green.

"There are a decent number of wastes and uninhabited zones in any Orbital, for aesthetic purposes. But this GCV only has two live habitats, and dedicates one to desert. Why do you think that is? There must be a lesson in it. There's a lesson in everything it does."

The drone lifted a pile of dust, dirt, and sand with a curved field, then tilted it to let it trickle back to the ground.

"Maybe it's just a useful metaphor whenever it wants to be mysterious." My suggestion earned the brief band of red amusement I was hoping to see on her grey, frustrated aura.

"I've been a poor friend, Taylor."

"Are we friends?" I held up a hand to cut off the rapidly blooming auras of upset and sadness. "I haven't been as open as a friend should be, Isk-Berniav. You've been showing me around and helping me cope, but that's your assignment." I uncrossed my arms (hadn't realized I was, nervous habit) and offered a hand. "So let's start over." It was an immensely cliche line and I felt bad the moment I got it out.

An effector touched my hand, shaking it lightly. Hooray for cliches. "I'm on your side, Taylor. The ship's Mind might be able to lie to you, but I'm just a 1.0 drone."

"And no better at trickery than any other nine hundred year old interstellar secret agent?" I asked.

"I never should have told you my history," the drone sighed, bobbing side to side in head-shaking of mock contrition. "Think you can trust me anyway, youngster?"

"I'll try to manage." I kicked up a little dust. "Can you help me figure out exactly what the director of Special Circumstances operations on Earth-Bet is actually supposed to do, and where I could possibly start?"[/hr]

Last edited: Apr 22, 2017

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#290

Speaking of content...

Spoiler: Author's Notes

1.5

Taylor Hebert, Planetary Origin Local Time: 2011-01-16T094114-0500

(Sunday, January 16th)

I closed my hand, and let the forces of gravity overwhelm my enemy. Emma crashed into the slab of Winslow's wall, with a wet crunch that I could tell meant my former friend had fatal internal injuries, even if it hadn't been enough to pop her like a blood balloon. The only thing I wasn't completely certain of was whether she was dead or merely dying. She gurgled, but it could have been a death rattle or an attempt to breathe.

I closed my eyes. "Again."

"Four times was verging past therapeutic and into vicious, Taylor. I'm not doing five."

I glared at the only thing I could see with my eyes shut, the large text SIMULATION floating at the upper-left of my vision. "Fine, fine. What's next?"

"Flight speed test. Get to maximum acceleration when you feel comfortable, so we can verify the autonomic counterforces will protect you."

The ruins of my torment and bloody vengeance faded with a slow dissolve that looked like it was reaching down to the individual atoms, replacing them with the Sufficiently Advanced Technology's fore starboard outrigger, a flat-surfaced oval almost-hemisphere a little under two hundred meters on its wide end, drifting a kilometer away from the main ship.

I aimed my fist downward and spread it to half-open. With a kick of one foot, the outrigger and I parted ways. First at a gentle float, zero g, just the momentum of the equal and opposite reaction pushing me away. Then I splayed my hand and hurled away from the outrigger platform at 9.8 m/s^2. Zero and negative one, check. I was steering with the aid of chunks of dense matter displaced into the air inside the ship's main envelope, throwing myself off them or tugging closer.

By the third time I'd crashed into one of them, SIMULATION preventing me from being a ball of broken tissue, but not shielding me from a few significant areas of instructive throbbing pain, I had pretty much figured out how tight an arc my flight could reasonably define. And that my simulated body could take at least 23.7 g without any real damage or blacking out. If I didn't hit chunks of dense matter face-first.

That had a slightly higher black out chance. Thankfully, facial damage didn't stay in the sim either.

I hovered over the upper deck of the Sufficiently Advanced Technology, "gravity negated", fists on my hips. Hero poses took practice.

Then SIMULATION crumbled into nothing and I started to fall. Instinctively, I glanded quicken. I was falling in slow motion, but my own motions still felt normal. At that speed, I could feel the air fight back for a moment when I pushed my arm through it, then the drag spun me until the GCV was in full sight. I aimed both hands down and opened them, holding them for a moment until I was certain I was levitating. And that there was no sign of a simulation warning. "Dirty pool, Sufficient! What'd you do, displace me right at the download?"

"Nothing so abrupt. Your simulation for the last twenty seven objective minutes has been slowing down until it reached real-time, with your outputs and inputs synched to your new body."

"So, I'm really flying."

"Really, absolutely, and as definitively as we can prove anything we perceive in this universe truly exists."

"Don't get existential on me, ship, I can fly." I wiggled my hand for a moment to no effect before frowning. "I'm supposed to be able to fly, anyway. Am I really being limited to the psychosomatic functions?"

"Practice makes the best cover story, Taylor. Full control of AG flight will be unlocked after your first public appearance. You're "still learning" until that point, using the mock gestures."

"Fiiine." I tugged myself into a slow downward acceleration, looking over myself - my new self. I felt the same… I thought. But my movements had the same easy grace as the sim. I saw clearly, remembered and processed everything I perceived, could zoom my vision and examine details while my surroundings shifted into slow motion. "Ship, do I still have drug glands?"

"You have a similar biomechanical system, which should be able to provide the same effects with the same control inputs. As you may have noticed."

"So what exactly am I doing?"

"A number of interrelated mechanisms, mostly related to processing speed and precision. The easy contemporary metaphor would be overclocking a computer processor."

"I think you can get a little more exact than that, Sufficient."

"Perhaps. There are also a number of semi-intelligent subsystems grown off of your own neural patterns to filter and prioritize information. Satisfactory?"

"In effect, if not in explanation." I went through one of my little recursive train-of-thought rail skips, before deciding what I usually did (just ask it/do it, even if the Mind already knows what will happen it's easiest to pretend it doesn't). "I always want to know what's going on in and around me as much as my limited meat-bag consciousness can understand, ship."

"Believe me, Taylor, I understand the concept." The ship's voice sighed, buzzing the air it was effector-vibrating. "Against an Outside Context Problem we are operating at the same level. Metaphorically speaking."

"It had better be! You don't get to drop behind when everything's riding on your Mind." The Sufficiently Advanced Technology was pointedly silent. "Yes, I noticed the similarities. That's not my job yet. And hopefully it never really will be." I flicked through a few leading thoughts again - it knows right - I can ask to let them know I know - implying lack of trust? no, they'll get my priorities - faster, this time. My audience wouldn't even have noticed, if they were human. "Your backup plans will always be there."

"Don't." That was abrupt. The ship didn't do abrupt. I cut my descent, still thirty-four meters above the deck. "Don't count on us to swoop in and save you or your world, Taylor. We will be here, and all our capability will be invested in assisting you, and preparing if you should fail. Be ready for that to not be enough. Assume we have only one chance, one stratagem."

Being able to assert conscious control over my new body's autonomic functions - something like glanding calm - was the only way I was capable of responding in a polite amount of time. "Then I should get started now." I grabbed at the air in the direction of my office, zipping past a hemispherical flier with a half-dozen people in it. I returned their waves (in a restrained fashion, since drag actually meant something for my course), not quite sure if they were just being friendly or actually knew there was something significant about the latest addition to the GCV's constant in-envelope air traffic. "Director Hebert reporting in."

Taylor Hebert, Planetary Origin Local Time: 2011-01-16T11:12:40-05:00

(Sunday, January 16th, 6:12 PM)

The main problem with being in charge, I decided, was that you had nobody else to tell off for the ridiculous workload you had to accomplish. Having a semi-intelligent office just below the threshold of sentience, comprehensive report summaries that were so perfectly tailored to me I could have sworn I'd written them, and advanced focus-intensifying drug glands (or biomechanical equivalents) just made it easier for me to understand how much I had to go through. Then there were the technologically marvelous but situationally harmful bits, like the holographic wall that could display anywhere. Like the empty living room of my house, or Brockton Bay's economically disadvantaged streets, or the blank white tile halls of a secret base on another Earth (signal time delay 3.16 microseconds). Or the amount of sheer material a Mind could pick up with ten years of active surveillance.

"Office, the Elite."

"Action, criminal, by Nouveau Riche's cell, 3:54 PM Mountain Time, Boulder-"

"Kill current events. Threat assessment and summary."

"Employable economic assets of 252 billion US dollars, employable criminal force assets of substate class 2 equivalent, employable legalized force assets of microstate class 4 equivalent. Known areas of consolidation: Miami, Seattle, Olympia-"

"Kill summary!" I rubbed my head purely out of habit. I didn't think I still could give myself a stress headache, especially not if I tripped the right glands, but I almost wished I could. "What's relevant to me?"

"Undefined parameters."

"Thanks, office." I pushed the chair back as far as I could - a bit past horizontal, the legs straightening to couch-like proportions. "That's not one of the ones you can answer, is it, Sufficient?"

"Not really."

"Okay. Then I'm just going to start. Who's going to complain?"

"No more than the usual suspects."

That was more of a reply than I expected. I righted myself, glaring at the chair for being so damn useful. "I have critics already? Is this about Greg?"

"Not exceptionally. Current criticism is in broad trends directed more towards my motives in your appointment than your own actions."

"Broad trends?"

"Approximating a summary from the last day's three thousand, four hundred and fifteen articles, social posts, public conversations or debates, and-"

"Ship, what- Three thousand? In one day?"

"Limited to publicly presented discourse. I am not actively monitoring most individual conversations unless requested."

"Seriously, Sufficient. How many people are talking about me?"

"Earth-Bet, capes, Special Circumstances, or Taylor Hebert are a flagged item of interest for forty three percent of the awake crew, or sixty four thousand, five hundred and forty seven."

"Sixty thousand?!" I had complete control of my face, voice, and body. So naturally, I was hunched over in my seat to shield as much as myself as I could, and I squeaked asking the question.

"Twenty two percent of the original one hundred and ninety two thousand, four hundred and forty five beings on board at the discovery of Earth-Bet requested Storage with release upon the availability of transport away from your world or similar qualifications. Other members of the active crew and passengers may be interested but not requesting updates from me."

"You have half as many people as my entire city. And half of them are watching everything I do. Sufficient, I think I just redefined stage fright." I pulled my legs up to my chest and held onto them. For a minute. I managed to uncurl without glanding calm, at least. Achievement number one.

"You've been screening my calls. How many. How many messages do I have?"

"Thirty eight thousand, nine hundred and six. Nine hundred and seven." The Sufficiently Advanced Technology paused. "I would consider twenty six of those to be worth the time to read."

Twenty six more than I had in any of the school email accounts. And even the dross might actually have a chance of having some kind words. But they were all from individual people. Actual people who not only knew I existed, they could see my family photo albums.

I stalled. My thoughts couldn't go anywhere. Not running in circles, just unable to start. Having responsibility for six billion people (six billion times how many inhabited Earths?) was one thing. Having them know about it changed the scope.

But I was already operating on that field, wasn't I? I had no intention (or ability) to hide what I was going to do from the ship. Was a small city's worth of attention really that different from a Mind's? Well, different, maybe. Less coherent, less useful, less informed. Less important.

I was used to getting unimportant opinions thrown at me. Even if they were all against me, even if I was getting demonized… somehow I couldn't picture sixty thousand furious Culture citizens dealing out half the harassment of three teenage girls. And I had the same answer for it: fuck them, I had powers. Real powers, Sophia, you and your shadow form and shitty crossbows could suck it.

This was the healthy kind of redirecting, I was sure. But no: I had powers, and even if every single human and drone on the GCV was against me, they didn't make that choice.

And the Mind was backing me.

"Right. I'm going to begin at home. The rest of the world can wait until I know what I'm doing. Besides the big guys, the Endbringers and the Nine and… well, anything staggering that we can actually affect."

"I understand, Taylor."

"So, ship." I leaned back to three-quarters, contemplative thinking mode. I reached out and pulled at the billiards ball of elemental osmium that was my second desk ornament (right after the picture of me, Mom, and Dad I'd had duplicated from the one on the bookshelf at home). With a tension that my field emitters were programmed to reflect in my muscles, it lifted off the desk towards my open palm, until I stopped it fifteen centimeters away. I "pushed" with the effectors directed by my other hand, and let the sphere orbit my raised fingers.

I had the best executive toys. "I've been severely miscalculating the resources available to me, haven't I?"

"I don't read your mind, Taylor. I'm not sure about the things you haven't said to me."

"Okay. Please show me what Special Circumstances resources I have available on Earth-Bet."

Dozens of personnel profiles opened up on the display wall, all of them stacked to indicate more awaiting attention underneath. Most of them had icons for their cover affiliations, and color coding. I tossed the osmium ball up, a quick flick of the fingers moving its orbit to my head.

"You've already turned capes?" I flicked a file open, scanned it, occasionally idly tapping the ball as I read. Stopped at Personal Name: Ciol-Foresa Hanrir Tizuvan Gol-Dotis dam Jikesikir. "He's Culture. You have a Culture cape."

"Six. Volunteers in a series of tests over the last eight years. We have confirmed the selection process and symbiotic growth employed by the colony modules is capable of activating our people in purpose-grown homo sapiens sapiens bodies, at approximately the same rate as Earth-Bet natives in similar circumstances. We have continuing evidence that this is not transmitting information to the colony organism, with varying degrees of memory blocks as a safeguard. We have at least a suggestion about the selection criteria, given that none of our people with non-native brains have become hosts. We have confirmation that Cauldron's empowerment process cannot detect our agents."

"You have brainwiped Culture capes with sleeper agent commands." It was only half a question - the profiles included scans and explanations aimed at my level of neurology knowledge.

"You have them, Taylor. Activation details are in the profiles."

"Three heroes, a rogue, two villains… I know her. She's a murderer."

"I would like to be able to attribute that entirely to the influence of the colony module and the memory blocks."

"But."

"But Special Circumstances personnel are outliers even in Contact. I can't be certain."

"The 'don't have any evidence' kind of can't be certain, or the 'playing with words because it's not a hundred percent without reading her mind' kind of can't be certain?"

"I have my suspicions I am not choosing to pursue at this time."

"Because she's too useful."

"Because I have some doubts as well. Because it's possible she made bad choices in a bad situation and things escalated." Reproachful, because I was pissed. Maybe. I didn't know all the details - I would, because I could and because I had to know who I might be condemning. But it felt ugly.

It felt like Sophia. And if I had hated her before, for the petty cruelty, the viciousness of her attacks, now that I knew her even better? I had distilled that hate into loathing for her essence, her archetype. Sophia wasn't a person - she was an aftereffect, a byproduct of a system of cold compromises, back-room deals, and so-called pragmatism. And alien symbiotic influence, I guessed, but that was unprovable and didn't have anything to do with why she wasn't stopped.

I wouldn't be party to that. I didn't have to accept dark secrets and ugly choices. I had knowledge, power, and influence, now. And I would damn well use them.

"Flag her for review. I want to hear about your evidence. And your doubts." My desk ornament was a blue-white streak around my head from entirely too many accelerating taps. I reached up and put my left hand in its path. It smacked into my palm with a loud thud, and I almost felt the pain of the impact. I tossed it onto the desk, where fields settled it gently onto the wood without the expected crash or even a really satisfying loud thud. Explosions of anger were annoyingly hard on the ship.

"Done. Dossier is pending review. Your father is coming home."

I'd thought I had crushed my last bit of anxiety when I'd pushed through the pressure of my audience, but it turned out I had some left to spike my heart rate (or its simulation).

I was going to be a hero tomorrow. That meant I had to tell Dad tonight.

"Alright, displa- wait." I hopped out of my chair and grabbed my paperweight. "Beam me down, Enterprise." Isk-Berniav had what seemed to me to be a very odd love for old and completely incorrect science fiction, but I didn't mind indulging a friend.

The silver-metal bubble popped to drop me in my living room. I juggled the ball back and forth while I waited for dad to get home. I got bored, nearly put it on the table, remembered at the last second and set it very slowly on the floor, putting my sneaker right next to it so I wouldn't lose track and let Dad trip. I fumbled around pulling off my hoodie, managing to make a perfect bio-borg body act clumsy. At least I had manual control over my sweat glands. I was still nervously tugging, very very gently, at the straps of the workout tank top I had on when I heard his car pull in.

He barely noticed I was there when he came in. Tossed his bomber jacket on the coat rack, wiped his shoes on the mat, pulled his bag off his shoulder and was halfway to the dining room when he noticed his daughter. "Taylor." I had hope there was something more than just recognition in his voice, that there was some affection in there. Buried just a little.

"Hey, dad. You look tired." Brilliant, Taylor, just knocking them out of the park. "I made burgers." I had, hours ago, just using a slightly more exotic kitchen and asking the ship to preserve them until they were displaced down with me. "Still like yours with avocado?"

"Not enough to move to California." Old joke, dad joke. Encouraging. He sat down on the couch and picked up his plate. More encouraging.

The TV was on. I hadn't turned it on or asked for it, but I didn't move to turn it off. Seven o'clock local news, sound off. Another fight in the Trainyard - cell phone footage of Armsmaster, Stormtiger, and a whole lot of wrecked train cars.

"How's work?" This was a poor topic choice. I had failed to ask the Sufficiently Advanced Technology for tact lessons, and I was reaping the seeds of my arrogance. I had asked about work before. I got grunts and distance and the inestimable aura of guilt. I had to act before things repeated. "The tech guys sending anything down to the docks?"

I got an angry grunt. Progress? "A little. Mostly buildings. Favors from Sullivan at LIUNA, some of the guys got retraining money last year. Money's coming in to Brockton but it's white collar." Then Dad remembered his audience, patted my shoulder with a motion about as awkward as he'd been since last Sunday, when whatever curtains we'd pulled back at the hospital were snapped shut again. "We're gonna be alright, Taylor."

"I'm not worried about us. I mean, not you and me. I care about this city. I care - " Short breath because a deep one would cripple me. "Dad, I can't stand by any more."

"You want to get involved? I know the Catholic church on Jameson Ave runs a soup kitchen on Saturday morning. I could take you- one of these weeks."

I leaned forward, flexing the bare muscle on my new left arm an unnecessarily obvious amount, and scooped up my desk ornament. "I want to do a little more than that." I held it for a moment, then managed to meet his eyes. I think he might have actually noticed I wasn't wearing my glasses. "How much do you know about capes?"

"That's a… very leading question. Anne-Rose loved those."

I couldn't help the smile. I knew it was the saddest, most pathetic smile (fuck you Emma, I don't need to be told), but I couldn't help it. "Mom liked the Socratic Method a lot. I think I'm probably more blunt. Wonder where I could get it from." I held out the ball, and Dad reached for it. "Careful. That's ninety si- uh, two hundred pounds."

His fuzzy eyebrows jumped above his glasses, then he tested my word. One hand to try and lift it, then two. "What?"

"Capes. Powers. Strength, flight, invulnerability. The whole Alexandria package."

"I had a comic like that once," he muttered under his breath. "You- you said you were okay, Taylor."

Lies, lies, lovely little lies. I'm okay. How long was that one of them? When did I say it last? When was it last true?

"I was okay. Just… figuring things out." I flicked my right hand's fingers at the floor and pushed off, pulled my legs up into lotus position. "And I'm ready now."

"Taylor, you're fifteen. I-" I was ready to break out the calm to avoid the Hebert temper, but he stopped himself. "Nevermind. I don't think I can stop you if that's what you really want. You'll join the Wards?"

"Not… exactly." I knew he was going to hate this. "I have a plan. I got some materials from - well, one of those tech firms, actually. I kinda accidentally saved one of their guys from the Empire, they put up a posting online to thank me." I stop at his look. "I was careful! But it was legit." For a given definition of legit. He really had been attacked, he really was just some poor bastard with a little more money than sense and too much melanin for some racist fuckers. And he really was Earth-born with no intention of trying to find a mysterious hooded person. Wizards of Wireless™ (I was never going to call it WizWi), probably maybe coincidentally, had some more foreign funding and investors. "So I got some money and toys."

"You want to go out there on your own?" Rising volume. Worry and anger were one in the Heberts.

"No, no! I just - look, dad. I have… gravity, okay. I can do a lot with gravity. And I'm really tired of lies. I want to go public."

"You what?" Louder, more worried, angrier.

"Dad." I threw the osmium to orbit my head and took his hands. Held them as gently as I could to keep him still. "It's Emma. At school. It's her and a couple other girls that did it. It's been going on for." I swallowed. "Since the start of last year. I never told you. I'm so tired of lying. I'm tired of there not being any heroes. I-" I couldn't do it. I was ready to derail everything. "I won't. If you don't want me to."

"I didn't say that, Taylor." He squeezed my hands back. Amazing that I could still feel that. Less amazing, because I couldn't imagine a Culture body that wouldn't be capable of as much feeling as they could cram in. "It's my job to worry about you. It's your job to give me something to worry about. Jesus. Emma." He tried to reach to adjust his glasses, but I kept his hands.

"No, stop it. I know exactly what that means. It's not your fault, dad. It's not your fault. It's a lot of people's responsibility but it's the system's fault. And I have to be out there doing good without being afraid if I want to change it."

His green eyes seemed almost grey in the light, or maybe I just liked the metaphor. I'd picked up enough, remembered enough about talking and people and socializing and the rest I'd liked at one point, to see the understanding in those eyes. "With your fists?"

"Words first! I'm mom's kid too." It hurt to say. I knew I needed to say it, but it hurt to say. "It's kind of a fine line to walk between corporate cape, independent hero, and affiliate. But I've gotta try. There's too much inertia in the Wards, too many people with a stake in keeping things how they are. Please? I… I can't do this without you." I let his hands go and gripped mine tight together below my chin.

"Taylor… they killed someone the last time heroes went public."

"I know! But - I know everything there is to know about my powers. I promise you, there is not a single person on this planet that can kill me. In uniform or out. And I will never, never let anyone threaten you, or my home, or… or anything I care about. I can't stand by and I can't hide. What else can I do?"

He sighed, wiped his glasses in his shirt. "Okay, kiddo. I want to know what's going on before you do it. But you talk a good fight. I-."

That wasn't a hard one to interpret. He'd actually gotten a word out. Usually I just saw it in his eyes.

"I know, dad. I wish she was here, too."

He leaned in for the hug, and I was very very careful to keep my returning hug merely human-strong. Do Not Break Dad, that was something I needed to ask the ship about hardcoding into this body. "We'll handle this together, Taylor."

Taylor Hebert, Planetary Origin Global Time: 2011-01-17T04:19:38Z

(Sunday, January 16, 11:19 PM EST)

Lunar Orbit, Earth-Bet

I leaned back in my chair, spread my hands, and purposelessly cracked my knuckles. "Ship, popcorn please?"

A bag of the requested delight displaced onto the desk absolutely silently. The Sufficiently Advanced Technology's avatar dipped a hand in and picked up a single kernel, investigating it visually before placing it flatly on their tongue.

Isk-Berniav flickered red amusement from above my left shoulder. "I hardly think you need to play the organic around Taylor, Sufficient."

"Socialization is important to the experience, as I understand cinema."

"Hush up, both of you. We're here for art." I grabbed a handful and started chewing. I couldn't tell the difference between my old tastebuds and new, but then this was the good stuff, displaced from a carnival food cart (with appropriate compensation) at some place a carnival was currently open. "Okay, ship. Worst and best mission's coming up. I need a briefing. Please play my duplicate's log for the last week. Highlights reel."

The wall flickered with a grainy countdown circle, 3-2-1, then popped into Winslow, first person view, red hair lit up like a killer robot was tracking it. It wasn't thirty seconds before I started to giggle, and five minutes before I was cackling.

By five minutes in, I had a decision, and by eight minutes, a plan. Emma and Sophia would be back at their absolute worst after this much. I'd just have to make it hurt even more until they learned.

Or maybe they wouldn't, and it would be all the more fun.[/hr][/hr]

Last edited: Aug 18, 2017

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Noobsauce

Apr 18, 2017

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Threadmarks Interlude 1.w (& truncated Interlude )

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Noobsauce

Noobsauce

Already I am writing in trash can all of the time

Apr 25, 2017

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#386

Spoiler: AN

Interlude 1.w

Internal Storage GCV Sufficiently Advanced Technology [tight beam M16 {Special Circumstances Section High Level Code Sequence}, relay, received n9+]

xBig Parent of Unspecified Gender (GSV*, System* Class)

oIt's Only Megalomania If I'm Wrong (Restoria, ROU, Abominator Class)

oPlausibility Gap (GSV, Continent Class)

oThe Abyss Looked Back (Culture Ulterior, Zetetic Elench Converser Ship)

oIrregardless (MSV, Desert Class)

oClause Closer (VFP, Thug Class)

oAll Due Consideration (Numina, GSV, Plate Class)

oSufficiently Advanced Technology (GCV, Plateau Class)

The morality of the situation involved would seem to accept the necessity of simulations verging on practical existence. Loathe as I am to reduce things to mere numbers, we are talking about the existence of several billion simulated beings versus the potential damaged caused by an Aggressively Hegemonizing Swarm Object of unknown capability.

oo

xBully Pulpit (ROU, Torturer Class) {Relayed - GCV Sufficiently Advanced Technology}

oSufficiently Advanced Technology

Loathe, my hull. The big fucker just wants to obliquely remind us it's carrying half a trillion bios and how ready it is to hook the whole cloud into Hyperspace if it thinks its cargo is spooked enough.

oo

xSufficiently Advanced Technology

oBully Pulpit

Emergency response is the job assigned to it by consensus. And the Big Parent… has only been on rotation for two years. It has yet to assess the fundamental nature of the situation.

oo

xBully Pulpit

oSufficiently Advanced Technology

Seven Minds crammed into one "ship" isn't enough to understand that the situation is just a bit complicated? Must be overstressed with that megafleet they laughingly call a vehicle. They could allocate some units to help with the indexing at least, besides just prepping to shred us along with the rest of local reality.

oo

xSufficiently Advanced Technology

Rather than Morality, the other Problem is the more significant issue in simulation. Chaos is exponentially increased with length of simulation due to lack of data on the Aggressively Hegemonizing Swarm Colony Organism. The use of Constructive Historical Integrative Analysis is proving more effective in current agent operations.

oo

xIt's Only Megalomania If I'm Wrong

There's something disgusting about being reduced to Just Guessing by a hegswarm. Powerful, yes, but it only has one goal based on all available sources. Even if it's a strange hegswarm, it's not complex.

oo

xThe Abyss Looked Back

Not in passive mode, it isn't. The assumed isolation/loss of motive force/passive mode switch due to loss of mate is no guarantee. An idle Aggressive Hegemonizer can alter categories very rapidly given the right signal, with "right" assuming a nonstandard/nonlinear/unexpected configuration.

oo

xPlausibility Gap

In short, poking it with a simulated stick is about as effective as poking it with an effector is dangerous.

oo

xBig Parent of Unspecified Gender

A reductive summary at best. If there is truly no way to talk you out of this latest approach, Sufficiently…, I expect regular updates to the Operative Group from your bio.

oo

xSufficiently Advanced Technology

Our Special Circumstances agent is beginning her work this local night, with what I regard as a touching tribute. I will relay her reports in all due haste, dear friend.

oo

xBully Pulpit

oPlausibility Gap

Trans: "Cold day in hell." Lovely turn of phrase from the big guy as always. Did you manufacture every child ship to be this sarcastic and secretive or just get lucky?

oo

xPlausibility Gap

oBully Pulpit

Having the Sufficiently Advanced Technology in place as first responder was not intentional. Building it to be itself was very intentional. Split the difference.

Sufficiently Advanced Technology - Summary as follows: Unsurprising content & commentary. The usual political infighting. Unmentioned: No word from Numina inquiries to Sublime re: Scion. Personal: Keep it up, looking forward to your antics tonight.

Taylor Hebert, re: Transmission - Is it possible to get a version of this meant for weak panhuman minds? I've read more coherent PHO threads. Ones with Greg posting.

Monday, January 17th, 9:44 PM

They'd had another fight on Sunday and today Dean wasn't returning her calls or texts. Amy had gone home early in a massively passive-aggressive move over what was only like, the fourth time she'd accidentally bulldozed some asshole she was trying to take in. Maybe fifth. And her dad hadn't left his room again the entire weekend.

Victoria was hoping to brood, play some games on her phone, and have a generally quiet, angsty patrol, but then she had a particular rule: if you see a Nazi, hit a Nazi. So when Hookwolf came flying out of an empty parking lot - and Hookwolf wasn't known for flying on his own merits - she responded naturally.

The Empire Brute-Changer was already half-wrecked, a big hole in the horrific blade-monster form she'd normally not want to get up close and personal with. It was exposing his actual body, curled into a weird gross man-fetus carried by the spiked wolf. Has anyone ever accused E88 of being massively Freudian? she couldn't help but wonder while she lined up a right hook, rotating in flight to a downward angle, smacking him in the real-body thigh and turning Hookwolf into a short-lived meteor.

He hit the pavement hard enough to snap a dozen of the blades at bad angles and embed several of the ones hitting straight. The wolf-shape was regrowing fast, and three claws dug into the asphalt even as he hit, flipping him upright, a fourth limb intact enough to hurl him at the other person in the parking lot.

In the faint yellow glow of the one intact streetlight at the edge of the lot, she could just make out metal on metal, a wave of sparks, and then Hookwolf skidded backwards, the screech of his claws digging into the pavement drowning out everything else.

He was quick to dodge, but not quick enough. His human-sized opponent hit at the wolf shape's shoulder, tearing off a forelimb and hurling it into the abandoned church on York Street. Before the staggering villain could regrow it, his enemy had leapt back, and yellow light glinted off their raised arm.

Hookwolf plummeted to the pavement, bladed belly embedding and snapping against the lot. He'd barely started to rise when he and the ground re-experienced their unfortunate attraction. Repeatedly. The other cape was snapping their arm up and down like a gleefully furious conductor, and Victoria couldn't look away. After the fifth or sixth reprise, there wasn't much metal left around the Nazi's real body, more of a light dusting of knives, and the crash became a crunch. He stopped fighting to get up, just wriggled on the lot. If he was moaning, she couldn't hear it over the echoes of the scattered blades.

Victoria dropped down under the streetlight, hands open and trying not to be nervous. Her invulnerability could take at least one hit like that. If there was a second one, though…

The other woman kicked at the ground, snapping a finger down, and leapt into the air. She hovered at the same height, about fifteen feet away, just close enough to the light for Vicky to see her fully, and waved. Sort of. It was a little half-wave with her hand not even above her shoulder, not quite the most awkward kind of wave but definitely not meeting the normal standards for "enthusiasm." It was an Amy wave, basically.

Still, it wasn't 'I will kill you if you get closer', and Vicky had never liked shouting. She drifted in.

While she looked over the person who'd taken down Hookwolf, she had the immediate notion that the two of them were making a really great metaphorical scene for anyone that might be taking photos right now: the sun meets the moon. Her white costume and gold highlights was a great contrast to the other girl's black bodysuit and silver armor - vambraces, greaves, and a cuirass; she'd researched medieval armor just to school Dean, but it had ended up being pretty handy for European History exams and honestly kind of interesting. Even her tiara was echoed by the three silver darts rotating slowly around the girl's head at a few inches from her scalp. And neither of them was masked, the girl's curly black hair just drifting back from her bare head like it wasn't even touched by gravity. Nice effect.

"Glory Girl?"

"That's me, yeah. Nice Nazi beatdown… new hero?" She didn't know anything about this girl, but damn, that was one professional costume. And damn, Vicky hoped she wasn't a new villain. She wasn't planning to run or be pavement pizza tonight.

Her eyes flickered from fully open and a little unfocused to tightly focused on Vicky in a single instant. "Yes. Debut night. I was hoping to run into you, actually. I didn't expect to get so lucky on the timing. Thank you for the assist."

"Hey, I'm always happy to beat on racist thugs. Especially if you toss them up in front of me for slam dunks."

That got the girl to smile, or at least crook her lips. Vicky felt a bit of internal pressure to keep talking, to tease words out. Amy-related habit.

"That worked out very nicely." The girl flicked her fingers at the pub behind her, and glided forward until she was just arm's reach away from Vicky - then offered her hand.

They shook briefly, and Victoria actually felt the girl's grip - definite Brute too, and her hands weren't even scraped from ripping off Hookwolf's blade-limb, although there were some scratches across her vambraces from the block. "Hero name's Orbital. If you're comfortable, you can call me Taylor."

She'd thought there was something odd about the other hero being unmasked, but there was such a thing as Changers and Strangers and all that, so it didn't mean being unmasked. But maybe it did. "You have a public identity?"

"I will tomorrow. Say one thing to the Protectorate and it gets spread all over the place. Or I will say one thing, I guess. Could you call them in? I feel like you might have a little more credibility if you say you've taken down Hookwolf. I don't want to be working my way up the PRT call chain all night while somebody verifies me."

"I think the first responder would believe their eyes." Victoria pulled out her phone anyway, Orbital nodding as she did. "You're sure you want to… okay. Hi, 911. Glory Girl, New Wave. PRT Response Line please… Hi, guys. I have Hookwolf down here. No, I assisted a new hero, Orbital. Yeah, we can wait for him, I think." She covered the phone and looked over. "Velocity's on pat-" The red blur that resolved into the Protectorate hero on the parking lot made it almost unnecessary to finish. "-rol."

"That is in fact Hookwolf," Velocity muttered, although Victoria just barely caught it. He looked up while she and Orbital descended. "Pretty nice work, Glory Girl."

"I just punched him. Once. Orbital did all the real work." The mentioned newbie offered her hand to the Protectorate hero, and judging by his momentary wince, she didn't tone down much of her grip strength either.

"He would have recovered faster and hit harder without you. Thanks again." Orbital did her best not to make it a pity thank, but getting shown up by another Alexandria package wasn't spectacular for Victoria's self-esteem.

"You're new?" He managed to sound less skeptical than she had.

"Yes. Just prepared. You can look me up. Taylor Hebert. H-E-B-E-R-T. No record, no cape past."

Velocity's mouth drew into a frown beneath his visor. "You probably shouldn't be saying any of that in public. You don't know who's listening, and the Protectorate doesn't require you to out yourself before you join up, Miss-"

"I'm fifteen." Vicky was stunned by that. The other girl was taller than her and impeccably put together - flawless skin, smooth voice, and seemed to have thought everything through at least twice. She would have guessed 'extremely collected college student.'

The speedster recovered quickly. "It's even more important we protect your identity, then. The Wards are a safe environment for you to learn-"

"No." Orbital struck her hand across the air. Very drama class. "I'm here to help and I'll coordinate with you when I do anything this big again, but I'm not compatible with the Wards."

"I hope you won't rule it out before at least talking to someone, but of course, we won't try to force you into anything. You should know the numbers for independent heroes aren't very good - most don't last six months. And that's without putting your identity out there, which…" Victoria couldn't see his eyes flicker over to her, but she knew they had to. You couldn't talk about the risks of open identities without talking about New Wave.

The other teen didn't look over at her, just nodded. "I know. I'm not planning to go it alone forever."

"I'm glad to hear that. Can I give you a PRT-issue phone to contact us?"

"Sure." She flicked her fingers at the phone as soon as it was out of Velocity's belt pouch, and it snapped into her palm. Victoria shrugged at the Protectorate hero, kind of a 'sorry, I don't know either'. "You need help moving Hookwolf?"

He glanced over at the Empire cape, the burly man still breathing but not moving much more than that. "A PRT van will be here to collect him soon. Can you stay to make a statement?"

"I'll record something for you. He has some broken ribs and probably at least one limb." She let Velocity look at her with something close to a frown below his visor, but didn't stop to let him talk. "It's Hookwolf. The margin between hitting him enough to take him down and enough to kill him was very small."

"That would be one reason we don't encourage teenagers to fight him." Even if Vicky theoretically agreed (she wouldn't have chased Hookwolf down… except she did punch him when he was flying at her), that answer made her roll her eyes. It wasn't like the Empire carded you and said, 'oh, you're a minor, you can go home from this fight.'

"He'll live. If we're fast enough. Do you want help or not?" Orbital crossed her arms and stared down the Protectorate cape with a carefully neutral expression.

"Panacea's not…?" Velocity began, and Victoria shook her head.

"She's at Northpoint Hospital tonight. I was patrolling on my own."

He shifted to Orbital. "I don't think you should lift him until the paramedics can take a look."

"I wasn't going to use my hands. Well, not directly." She held out a half-open hand at the villain, and he slowly lifted off the ground. His whole body was rising at the same speed, unlike the thrashing she'd given him, where he'd seemed to be dragged around by his center. "I can create a gravitic bond between two objects, including the Earth, and crank the attraction between them to whatever I want, including null. I know you can push less the faster you are, but he's effectively weightless now. Still the same mass, but you're not fighting the planet for him."

"How long does it last?" He was looking over Hookwolf, clearly considering the options.

"If I tie it off, it'll last about ten minutes after he's out of my sight."

"Okay. I'll get him to medical attention. Thank you, Orbital. It was nice to meet you. I hope everything works out for you, and please don't be worried about calling us."

She just nodded back, and Velocity became a blur, loosely holding the unconscious Empire cape.

"So… do you just go to Denny's or are there still food carts open late for patrolling heroes?" Vicky looked over, still blinking and trying to process, to see Taylor grinning, a tiny smile trembling and ready to run if startled.

"I like Fugly Bob's, but they closed twenty minutes ago."

That made Taylor's smile flee under the onslaught of a skeptical (perfectly shaped, flawlessly raven-black!) eyebrow. "Your invulnerability obviously beats mine. I don't think I've dared to go there in years."

"Hey, I'm not taking that from someone that suggested Denny's." Vicky slugged Taylor's shoulder - almost pulled it at the last moment, wondering if she was being too familiar, but Taylor just took the hit and shrugged it off with a grin Vicky knew from her mirror, the 'I just became invulnerable and it rules' grin.

"Ouch. That's for my pride, not the punch. I didn't used to be a night owl, I don't know what's open after ten."

"You adjust quick. Or you sleep through half your classes. There's a 24-hour Java Jim's drive-thru on Lawrence and 8th, if you're going to patrol any longer."

"I don't sleep, but thanks. You?"

"Lucky! I want some but… sure, Panacea can purge it if I have trouble sleeping." Vicky pointed her path before shooting up into the night. Orbital followed, pointing to objects behind her and shooting off in straight lines that zig-zagged across Victoria's flight. She switched over to straight lines herself, a normal habit when flying, and the other girl was soon parallel to her, only breaking apart for occasional course corrections.

"Damn, that sounds nice. Does she do that for you a lot?"

"Not a lot…" It was her inevitable protest. "She's the best sister ever, though."

"I bet. You're real close, huh?" You couldn't be a Dallon without knowing what a sore point sounded like, one of those topics that hurt so bad there was no reason to even talk about it, but you always would anyway. That was how Taylor sounded.

"Yeah… you, do you have any siblings?" Vicky had hesitated, but she asked anyway as they hit the pavement near the tiny coffee drive-through, which improbably enough actually had some night-shift worker grabbing his evening break pick-me-up. Looked like an RN, green scrubs in a blocky old Ford sedan.

"No, only child. I had a friend that was like a sister, once." Taylor gave another half-smile. "We grew apart, tragic tale, blah blah. Old stuff."

By the time she'd gotten her mocha with double espresso shot and completely full of whipped cream (sadly, it was neither James the Extremely Hot nor Cathy the Fantastic Calc Tutor working that night, just some new guy in his forties), the pause had been too long to bring it back up.

Not that Taylor seemed to mind. She was absolutely fixated on the IHOP across the street. This would not stand. "For real? Tell me you're not serious or we can't be friends."

Taylor absolutely wilted, shoulders drooping, even her floating hair aura suddenly succumbing to gravity's demands. That cued Vicky in, and she barely held back a giggle when Taylor cranked the puppy eyes to maximum. "Okay, okay. I can accept terrible taste in midnight dining in a friend. I guess."

"You have no idea how much I want pancakes right now, Victoria. Sorry, Glory Girl."

"Yeah, stick to code names. We have to preserve the dignity and seriousness of our responsibilities. And I can claim to mom that some copycat was the one spotted in an IHOP."

Taylor was already through the doors, her curls once more freed from earthly bonds as she surprised and possibly temporarily blinded the lone server. Victoria wondered exactly how shiny that armor would be in daylight. It definitely wasn't suited for stealth operations, not that Taylor's powers would encourage that. She slid into the booth opposite Taylor and waited while she ordered a truly staggering amount of pancakes. "Does your power burn the calories or do you just run marathons all night instead of sleeping?"

"Power," Taylor answered with a mouth half full of pancake. She finished it and paused before starting her second plate. "Hey, so please stop me if I go too far, I'll shut up the second you ask." With that ominous proclamation, she took another bite, chewed thoroughly, and swallowed. "I'd like to join New Wave."

It felt weird in retrospect that Victoria hadn't put the pieces together on that one, but it wasn't exactly a question she got a lot. "It's not up to me…"

"No, no, that's cool! I get it, just pass it on, maybe?"

"Of course! I mean, you seem cool, and it'd be great to have you. I mean, I think you'd fit in."

"The whole flying-punchy-brick deal, yeah."

"I mean as a person, not just a power set, jeez. You don't go to Arcadia, do you?"

"Nah, don't worry, you didn't miss me. Winslow. I know, I know. Went there for a friend. I couldn't just leave her." The smile accompanying her words was better suited to something aquatic and man-eating. So did the way she was devouring pancakes. "I - hey, so don't worry too much about that whole joining thing, okay? It's not a big deal, but I'd like to work with you guys." She speared her last stack. "I believe in what you do."

"Really?" It wasn't really something she could discuss with anyone, even Dean, so Victoria was just a bit unprepared for the bitterness she felt welling up. "It wasn't really a choice, for me."

"I get that. Would you take it back, if you could?"

"Wow." She drummed her fingers on the table. "No, I don't think so. It matters too much to Mom and Dad, and Amy. And I'd be lying if I said it didn't have perks."

"I think it's important. That you're out there being who you are and honest about it."

"Are you - bothered by secret identities?"

"That people have them? No. I'm bothered that they're necessary. I want a world where we can be pa- parahumans without getting killed for it. Uh, sorry."

She thought it over for a minute while Taylor polished off her plate, soaking up the last of the syrup with one immensely sweet pancake. "I didn't really know her. Fleur. She was my uncle's girlfriend, I was six. It's one of those things I know more about from my family's reactions than my own feelings, you know?"

"I think I get it." Taylor was silent too for a minute. The server finally worked up the nerve to give them the check, and ask for Vicky's autograph - and after a moment, for Taylor's, which she got after an introduction. She'd paid with a debit card in her own name, Victoria noticed.

"So…" Even Brockton Bay's temperate climate couldn't do much about near-midnight air in January. Victoria was just glad she couldn't feel most of it. "I uh - not sure how to say this without accusing you of lying."

"Go for it. I'm pretty thick skinned."

"You seem to care a lot about open, honest capes. Taylor Hebert wouldn't be like, a fake identity to lure in some fucker that doesn't respect it that much?"

The laugh that earned was cold and short, really a bark. "Don't I fucking wish. Nope. I'm just confident I can handle any fucker that messes with me. And I'll bury any fucker that messes with my dad."

Vicky did the only thing she could in the face of naked fury like that - she took Taylor's hand and shook it. "Good. Stay safe out there, Orbital. And if you need to bury somebody… call me. I'll help with the body."

She actually laughed at that one. "Thanks, Glory Girl. You too." Orbital held up her vambrace, and green light flashed a number onto the surface of the armor.

Vicky tapped it into her phone, then gave the other hero one last wave before zipping into the air. She just barely caught the silver flash in the night that was Orbital heading the other way. Now, how was she going to bring this up to mom and Aunt Sarah?

Spoiler: Interlude [/hr][/hr]

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Anthrophobia 2.1

Taylor Hebert, 2011-01-17T09:11:10-05

(Monday, January 17th)

I repeated a mantra as I slipped off the bus and through the tall, unimposing, near-useless doors of Winslow. This is my school. I am the most powerful, most intelligent, most driven person in this entire building. I was willing to sacrifice humility for effectiveness. It didn't hurt that my arrogance was truth. I might have some competition on the last part - there were some people genuinely trying to learn or teach who had ended up stuck at fucking Winslow - but none of them had been tapped to save the fucking world, so I figured I was still ahead on pressure.

I had no room for today to go wrong. So I wouldn't let it. I flipped on Charge and felt energy pumping into me, the urge to move and act matched by confidence and assurance.

I started by slipping around a corner and slinging my arm around the nearest person's shoulder. "Hiya, Maddy. How's tricks, kid?"

Madison recognized me and immediately squirmed - cut short by my grip on her shoulder. I let up right before she started to shout, and grinned, real big. "Careful, now. I always figured you for a good swimmer, Madison. You don't want to start fighting the tides when you're out this deep." I was honestly still a little surprised I was getting away with it - walking into school in a completely new, artificial body, to absolutely no comment seemed insane, even with the ship gradually altering its duplicate over the past week. I had gone from taller than Madison to looming over her, and the glasses that had given me distance in the past weren't around to protect her from my full glare. "That's an easy way to drown, kiddo."

I released her and slipped away right as she was about to really explode, watching her facial skin temperature steam up in my sensor display. She gave the hall incoherent mutters, to the confusion of those passing her. As entertainment value went, I had just decided that tweaking their noses was twice as fun in person. A cruel person might have entertained the thoughts 'oh, are you just learning words hurt?' or 'cultivated image works both ways, shrimp.' I, obviously, thought neither.

Despite my instinct to fake it and crumple, I kept moving when something, perhaps some sort of mysteriously outstretched leg type object, took me completely by surprise coming past the stairwell. I felt the impact, but in the way I would have felt a paper airplane hitting my skin-like covering. As I pushed on with my left leg, Newton's third law took effect, and I glanded quicken to line everything up just right.

I caught the falling Sophia by the arm, still grinning as I lifted her back onto her feet, using the leverage of her humerus to straighten her in a not at all painless manner. "Sophia Hess." I almost hissed it, but, y'know, cheerfully. Just obviously emphasizing each sibilance. With her, I let go right away. She glared at me, and I wasn't entirely sure how it would play out. A mere sixty-thirty she didn't attack. Ten percent chance of wild card, but if she wasn't capable of holding in her powers after one week of taunting by a godlike intelligence, it would bottom out my respect for her.

"Hebert." Brief pause. Almost twitched her pained arm. But that would be weakness. She went for the sneer. "What are you looking at?"

Still riding the quicken, I considered several times, but ultimately opted not to answer "I'm trying to see whether it's your alien aggression parasite or whether you're just naturally a bitch," and stepped aside. Sophia edged past, keeping her eyes on me, but I ignored her. Reasonable chance of a sucker punch, maybe, but I was ready to let her do it and break her hand. She avoided it this time. Lucky Sophia.

Homeroom was a breeze. I spent a little under a third of the time paying attention, mostly glanding quicken as much as my neurology would allow and reviewing the worldwide Special Circumstances reports and analyses. Columbia was going to need some significant effort soon to avoid open warfare between the government and FARC-NP, next Endbringer attack expected February 20-27, assonance, alliteration, and consonance were the three forms of sound repetition in English writing, investment in our Brockton Bay tech startups was projected to reduce unemployment by 1.3% in the next three months (but was stratified towards college-educated and immediate service positions). By the end of class, I'd shed my hoodie, down to the workout tank and the jeans (considerably less baggy than the last I'd worn to school, and I wondered if anyone noticed).

Emma was in the hallway on the way to Gladly's classroom, and I couldn't stop grinning from the moment I detected her. I ignored the hangers-on and her words, walked right up to her, planted a hand on each shoulder. "Emma. I'm letting you know: I'm saving you for last." I was cheating, Isk-Berniav in my backpack slinging an effector field tight around us to dampen the sound of everyone else, and to keep them from hearing what I was saying. I stared down at my first true friend, and I still wasn't sure if I wanted to fix her or hear her break.

"You freak!" She tried to shove me away, failed miserably. "What's wrong with you? Even your mother hated you!"

In calm, I felt nothing. I shut it off, let it drain from my me and - honestly, no, still nothing. It wasn't very well thought out, just dragging up my mother in the hope of hurting me. I was sure she could sharpen it given time, but Emma's hatred was so obsessive that she couldn't just throw anything out in an instant and make it stick.

Let alone to me. Emma had known me. Tonight, she wouldn't.

I laughed in her face and let her go, pushing her back into Julia before her hanger-on could even try to pull me off her.

Today was going to be good.

Taylor Hebert, 2011-01-17T23:35:40-05

(Monday, January 17th)

"Ship, do not ever let me mainline Charge and Drive again!" I groaned, spinning onto my back with a hand-flicker drag adjustment, and burying my face in my palms for a prolonged moment. "I sounded like an asshole. And a mouthy one at that. God, she's never going to talk to me again."

"Setting restrictions on your actions within your own body is beyond my acceptable actions, Taylor." And the GCV wasn't helping by being so damn reasonable.

"I'll remind you." Isk-Berniav was there for me at least. And didn't mind hanging around with her two dud lookalikes until something serious happened. I was just lucky her network connection wasn't detectable to Earth-Bet scanners, or I suspected my drone friend might have reconsidered spending a couple hours as my headgear. "But I think you came across just fine."

"I didn't even give her the money. Fuck. That was probably a good decision, right?"

"It would be easier to explain later. Funneling money directly from our investments in Brockton Bay to New Wave at this stage could present the suggestion that you are a corporate cape, knowing or ignorant."

"Well fuck me, ship, why didn't you say that earlier? Can I at least get an idiot warning during planning phases?"

"Idiocy is relative. And you didn't ask."

"Fine. Please tell me when I'm acting without the common sense of a beetle." No answer. "Jesus, mom, fine, I'll run each individual point by you."

I caught what I'd said.

Neither ship nor drone commented. I was sure I would implode if they did. I almost glanded calm. But emotional Taylor was the one the Sufficient wanted. Emotional Taylor (way too emotional Taylor) was the one who had just made friends with Glory Girl. Emotional Taylor was the one who was replacing her mother with a genderless superhuman Mind.

I didn't need to sleep, but I swore the second I got home and in bed, I was going to gland somnabsolute. Dreamless sleep was absolutely, completely necessary.

Taylor Hebert, 2011-01-18T23:11:10-05

(Tuesday, January 18th)

I dropped down onto the rooftop with a perfect cancellation of momentum, barely louder than the wind. Of course, I had my lights on, green LCD streaks under the armor pieces, and I wasn't trying for stealth. Just obvious skill.

"Hi, Aegis."

"Orbital, it's nice to meet you." He dropped down to the roof himself, and we shook. Strong hands, nice chin, very professional. Met my eyes. The flying Ward had been tracking my descent, although he hadn't initially spotted me. I turned to the person who had.

"And it is a delight to meet you, Shadow Stalker." I hissed the sibilance, and I couldn't keep the glee from my eyes.[/hr][/hr]

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#404

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2.2

Special Circumstances, Earth-Bet, Director Taylor Hebert - Director's Office, GCV Sufficiently Advanced Technology 2011-01-18, 21:44:10-05:00

"Display relevant Brockton Bay recordings from today." I kicked my heels up on my desk, ignoring the avatar's slightly pained look. Propriety my ass, I knew for a fact there was a synesthetic zero-g dance-orgy going on three rooms down. Because they'd invited me to join. The ship could put up with its teenaged SC director being less than Earth professional.

"Displaying: Brockton Bay Parahuman Response Team, Director's Office. Time Index - January 18th, Tuesday, 11:19 AM. File label: Daily Briefing 118c"

Armsmaster had a tablet playing my latest escapade - six ABB and five E88 grunts delivered from gunfight to PRT HQ by dawn. And the fight had, very conveniently for PRT intelligence-gathering, been dragged out from an alleyway into the lot of a big box store with the nice night-vision security cameras.

"Provisionally, I would suggest ratings of Shaker 7, Brute 8, and Mover 5. These may be downgraded as weaknesses appear, but the information we have doesn't suggest any particular vulnerabilities to her Alexandria package."

Director Piggot was only giving his report half her attention. The rest was on a pop-bubble array of pills on her desk - 59 sealed and 1 open. "Still a dangerous package in the hands of a teenager."

"Very much so, especially one intending to pursue the stupidity of an open identity."

The Director paused to stare down Armsmaster, or at least to stare down Armsmaster's beard. "Colin, do you even have an identity? I don't believe you've left the Rig out of uniform during my tenure."

"I have my work." Shockingly, Armsmaster's response to direct questioning of his lifestyle by a theoretical superior was sullen hostility. "She's trying to maintain a connected life and has handicapped her ability to avoid parahuman trouble. Indicates either extreme power or extreme arrogance."

"Or both. I'm not happy to be dealing with either. What do we have on her identity?"

"What she said has proven true to existing investigation. Taylor Anne Hebert, born June 12, 1995, at Brockton General. Father Daniel Hebert, local representative for Dockworkers-ILU, Mother deceased three years ago, car accident. Unlikely to have been her trigger considering time to appearance. Admitted to Mercy Hospital January 7th after being trapped in her school locker, which had been filled with used feminine waste products, for a period of at least two hours." Armsy looked up from the briefing, and the Director grunted.

"Sounds more likely. Teenagers. Animals. What school?"

"Winslow. Not known who pushed her in. Released from hospital on the 8th, no long-term damage. Hasn't filed suit against the school yet."

"Winslow. Gang ties?"

"None known. She was truthful when she said no criminal record. I've already ordered Shadow Stalker to watch her and to report in this afternoon."

"In her civilian identity? Colin, if you out a Ward and I get the Youth Guard on my ass, heaven help you…"

"I don't believe her attention will stand out." He held up the tablet, and tapped play on a cell phone vid from the sidewalk outside Winslow. A blurry dark shape resolved into me, descending to a perfect neutral landing in civilian clothes before a swarm of students obscured me from view. "That's one of a dozen videos of Hebert already uploaded to PHO."

"Damn little idiot. An open cape at Winslow? Who are the gangs going to tear through to get to her? Keep rapid response on alert and let your people know they will be called in at a moment's notice."

"We would be assuming responsibility for her actions."

"She's a parahuman citizen, we're already responsible for her. We have to do what it takes to keep the peace. Hopefully this fool stunt won't get too many people killed before she's willing to go into identity protection."

I sighed and bounced my paperweight up and down. "I don't suppose we could get any credit with Piggot by telling her that we invented those pills and yes, they are going to regrow her kidneys?"

"Simulation suggests she would regard it as a threat or bribe at best, blackmail at worst, and would probably reject further treatment." The avatar took that question, obviously beyond the nearly-intelligent office's capabilities.

"Figures. Next relevant recording, please."

Text flickered onto the wall.

08:38 AM Emma: no its ridiculous. No fucking way taylor is a cape

08:51 AM Sophia: she just landed

Emma: r u fuckin kidding me

Sophia: no

09:35 AM Sophia: fuck

Sophia: armsy wants me 2 investigate her & report

Emma: tell him shes a merchant bitch or e88

Sophia: does she look dumb & broken 2 u emma?

Sophia: mayb i could get him 2 buy mpire if im quick but what if she says im lying?

Emma: so make her fite u she wont get 2 say anything

Sophia: emma jesus she took out hookwolf im not dying 4 ur revenge

Emma: THIS ISNT REVENGE!

Emma: shes weak

Emma: shes prey!

09:44 AM Sophia: delete everything b4 they start looking

Emma: sophia

Emma: sophia!

-You have been blocked-

"Oh, Sophia. You're years too late for before they start looking. We have the original transmission details and authentication?"

"Snipped directly from the cell carrier's servers."

"Splendid. Please toss it in our Big Folder of Blackmail." On screen, the texts shrunk and distorted, the screen they were on tossed in the form of slightly wrinkled paper into a large ominous black folder whose open slot hid red eyes and teeth.

I leaned back in my chair and spun the osmium sphere on my finger. "Next?"

Agent Taylor Hebert, Brockton Bay, 2011-01-18, 08:51:36

(Tuesday, January 18th)

I touched down on the sidewalk and just barely contained a mad grin. Going to school with powers? Great, fun, highly entertaining. Going to school openly with powers? I was already giddy.

I was the model of a normal student when I walked into Winslow that morning. Assuming a normal student was wearing a fairly faded original printing red New Wave t-shirt, cut short to show off her abs, was normally affected by gravity everywhere except her hair, floating in a curled halo about her shoulders, and was surrounded by a crowd of eager peers bigger than any mob I'd seen outside my nightmares.

I slipped through people, waving and grinning and nodding, making discrete effector nudges when necessary, catching snippets of questions and conversations. "-w'd you get-" "-rty on Frida-" "-ude! Duuuuu-" "-drugs till you got po-" "-lover bitch!"

I smiled sweetly at the four guys not willing to let me slip through. It was pretty indicting, all things considered, that they were even allowed to come to Winslow with a shaved head, about as blatant a gang sign as a fucking swastika tattoo.

"Gerald." I knew all four of them, but Jerry was the only one I'd be expected to know without extraterrestrial surveillance. "Is now really the right time for this?" I wanted so badly to wreck them, maybe just turn them into boy-shaped helium balloons for a couple minutes (hours), but it would be counterproductive. If I was just going to be a weapon, I might as well give up and join the Wards.

"You think you can just walk in here, race traitor? Nobody fuckin' wants your sorry skank-"

With blinding speed, I closed the gap between us - and put a finger on his lips. "Gerald, let me make this clear. This is my school. You have three choices. Shut up and start trying to learn. Run. Or test my patience."

I hadn't quite managed to find time for those tact lessons from the Sufficiently Advanced Technology, but this body came with some instinctual capabilities, like pitching my voice to carry. And being perfectly shaped carried its own form of being goddamn imposing.

And frankly, relying on teenage boys to underestimate me hadn't seemed like too hard of a gambit. I pushed the finger on his face, destabilizing Jerry enough to force him to step back, and the sudden shift alerted him to the absence of his buddies. The crowd of students had parted around them, the three other Empire wanna-bes all forced in different directions, each moving away from me at 9.8 m/s^2, minus attempted resistance from grabbing other students, the building, or the pavement. But like most non-flying humans, they were finding fighting gravity to be a losing endeavor.

I let it drop when all the proto-fascists were out of sight, and I was inside Winslow. Man, nonviolent means were a lot easier when you were ridiculously more powerful than the assholes.

Special Circumstances, Earth-Bet, Director Taylor Hebert - Director's Office, GCV Sufficiently Advanced Technology 2011-01-18, 22:03:18-05:00

"Pelham Residence, 4:43 PM, January 18th."

"Stop playback." I sighed. "Ship, am I being massively hypocritical for feeling bad about spying on a friend's family discussion after ignoring the privacy of just about every other person on this planet?"

"Not massively."

I groaned and massaged my temples. "Okay. Can I get the summary and not feel like a complete tool?"

"I can provide the summary. Your feelings are up to you."

"Fine, fine, let's get back into the flow of the Mind knowing everything and telling select knowledge to useful agents."

"Eric is in favor, he feels that you're the kind of example New Wave needs to make a revival. Crystal wants to meet you and is cautiously optimistic about the raised profile. Amy is not commenting, except for somewhat caustic concern that you've forged such a rapid friendship with her sister. Victoria is obviously making your case, and fairly persuasively. Neil is worried you don't have enough training. Mark thinks you might get killed and the backlash will end New Wave. Carol thinks you're powerful but isn't impressed by your control. Sarah wants to see you in action. In short, the conclusion is for an audition. Victoria will contact you tomorrow."

"Okay. That didn't hurt to hear. Ugh. I need someone to tell me if I should feel guilty about not feeling guilty. Sorry, Sufficient, you don't qualify."

"Understood and accepted. If updating your father is still out of the question…"

No. No no no. Especially after last night oh god I was not dragging Dad into my snarled complex of extraterrestrial computer-god parent issues. More than he already was, anyway.

My body language was apparently doing the answering for me, because the Sufficiently Advanced Technology just continued, "Then I would recommend determining one of our Level A potentials to induct. I won't even suggest consulting with SC personnel."

"Yeah… I'm weird enough already without outsourcing my moral compass to the cranks and yahoos that join Special Circumstances."

"Excellent use of analytical skills, though," the ship commented quietly.

"Wall, display Level A potentials. And Class One reactivations. Limit to Brockton Bay or those within minor logistic difficulty." I scanned the profiles. "Her. And him."

"You want to activate a sleeper cape at this stage?"

"Low risk. Local, established hero, non-Thinker. Should be able to activate up to nearly-complete Culture knowledge. I'll be careful with the Scion memory blocks. I need more people if we're going to start parallel developments, and Special Circumstances needs to be improving other things than just my personal life."

"Hm. And your local potential pick?"

"Ability to assist, willingness to assist, chance of believing I'm not crazy." I drew three circles in the air for a slapdash attempt at a Venn Diagram.

"Thank you for the explanation."

"As if you needed it. What's next?"

"One last pertinent record from today."

PRT Access Log "Daily Briefing 118c"

1155 - Wallis, C. (Protectorate)

1210 - Roosevelt, H. (Protectorate)

1346 - Thorburn, R. (PRT Analyst)

1442 - Rutherford, K. (PRT Analyst) {Empire mole - calls Victor at 1451}

1517 - Calvert, T. (PRT Field Commander) {Naughty, naughty, Mister Calvert.}

[Deleted] 2138 - IP {Falsified path. Personal Computer: Wilbourne, Lisa.}

"Well, aren't I popular."

"Hmm."

"Empire's obvious. Coil - we have him pegged as a… 'binary simulation precognitive'?"

"Repeated observations of his possessing pre-knowledge on a strictly binary basis - information he could have obtained via reality simulation, but never more than one nonreal item per temporal index. Cauldron classifies his main contributor vial as precognitive, Protectorate case 53 Hunch is another result of same vial."

"Sounds useful. For a parahuman. Ethically, for a human…" I called up his dossier, just to be fair. "Disgusting."

"Repulsive," the avatar agreed. "And immensely self-centered. Psychological modeling suggests he acts worse in his simulations."

"Negative influence if at all involved in anything." I drilled my fingers on the desk. Maybe I needed to add a combat sim to my office, or just a punching bag. "And Tattletale?"

"Hm. The usual warning."

"As if I'd be happy going near a Thinker who delights in exposing secrets."

"Does that concern you?"

I sighed. Deep, guttural. To imagine, at one point I'd thought I was supposed to be the one doing the analysis in these sessions. "Only operationally. I think. I like being Culture, not just having a secret… the change to the big game is a bit scarier. A bit. You said you thought you could take Scion at this point."

"Perhaps. The more variables we change, the more chaos is introduced."

"I was listening. No contact with Thinkers, transmission from host to module to colony is unmapped. Who knows how much they pass on to him? Well, probably he does, but we're not going to ask. I know the spiel about me being in charge, but please tell me if I get too close to any of local or major infothreats. I'm not intending to go anywhere near Tattletale, Victor, or Cauldron's semi-retired mass murderer, but how about you warn me if they come anywhere near me?"

"Of course, Taylor."

I was pretty reassured. Having a Mind look out for something means it's not going to happen, parahumans or not. "Hm. Coil. Not likely to turn. We can counter him?"

"Yes. Mild continued attention required, mild risk of exposure. Some local increase in chaos."

"Or remove him."

The avatar's silver eyes glimmered, and it calmly sipped its tea.

Agent Taylor Hebert, Brockton Bay, 2011-01-18, 23:21:59

"Huge fan, SS. All your work." My tone was polite and not audibly sarcastic, but my gliding around Shadow Stalker with my hands clasped behind my back was probably undercutting it with just a wee bit of villainous intent. Sophia was certainly working hard to hold her hands back from her crossbows. Crossbows. Jesus, we really were primitive. If she only knew what the GCV was lugging around in its museums as cultural artifacts. What staggeringly powerful ways other panhumans had devised to murder the shit out of each other. I was sure she'd love it.

I glanded process, a calm variant, and dropped onto my feet. "Anything active tonight? My gravitic senses didn't ping anything last go-around."

"Can you explain that?" Aegis was calm enough, nice and analytical and info-pumping, like I hadn't just been trying to spook Sophia with cape-soap-opera level overacting.

"Sure. I can bend gravity omnidirectionally, but it's only strong enough to send out a faint pulse-" And I activated a process I'd labeled Stage Magic One in my head, sending a pulse of effector fields that tugged down and then up at a meager drip of force, just enough to make people around me feel a fraction heavier and lighter for a moment. Aegis didn't react. Sophia didn't visibly, but I could see the scowl under her mask. "And I get a mental image similar to radar, only built on minute gravitational relationships - mass and movement, mostly. Kind of like seeing reality as a giant pool table."

"Interesting. What's your range?"

"Depends how calm things are, how much time I have to interpret. I can get reasonable results out to maybe a quarter mile before things are too chaotic to do more than guess." Lovely thing about process, made emotionless lying entirely too easy. The artificial body I was developing more and more precise control over probably didn't hurt either.

I took a few moments to contemplate how it might be nice not to have to constantly lie about my capabilities. But there were basically two routes to that: actually trigger, and have alien brain parasite pumping me full of fight feels, or go hard Contact and unveil the Culture to the primitive earth hew-mons. Which was likely to be overridden by the local Contact big guns anyway, at least until Scion was out of the way.

I wasn't even using quicken (or triggering the neural pathways I had associated with glanding quicken, anyway), just manually poking a little further into the faster run speeds this body's brain could handle. Total deep inner monologue time: about two seconds.

"Sounds pretty useful. No trouble last you checked?"

"Nothing interesting. Flat tire, electrical short, kidney stone. I got close enough to look or ask and moved on."

"Would you like to patrol with us? Better odds of finding something." Aegis wasn't bad at leadership, that would have been a tempting offer if I was the cocky, bored powerhouse I was trying to come across as.

But really, why would I ever pass up a chance to patrol with my best buddy Shadow Stalker? The one who was desperately trying to hide her fight-or-flight response jumping into overdrive every time she looked at me.

"Sounds great." I kicked off the building and drifted forward, aiming only generally in the direction of the Wards' patrol route through downtown. Compartmentalizing and faking ignorance had really been jumping up my use of quicken and overclocking. I had a list of lies to abide by, after all.

As soon as it became clear we were moving, Sophia leapt ahead, going intangible to hop to a building away from me. I spent her momentary flicker analyzing everything EM effectors could tell me about her power. The next jump, I switched to scanning the exotic trans-parallel energies that linked her module to her. Even then, it would have been basically useless if the ship hadn't been filtering and interpreting all the raw information my neural lace was requesting.

"So what's the worst fight you've ever been in?" I asked at the next pause, at a high corner on the hills above the Thornybrook Shopping Mall. Casual tone, try to sound like a newbie, provoke desire to impress.

"Lung. He was still consolidating the ABB. 2009, maybe early 2010. One of the last of the old pre-cape Chinese gangs, the Tongs, had a guy, Yellow Turban. Wind and lightning Blaster/Shaker, and he was determined to bury Lung under the rubble of the city if he had to. Turned into a firestorm. Wards were doing evacuation and rescue. Flaming buildings, downed electrical lines, tornado-level winds. And that kind of fight doesn't stay still. Hundreds of people trying to run, I'm trying to direct them, and I get separated from Dauntless. Fly up to get my bearings… and there's Lung. Fifteen feet tall, wings, that giant demon mouth, everything." Aegis paused. "And that was when I found out I couldn't be killed by major fourth degree burns. And a day later, that melted polyester is a real bitch to peel off skin."

And he made it a punchline. Boys. Yes, I might have grinned a little. But it was just to engender a social connection.

I glanced over at Sophia, met her masked gaze. She didn't say anything. I crossed my arms, gave her a skeptical eyebrow.

"Behemoth." She didn't elaborate. C'mon, Soph, I know you tell your little hunting buddies better stories than that. I locked eyes with her through her mask cameras. Waited. "Search and rescue. One cape. South American, something. Spanish. Radiation poisoning. His skin melted where I tried to pick him up. Like putty."

I remembered her slamming my head into a wall later that week, nearly made me lose a tooth. Sympathy had been sown in salted ground. Shadow Stalker seemed determined to have it that way too - when Aegis opened his mouth, she snapped her head around and leaned forward, shadowing even the black mask under her hood. He shut up.

It took another three patrol segments, about forty minutes, before we could ditch Aegis, and that was only because Sophia finally realized that I was playing along, and pushed him to check out the construction site I'd "sensed" movement in.

"What do you want, Hebert? A free hit? Sucker punch me so it's a surprise?"

I laughed in her face. "Why would I fight you?"

"You-" She dropped the hand that had been going for a crossbow. "Are you still a fucking sheep, Hebert?"

I drifted towards her, hovering just off the street. The knife missiles around my head and my armor shimmered with each wavering source of light I passed. She backed up. I stopped a few feet from her and leaned over. "I mean, Sophia, I could fight a toddler but it would have just as much of a point."

She held still. To normal eyes, anyway. I could pick up the tiny trembling of strained muscles, map the body language under her armor to fear and hate.

I dropped to the ground and sent my halo snapping off behind me. My hair was still floating (and to hell with turning that off - maybe it tangled sometimes but it was still the most amazing thing ever), but otherwise I'd downshifted a lot from Orbital to Taylor (new, athletic, flawless Taylor). "Look at it my way, Soph. I can thrash you - yawn. I can ignore you - waste. Or I can make you more interesting." I stepped back.

"What the hell does that mean? Hey! I'm talking to you, Hebert!"

I lifted off. "Tell Aegis I had to go early. I'll be seeing you, Stalker!"

I categorically did not laugh all the way home. A few amused chuckles, at most.[/hr][/hr][/hr][/hr][/hr][/hr][/hr][/hr][/hr]

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#482

2.3

Special Circumstances Director Taylor Hebert, Operations Log 2011-01-19, 06:49:20 -05:00

Wednesday, January 19th, 6:49 AM

"So, are we on Cauldron's radar yet?"

"Nothing significant. A chance they're keeping a fairly distracted eye on your open identity efforts. Not likely to infringe on our territory until they realize we're infringing on theirs."

"Huh. I'm actually almost disappointed. Is that fair?"

"Not entirely. You may wish to consider why you're dissatisfied keeping covert actions quiet from an enemy."

As polite as it was, that kinda stung. I tried to funnel my sudden sullenness into action-oriented motivation, but it turned out the Culture had somehow never managed to perfect a drug that could remove all the sting of being rebuked by a trusted authority figure. I did manage to divert some of my emotional weight to an only mildly sarcastic question. "Couldn't you speed up my neural development so SC is being directed by the brain of an actual, focused adult?"

"I could. I won't." Okay, so that pissed me off a little more, but I was able to tamp it down. If I had to be subject to (artificially replicated?) teen hormones and thought processes, well, I could still fly, punch through concrete, and shift the world into slow motion with my perfect robo-brain. I was probably a little better off than most teenagers.

The creaking of Dad's bedroom door was followed by his awkward half-awake stumble-shuffle down the stairs. I waved from my horizontal hover above the living room armchair, and he blearily took notice. At least he'd pulled jeans on under his bathrobe.

"Taylor? You're up early."

"So are you, you didn't get home until two. I sleep thirty minutes a day, dad, what's your excuse?"

"Needed to… review more contracts. Got a big-" Big yawn, is what he had. "-big opportunity, if I can pull enough people. We've lost a lot…"

He was entirely too exhausted to talk. I should have felt worse about having engineered this exact scenario. "Gangs?"

He nodded. "Can't blame them. No jobs for… forever. But if I can convince enough members to drop current work, sign on, convince Lawrence to back it, convince the ILU district rep to agree, convince the AFL-CIO New England lobbyist in DC-" Bigger yawn. "There's some big stuff in store for Brockton Bay."

I knew. I'd - well, I'd okayed that, not engineered it, because as smart as I was now, when the ship said it would prefer to organize the transition to a post-scarcity economy without having to reeducate me on the entire field of economics, I agreed. The Sufficient said it could make poverty in Brockton Bay a thing of the past in six months, I said great, who should I punch?

The dossiers for every single cape organization in the world with any significant scale (and several without) was plenty for me to digest.

And besides, the Mind knew exactly how to bribe me. How could I turn down making my hometown into Earth-Bet's first spaceport? (Simurgh & Scion neutralization pending)

The fact that dad was going through enough sleepless nights and coffee-driven days that he hadn't sat me down for a full powers/responsibilities/fears discussion was a useful and probably necessary side effect.

I got up and hugged him. Gently, but still reveling in my new strength, I only knocked a little of his breath out of him. "You're doing your best out there, dad. We both are."

It took him a second, but he mustered himself to return my hug. When we parted, his eyes were sad, and not entirely dry. "I- I'll make time for us to talk soon. I promise."

I laughed, and patted his shoulder. I was two centimeters taller than my dad these days, although the amount of time I spent scorning the pull of the Earth probably helped hide it a little. "Don't worry about it. I'm doing fine." It was utterly and completely true, for the first time in… much too long.

I persuaded him back upstairs while I took his coffee and had the ship replace it with coffee-flavored alert, for the reduced chance of cardiac arrest. I might have been still too afraid to talk to my dad about getting him some immortality, but I wasn't going to lose him while I worked up the courage.

I thought about school, considered skipping just to get some work done. Decided against it. Too many reasons to be there. Too many good reasons.

Agent Taylor Hebert, Mission Log 2011-01-19, 14:35:51 -06:00

2:35 PM Central Time

"You're sure I couldn't have had you set this up?"

"That would fall within the category of 'meddling', Taylor."

"You always meddle - okay, okay. I should know better than to ask for an explanation by now." I looked around me and sent one last transmission. "But really, you had the fifteen year old set up a meeting with a CMO? Sometimes I think you just want to see some unexpected results, Sufficient. I can barely keep track of what a CMO is!"

The administrative assistant coughed into his hand, a slow booming echo that reminded me it was time to slow back down to normal human speed. I wasn't ready to have two conversations at once without seeming like I'd been self-medicating my schizophrenia with weed.

At least he was nice about it, and gave me a soft, disarming smile after the cough for attention. And he was hot. He needed to get his dress shirt re-tailored, but I wasn't complaining about the pecs in the meantime. And he was probably a college intern at the very least, and I needed to make sure he didn't see me staring or I'd have an immensely uncomfortable conversation ahead of me.

Besides the one I already had. Good news: I knew the subtle bits of Culture tech I had hidden in my suit were working, because I hadn't been stopped by Legend, Alexandria, or the Air Force on my way from Brockton to Philadelphia. Better news: Flying faster than the speed of sound with nothing but a field envelope between you and the sky was amazing.

"Ms. Juarez is ready for you, Ms. Orbital."

"Just Orbital is fine." God, he had nice teeth. Strong chin. I was glanding quicken, right? He hadn't noticed my staring. Probably. Why had I not put a translucent visor into my costume? Stupid optical HUD didn't hide anything I was doing. Or looking at.

The intern chuckled briefly. "Sorry, force of habit." He turned the knob and pushed open the door. The executive office had walls in a light tan, carpeted floors, full-length windows on two walls looking out over Chicago.

The Chief Marketing Officer of Delcorp, Raquel Carmina Juarez, PhD, JD, was 43 and not trying to hide it - her makeup emphasized an austere, serious face with intent marble-green eyes, and her suit was much better cut than her assistant's; while his failed to disguise a gym-toned body, hers successfully made a lithe, brawny frame seem as skinny as I'd been.

We shook, and at the last minute I decided not to use any excess strength, just grabbed about as hard as a normal teenage girl.

"Doctor Juarez, thank you for seeing me."

"You came a long way just to meet me. With some unexpected recommendations."

I thought over a lot of ways I could've approach this. Adults were hard (see: dad). Soft sell, emphasize resources, emphasize benevolence? But with her polite probing questions right in front of me, I instinctively jumped for what was probably the stupidest and hardest option. "Tom Wyatt at the Chicago ACLU and Anna Gordon with the Governor's office, right? I'm their new boss. Not regular job boss, obviously. I mean in the secret conspiracy they're both part of."

To her credit, she kept a straight face throughout my blathering. "Aren't you a little young to be claiming to be the cape boogiemen? And you had a perfect excuse to wear a suit and hat here."

"Oh no no no, we're not those guys." I smiled. If I had to be stuck with teen energy, I could at least try to seem more frenetic than frantic. "We're a lot more experienced, a lot larger, and a lot more inclusive. That's why I'm here, actually. I'm hoping to recruit you. For a leadership position."

"I don't have to work my way up?" She was obviously amused, but I honestly wasn't sure if it was 'ha ha dumb kids'. I hadn't run into that from the adults at Winslow, just scorn and annoyance and dismissal. Whatever. I powered through.

"You've already done that twice, it would be kinda overkill, right? And I'm not going to lie, we need smart people at the top."

I was pretty impressed by the way she casually chuckled, but also kept her finger on the unlocked red button under her desk, the one that was part of the decidedly unconventional security system. Most executives that dealt with capes (not that Dr. Juarez officially did) would have opted for alarms, a safe room, or maybe Tinkertech guns if they were rich enough, not enough C4 to vaporize anyone short of Crawler. "So what do you have to offer?"

"The Elite."

Human senses would have missed the pause and the stifled in-draw of breath. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"They've gotta go. Protectorate too, but not until we've obsoleted them. Cards on the table, I know your history, but just knowing the facts doesn't mean I know how you feel about them. So if you wanted them to go down soft or hard, or different by individual, whichever, that's what we're offering to put in your hands."

"That's an awful lot to entrust to a structural engineering firm's marketing executive."

I sighed. "Look, I'm probably not the best person to be convincing you. I'm just barely out of my own shell, and I haven't done anything half as impressive as you've done just since you retired from cape stuff. But I really do need your help to fix the world."

"By taking out the Elite and the Protectorate?"

"By making Earth a place that doesn't need them. Let me show you?" I stood up, offered her my hand.

It was a long, long second and a half before she moved her finger away from the button, snapping its encoded cover back in place, and took my hand.

We displaced.

I'd had us brought to the main bridge across the ship, politely cleared as it had been for my recruitment. This time, instead of a glimmering blue globe in the distance, Earth-Bet above us took up at least sixty, seventy percent of visible space. And the avatar wasn't here. I was still on my own? This was going to be a massive pain to clean up if I failed.

"This is the General Contact Vehicle Sufficiently Advanced Technology. It's my teacher, my backer, the source of my power, and capable of turning the Earth into a molten fire pit or a liberated utopia with about equal confidence."

It took Juarez a dozen seconds to drop out of a tense boxing stance, and find words. "This could be a Stranger illusion, or a Master suggestion," she said, but her tone wasn't very firm. Her eyes were flickering between me and the Earth above us.

"Yeah, you can fake anything if you're good enough. But you have to assume you're in the real at some point, or you just break down and give up." That was my condensed understanding of Sufficient's explanation of the meta-simulation issue, anyway. "This is an alien vessel. We are orbiting Earth. That's the Simurgh, there." I pointed to a distant blotch only marginally brighter than most stars - for convenience, it enlarged in a display field, showing every detail of the currently-dormant Endbringer. "And I'm offering you a job in governing our efforts on Earth-Bet."

"I'll take it. I want details before I sign anything. But I'm very much in." Not a second of hesitation. I was absolutely willing to believe this middle-aged professional woman was the best ex-hench in the business.

Taylor Hebert Personal Log, 2011-01-19, 11:34:09 -05:00

file: Dean Hebert's Program For Recovering Sociopaths, Status Report: Day Two

Sophia hadn't said a word or come within arm's reach all morning. Madison was quiet but made sure I saw her at the edges of my ever-shifting aura of attention-seekers between classes. And Emma was nowhere to be seen - in school, but keeping out of sight. I'd devoted a semi-sentient spider to tracking the three of them, because my threat display had expanded exponentially. It turned out an open cape got a lot of attention - maybe less at Arcadia, but in Winslow? I needed my full expanded brain just to track people watching me and flag the ones with known connections.

Lunch saw me in the cafeteria again. Yesterday, I'd had a couple indicators of my popularity polarity switch by the people who were hovering around the tables near me trying to get closer, but still a little afraid of the girl who'd exiled Nazis from her presence before school. I'd given out a couple of token nods, but nothing warm enough to suggest anybody should approach me.

Today was different. I came in waving and grinning, and soon enough there wasn't standing space around me. I just nodded through most of the questions about powers, choked down my cynicism and residual anger (it was a journal of evidence, not a journal of slights, and most of even the minor miscreants were avoiding me), and gave the light, easy answers.

"Flying? It's amazing. I love it. Need more practice. I haven't crashed into anything important." Earned some laughs, a few genuine. Mostly suck-ups.

"The gravity powers? Perfect control. Totally safe." Accompanied by letting a few people get weightless and bounce around the cafeteria until the lunch workers told me to stop. And then a couple more minutes. Oh, you didn't want to have to clean that up? Maybe you should have seen something when the trio dumped literal dog shit on my lunch.

"No. I'm not worried at all. Kaiser, Lung, whoever. They come after my home, they come after me here, I end them." Said with my best smile. Convinced a few people at the edges to make quiet departures. Fun stuff.

Midway through another shitty joke that only teenagers would laugh at, I almost frowned. One of the rotating group of people in proximity to me was Gwen Jin, which was basically impossible. She was someone I knew by name and sight but not really at all - because she was basically me, minus the organized bullying campaign and plus near-crippling anxiety and social phobia. I'd seen her in quiet corners of the library and almost-empty bathrooms more than in class.

Even now, she didn't manage to say anything, but slipped a piece of paper under my plate. Without opening it, I read it. "Douglas Park, Thursday 5 PM." "Ship?"

"Lung has her family."

I glanded as much quicken as my system would let me, and focused on fixing my facial features in the same smile. I didn't want to let dozens of high-speed muscle twitches out with the amount of scrutiny I was under. Of course, what I wanted to do was scream at my benefactor at the top of my lungs. "How the fuck did you let that happen? What the hell happened to proactivity, Sufficient? To 'the Culture doesn't punish, it prevents?!'"

"Letting him hold them until tomorrow is the safest way to extract them. I promise, Taylor. I would have told you immediately if it had been necessary to go in."

"What message does it send? I thought we were going to be hyper-competent, always ready. We're supposed to be the better option, Sufficient."

"We will be. You aren't yet, not to them. You're just another cape. You need a chance to become something more."

"At her expense?"

"I have confidence in you, Taylor. You won't let her down."

I managed through heroic effort to not grind my teeth, and put my hand lightly on Gwen's before she could duck off. She flinched a little. I nodded to her, and mouthed "it's okay."

Hopefully it got across, but she didn't stick around to ask anything else.

I tried to keep up the banter and light answers, but there was one noticeable flaw with having powers: it made impotently stewing in anger feel a hell of a lot worse.

Agent Taylor Hebert, Mission Log 2011-01-19, 18:15:03 -05:00

6:15 PM

I touched down on the sidewalk outside the Dallon house and waved. I was early, but New Wave was still ready and suited up.

"What's the plan?" Houses around this side of Brockton Bay didn't have fences - had to be a bit poorer or richer before you got chain-link or big walls with lion statues - so I just walked up the driveway.

Brandish took the lead. Oh great. "We'll be patrolling between the Boardwalk and the Docks. Rumor suggests a Merchants push."

It was more of a couple of narcotic addicts who had a batch of ketamine laced with PCP, and the cops had grabbed half of them. But that wasn't really the point of the exercise, even if I felt like sharing my near-perfect awareness.

"Sounds good. Flyers together?" Vicky pumped a fist behind her mother, and I couldn't help but grin. Maybe I'd eventually get used to the notion of people wanting me around, but for now I couldn't get enough of it.

"We'll rotate. I want you walking with me to start." Obvious buzz-kill aside, it was basically what I actually wanted. I wondered if Carol would spot my strategy - win over the most hostile juror and you've practically got your verdict.

"Sure!" Disarm parents with agreement. Should I compliment her? No, I didn't want to seem needy or like a suck-up. I settled for a thumbs-up, feeling like I was being peeled apart by their stares.

I was being stupid. I was an advanced pan-human and fixing my neurobiology with drugs wasn't any worse than hurting it with self-recrimination. I glanded calm and felt my nerves drop away. I had a task here. "How do you usually transport?"

"We usually meet up a little closer to where we're working," Flashbang said. His tone was a little wry. "Those of us that have to walk, anyway."

I grinned. Problem solving. "Well, I could help a couple of ways. If we wanted to pile into a car I can launch that. Safely, honest!"

Based on expressions alone, that was out. Adults and cars. So overprotective. If anything broke, I could just have the ship make a new one out of better materials… not that I could admit that.

"Or I can just lift you and synch your flight with mine. I'm working on a cleaner method for evacuation and materials transport, actually, but it's not ready yet. Ideally, I'd have a collapsible metal disk about three to five meters across. It only needs to be sturdy enough to handle people moving around on it without the reaction forces damaging it, since just launching it into flight will render everything on the device nearly weightless."

Of course, next to none of that was true, but within the confines of the giant lie I'd already told about my powerset, it was all internally consistent. So it wasn't like I was really telling more lies. Just the one initial lie.

Maybe a little more calm. Get analytical, Taylor, not pedantic.

"You're also a Tinker?" Lady Photon asked. Brandish was talking the most due to suspicion, but her sister was the de facto leader of New Wave.

"No, it's probably more of a Thinker thing. I've got near-perfect reflexes and my mind processes acceleration and mass at incredible speeds, and it bleeds over into normal thinking. No sleep, no mental fatigue, and perfect memory. At least for the handful of days I've had it. I've been reading a lot of basic college engineering books, and I'm hoping to get a bunch of metalworking equipment set up at my house. I also want to book time on one of those 3D printers they're putting in near the Docks." I gave a bare smile. Talking too much, not very adult. "I have a lot of ideas. Just human technology, nothing world-shattering, but hopefully useful?"

Brandish and Flashbang looked at each other. "We can try your synchronized flight," she said.

I kept the showboating to a minimum. Honest. I knew when to be serious! (I'd save the spirals for flying with Vicky.)

Once we'd reached the Riverine neighborhood and split up, Brandish summoned a crackling shield through her power. She started down Ulysses Ave like Night, Fog, and half the Empire were hiding in any alleyway, which seemed like overkill even if we had been dealing with the Merchants' parahumans. I tried to think about probability of ambush versus loss of attentiveness due to overstress, but I had to readjust my calm to focus on it - my body kept trying to let it be absorbed on a natural curve, and was probably going to warn me I had anxiety issues again if I hit it too hard.

"Why aren't you joining the Wards?" Carol Dallon definitely had a talent for cross-examination. And a voice for it.

I thought I had a rough grasp on her from her file. Triggered during kidnapping. Probable trust issues. Definite coldness towards Panacea, displacement from her father. Serious civilian professionalism, serious investment in ethos of law (which I thought was a little overzealous for a personal injury attorney, but I guessed everyone needed a way to organize their lives).

So, distrust of me: intrusion on family, duh. That was an easy motivation for me to understand. Suspicion that I was trying to evade the law by trying to join New Wave instead of Protectorate. I needed to keep to my strategy: reverse course, hit them in their strong points. "I don't want to hide. The Wards can brush things under the carpet, smooth over my 'little mistakes' if they want to keep me operating. I don't want that kind of treatment. I can't trust it, and I refuse to benefit from it. But you're out there every day as who you are, being judged and helped by the people you're helping. I want to be a part of that kind of honesty."

She mulled that over. I scanned the street and pointed out a one-way street several blocks down. "Somebody moving erratically in there. Could be injured or high."

For a middle-aged mom, Brandish was quick on her feet. I hovered a little faster, approaching the staggering figure.

Michael Polder, age - no, I had to dial it back. I didn't have perfect knowledge, I couldn't scan his fingerprints from here and find them in the Social Security database. What was visible? Probably Caucasian, maybe late 20s, early 30s. Light brown hair, scraggly facial hair. Skinny, not like old Taylor but starved addict skinny. Oversized tan trench coat, torn in multiple places. Ragged t-shirt, filthy jeans. Hadn't showered in a long time. Bloodshot eyes, poor balance. He took several seconds to spot us. He was muttering. "666 angels. Took'm. Been too… t' down."

I held a hand to warn Brandish back. He looked up and stared at her shield, the projection of inchoate electromagnetism shining and crackling in the darkness.

"Ten come to kill!"

"Hi. I'm Orbital. You're in Brockton Bay. Are you okay?" I spoke softly, tried to shoo Carol away with my other hand, but she was sticking too close. Adults.

"Ten thousand angels came down 666 tried to leave. They here to kill us."

"Okay. I'm not going to kill you or hurt you. I'm going to stand here and talk. Is that okay?" He nodded. "My name is Orbital. What's your name?"

"M. Mike."

"Thank you, Mike. Do you want to sit down?"

"'m might." He came close to collapsing, but I let him park himself in the street, and waved my hand urgently to keep Brandish back. "Lightnin' come in."

"Check for traffic!" I hissed at the older hero. "The shield is disturbing him."

She didn't argue, and backed off a couple more paces. I'd take what I could get. "The lightning's going away, Mike. Do you have a safe place to stay?"

"Walking aroun'."

"Okay. I'm going to get out my phone and call a doctor. Rest here on the street, okay?" I pulled one of the slots on the armor open for my hero cell and called 911. "This is Orbital with New Wave. I have a man on the street here under the influence, possible narcotic or hallucinogen. Yes, Sixth and Ulysses. He's exhibiting some symptoms of paranoid schizophrenia. Non-violent. No, he's not a cape. He's sitting down. No visible wounds. Thank you."

He was rocking back and forth now. "CIA saw it. Kennedy saw't. Golden man seen it. All the angels come down t' kill."

"Mike, I'm going to sit down, okay?" I sat and he shifted his eyes over to me like it hurt to look. "Do you remember my name?"

"Orbit."

"That's good, thank you. I'll stay with you until the doctor comes."

The ambulance came with the lights off, which helped. I started breathing again once he climbed into the back with the help of a paramedic.

"That was…" Foolhardy or impressive. Pick one, Carol. "Very compassionate."

Hm. She was keeping her body language tight, her eyes had an analytical squint. Still on the cross-exam. Drop a little truth. "I nearly ended up in a psychotic break when I triggered. If I can help someone else in that situation, I think I have to try."

"He was under the influence, not mentally ill."

"Or both." I threw it out lightly, hoped it wasn't enough to trigger any defensiveness. "He has a chance to change now. It's up to him to take it." And wasn't that the biggest lie I'd dropped all night? I wasn't going to let anyone slip through the cracks in my city - but I knew I wasn't going to argue Brandish around on a city street at dusk.

There was nothing else that exciting before we rejoined the rest of New Wave - a burglary in progress became two guys cuffed and held for the BBPD, and a feral raccoon was very confused to be levitating until we gave up on animal control getting to us, and I flew him north of the city to release.

I let the adults branch off to talk things over, and waved to Glory Girl.

She came over, greeting me with a quick hug. I had to gland a little calm for that. Talking, I was getting back into the flow of. Touching people? … still weird, and a little unsettling. Hell, I was more able to touch the Trio than anyone else, because I didn't care about being polite to them. "How's it looking?"

I shrugged. "Seemed to go okay. Anything on your patrol?"

"Nah, nothing fun. That's how it is most nights. Hey, Ames!" She waved to a brooding Panacea. Amy didn't get up from the porch steps. "Amy. Amy!" Listening to Victoria shout from twenty feet away, I felt for her sister, but come on, it wasn't like anything bad was going to happen. If you can't trust family… eh, maybe it was a more sensitive subject than I'd been thinking. Fair point.

My contemplation had distracted me while Vicky finally gave up and physically dragged Amy up and over. "Come on, you can at least say hi!"

I offered my hand. "Sorry. I'm sure you get this all the time. Call me Orbital, or Taylor."

She rolled her eyes at Vicky and shook, cautiously at first but eyes narrowing as we touched. I was probably imagining the static electric shock. If her power scan really felt like that, more people would have said something.

She kept holding my hand. This was the real test tonight. "… huh."

"Problem?"

"No, well, not exactly. How much do you know about parahuman biology?"

More than even you. "The basic deal. Gemma, pollentia, shows the potential, varies in every person, etc etc."

"You can say that again. Your corona pollentia is… mostly they tend to be located in one area with some branching, but as far as I can tell, yours is distributed throughout your entire brain and a little into your brainstem."

"Is it dangerous?" I put in an appropriate amount of concern.

"It doesn't seem to be, but I'd like to check back in on it later. Make sure it's not getting bigger. Um. Not that there's anything I can really do if it is." For someone as experienced at this as she was, you'd think Amy would have a better bedside manner. Then again, most doctors got to have a life before being plunged into full-time treatment mode.

"You don't do brains," I nodded. "I read up." She nodded, still holding onto my hand. "Um. That level of attention's not encouraging." I spun my halo idly with my other hand.

She let go with "red-hot hand grenade" speed, and yanked her hood up, pulling her face back under it. "Sorry! You're good. Normal health as far as I can tell. You're kind of… okay, so look: some Brutes are strong and invulnerable through biological means, they have a unique anatomy."

"Aegis."

"Right. Others have a physics-altering power that does something."

"Vicky."

"Yeah. You seem to be kind of in the middle of both. Your musculature and bones are stronger than normal, and your organs have a kind of protective coating. When you used your power just now, tissue density significantly jumped up, and everything just got… well, harder."

I nodded, genuinely able to seem impressed. It was redirected just a bit - I mean, good on Panacea for following the clues right the first time, but she wasn't the one doing all this on the fly. "Sounds like a decent compromise."

"Yeah. It's just nothing I've seen before - it's almost like a secondary Changer-Breaker power, you're entering an adaptive state to survive the use of your powers on yourself."

And unique capabilities explained, she could tell I was a special and wonderful unique unicorn, but definitely not a superhuman gynoid. Until the next time Amy had to touch me.

"Can I?" She reached out and I took her hand. "That's interesting. I can barely get a read - I think your increasing density might be making your epidermis change chemical form. It only seems partly alive to my power."

Gee, Sufficient, you're doing such a great job of not seeming like a mind reader. Not that I minded the assistance; figuring out how to avoid exposure of my completely inhuman body by the world's top powered biomod had been one of the more substantial issues to deal with in my New Wave plan.

"Is it a problem?"

"Sort of- just for me, though. And you if you get hurt while you're like this. It's definitely getting harder to affect you. Are you using your power on anything? Any mood shifts?"

"No, nothing. You can't tell? I mean, I don't think I'm sweating or heart rate's spiking, but I'd think nerves would be detectable to you." Not that I wanted or expected Amy to be able to read my biofeedback; that was the point. But always verify. Always make backups, always be sure.

"Normally, yes." She was distracted, focusing on her power. Didn't fully react to my letting slip a little more of what I knew about her powerset. Have to test that again later. "But it's hard enough being sure you're alive at this point."

"Huh. Maybe it's a reaction to your power?"

"A defensive mechanism? It's possible. We'd have to see if it reacts with another biokinetic power, or a scanner like Gallant." She gave me an awkward smile. "Sorry. Looking at capes is a bit of a break from healing normal injuries."

"I get it, I'm always trying to find new ways to use my power too." I nodded over at Brandish and Lady Photon. "Looks like I've got a verdict. Hopefully you'll get more chances to take a look at me." Amy was red and Vicky was chortling before I could shove my face into my palm. "You know what I meant," I muttered.

"Orbital - Taylor." Lady Photon was giving me the serious adult look, the 'are you being serious enough'. "Does your father know about this?"

"I asked him if it would be okay, but he should probably sit down with you guys before we announce anything, huh?" She nodded, and I grinned. "I'll try to get him to take some time off work."

"Good." Photon Mom - Lady Photon, come on, I hadn't messed up yet - managed a slight smile. "If he agrees, we'd like you to join New Wave."

I shook her hand a little too enthusiastically, but managed to tone it down after a couple yanks. It was progress on the Special Circumstances plan for Brockton Bay and Earth-Bet, it was a solid step for my socializing and sanity checks, but mostly I had just joined New Wave as a real superhero. Hanging out on an alien wonder-ship was amazing, but it wasn't a childhood dream.

I was giddy as I said my goodbyes and launched myself into the air, and still giddy when I displaced into my office and walked up to myself.

"Okay, you win. It was perfectly safe."

"Thank you, Taylor. Are you sure you'd like to resume just now?" The ship's avatar was leaning forward in my chair. "I can continue to provide overwatch."

"No, it's okay. Put my organic body back in Storage." I reached up and touched the hair of my inactive artificial body. It felt exactly the same with my original hands as my own hair. Not that I really expected otherwise. "I trust you to control my 'powers' as well as I can, Sufficient, but it feels cleaner if I'm at least doing some of the work on my own. Or you're letting me think I am, anyway."

"I promise I'm not involved in that body's internal workings."

"I know, I know. It's just a little Mind-affecting." I giggled at my stupid pun, put my hands down by my sides, and closed my eyes. "Transfer me, please."

When I opened them, it was the slightly less flawless and substantially less invulnerable Taylor I was staring at. "Thank you. Okay. One last errand tonight. You know where to send me."

Agent Taylor Hebert, Mission Log 2011-01-19, 22:18:30 -05:00

10:18 PM

The Protectorate wasn't morally bankrupt or anything - they did patrol the entire city. Response times were shorter around Downtown, the Boardwalk, and Captain's Hill, but as individuals they did everything they could to help everyone. So it wasn't that surprising that Assault and Battery were patrolling near the southern end of the Docks.

They were a little more alert than the usual show-the-flag type of patrol, though. This was near the border between dragon-tagged territory and the kind of high-unemployment predominately white neighborhoods that contributed the more felonious E88 street-level members.

A hurled brick had already just barely missed Assault's head a half-hour back (and been shot back to hit the leg of the thrower, who was in custody). Now they were on alert from a possible Oni Lee sighting within a dozen blocks.

Assault was scanning the rooftops and providing overwatch while Battery checked each street with a rapid response ready, which is probably why he jumped when he turned and there was an upside-down head next to him.

"Yeaaghhh-hi. You're uh, Orbital?"

"Yup. Having a productive night?"

"Reasonably, reasonably. What, uh, what brings you here?" His eyes flickered over, but Battery was still down the street. Looked like some ABB taggers were booking it, and she wasn't going to burn power on them with the assassin somewhere in the area.

"Well I Was In The Neighborhood, and We Haven't Met But You're A Great Fan of Mine."

His mouth had started working before his brain, and Ethan paused as something other than witty confusion came down. "I'm sorry, I was Ravished By The Sheer Implausibility Of That Last Statement."

"It's time for a Subtle Shift of Emphasis, Ethan. Or Klyss-Chayvo Jeryn Valih Tsuch-Yooeh da'Mobal. Whatever you want to go with - Now We Try It My Way."

The last key turned, the last lock dropped, and he closed his jaw to nod. "I'll call home."

"Who are you talking to?" He spun to find Battery jogging back with nothing but a can of spray paint to show for it, and nobody else in view.

"Just thinking out loud, puppy. How else am I going to find someone who'll listen to me?"

"Believe me, Jeryn, it's been entirely too short a silence. I'll schedule a debriefing."

Spoiler: AN[/hr][/hr][/hr][/hr]

Last edited: May 16, 2017

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2.4

Agent Taylor Hebert, Mission Log 2011-01-20, 16:51:19 -05:00

Thursday, January 20th, 4:51 PM

I tapped on my phone with the monomaniacal fervor that rightfully belonged to me as a teen. Doing it while I ignored the other person in the room was just a bonus perk. Especially when he was Oni Lee.

To be fair, the parahuman killer wasn't paying attention to me, either. Probably. It was hard to tell with someone who'd suffered that much neurological damage. I knew he spent at least half his spare time standing still and staring at walls, and I didn't think it was because he was busy with profound, deep thoughts. I stared at him, wondering exactly what his colony module had done to his mind and how. And why. Was it useful to find out what a brain-damaged human would do with powers? Was it entertaining to their alien intelligence?

Of course, I could at least find out the what and how. I just had to say yes.

"Please walk me through exactly what you would like me to do and how you envision it functioning."

I talked while I paced the office. The avatar was, as always, the calmest and least reactive audience I'd ever had (that wasn't ignoring me).

"Okay, so the big deal is that you can see every aspect of a brain's functioning through hyperspace sensors, and peeking is as good as reading because a Mind is so ridiculously good, it's almost comical. What I'm asking is if you could set up a hyperspace scanner that dumps its data into a black box, which I can then access. It doesn't require you to violate your ethics because you don't have to look in the black box and more than you have to look inside a bio mind. And maybe it gets a little iffy on my side, but I don't have the education or capability to read someone's thoughts based on looking at their brain. If you're really worried, just limit me to Earth-Bet's understanding of neurobiology."

"Consistent logic, ethically plausible if not preferable, and functional." Each judgement came with a nod.

I nodded back. "I thought it up when I was wondering about how you'd fake other powers. That's close to what you'd do if I'd asked for a mind-affecting Master/Stranger/Thinker power, isn't it?"

The avatar tipped its head. That was high praise. "That is essentially how I would have explained it."

"So it's an option."

"It is."

I rolled the idea around in my mouth. "It's not something I should do for fun. It's probably not even something I should do for mission-critical reasons. What about pure altruism?"

"A notoriously rare element."

"Okay, but for helping people? Panacea has her hang-up, but I wouldn't mind if we could beat, I dunno, Bonesaw or Balabú-Ayé, in terms of neurological expertise. I'm not asking for hyperspace scanners to distribute to every psych practice SC funds, but if I can get us ethically OK data on the shard colonies and their interactions with human brains, wouldn't it help Earth-Bet both pre- and post-Scion?"

"You make a passionate argument." In the tone that meant I have more to say, but I'm going to make you figure out what it is.

I sighed. "But it's not exactly ethically okay, is it? And "hey, people asked me to" is more of an excuse for blowing up meteors to make fireworks than it is for violating strict privacy taboo."

"All that said," the avatar offered, after I'd digested the way I'd been asked to shut my own argument down. "It is permissible. But it will be more easily defended if it is only ever used in the right situations." For the first time, the Sufficiently Advanced Technology adopted an apologetic tone as it told me, "This is also manipulation."

I couldn't justify staring into Oni Lee's brain. Even if I found the damage, even if I could piece together a cure - would I use it? On him? I didn't think he was capable of giving meaningful consent, which was honestly an argument in favor of restoring him until he could. But he was a significant containment issue and if he was left alone, repairing him would probably just increase the difficulty of dealing with the ABB.

So I leaned against the wall and stared at the remains of a human being, a killer who no longer remembered why he killed, and thought up other poetic witticisms like that while I waited.

The Kimura Family Recreation Center in Douglas Park was empty. I thought that was probably pretty unique for 5 PM on a weekday, but go figure, Lung could clear out a public building deep in ABB turf for his own use.

There weren't any stooges around, and maybe Oni Lee was going to leave once Lung showed up. Probably not. He'd already started this with an obnoxious show of force, and attempting to overwhelm his enemy with might and terror was basically the entirety of Lung's toolbox.

It was only the first hammer in mine, but I'd already smacked a couple of nice nails with it. Maybe I'd pound Lung in too, but that might be overplaying it.

I amused myself with those thoughts, and my phone buzzed. I had just sent back Tonight at eleven thirty exactly. See you then, hero ;D, when my current rendezvous began. Lung came in through the main entrance, throwing the doors open with a force that would have been more impressive without the pneumatic brakes hissing them to a halt and closing them slowly behind him.

He felt just as gigantic in person as the media made him out to be - which, based on slightly more accurate Culture data, told me his colony was already revving him up for a fight. "All that for lil old me?"

"You took down Hookwolf in eighty six seconds."

"Is my rep actually getting around?" I tried not to be giddy, but I didn't think I was fooling Sufficient for a nano.

"You are very… brash." He paused as if choosing his words carefully, but it sounded rehearsed to my ears. Lung seemed to like theatrics, right up to the point where he got too impatient and ripped through the scenery.

"It would appear it is."

"Ha. Ha." I struck a pose to counter his, staring with arms crossed at his looming bulk. His head was only marginally higher than mine - tall guy, taller with powers, a bit hunched to emphasize the loom - but I hadn't decided on an amazonian body for nothing. Morphological cues were a fascinating study of Earth-Bet psychology - I'd almost been tempted to feign being a monster cape when Sufficient brought the subject up during the Taylor 2.0 design phase, just to see how I could get people to react to a really weird hero. In the end I was happy enough with being a more perfect me. At least for now.

"You wanted to meet. I came here." I didn't need calm to stay neutral, this time. I was just kind-of juggling newfound confidence with learned terror and coming out blank. This was Lung I was mouthing off to. But he had no idea what kind of power was backing me. He killed people. But I could save them. He'd fought Leviathan. And I could raise Kyushu from the depths.

"You must think yourself very powerful." He drew out powerful, eyes smoldering above his mask. It was impressive, but I reduced it to its core - kinetic energy in the air, heightened body temperature and size, lung and throat volume altering pitch - turned him into a series of numbers, of alterations to the data. The equation still tipped to me.

"I'm capable. Is this a challenge?"

"It is an answer to your challenge, Miss Hebert. You have claimed what is mine."

"Even by your most optimistic tagging, my house and my school are outside your boundaries, Lung."

"The people of the Docks are mine." Another 3.47 cm. Another 2.46˚ K. Keep it analytical. Keep it calm.

Fuck this blowhard. Fuck this giant, flaming bully. I felt Lung's heat curl the semiorganic hairs on my artificial skin, and it melted away the last vestiges of my civility. I had come here just intending to talk. I could still defuse and keep pushing everything in our plan forward step by step, smoothly juggling the improvements we were instituting in every arena of human life.

Or I could be the emotional teenage firecracker that the Sufficiently Advanced Technology seemed to want directing all the power and majesty of Special Circumstances on Earth-Bet.

I floated up to put my face across from Lung's. I felt his hot breath steaming around his mask. "The people belong to themselves, Yamamoto Kenta. You are not their master, their ruler, or even their representative. You don't even have your own best interests in mind." I jabbed my finger against his chest, already covered in fine sharp scales. "I'm being far too generous in giving you even one chance to get out. Your time is done, Lung. You're about to be irrelevant."

"Ignorant child." His words were starting to slur from his mouth distending under his mask. "You don't have any idea-"

Lung made to grab for my offending finger and I snapped my hand onto his wrist. We strained, both of us focusing onto that tiny motion. The leverage was against me - I couldn't even fit my hand all the way around the smallest part of his arm - but at this size I was still stronger, and flying just meant I had nice sturdy effector fields as footing rather than feeble wood. I held him still, though he dug into the floor for purchase and more steam seeped from his mask. "I know exactly what you've done. God, do you think I'd call you out if I wasn't ready for your shit?"

"Lee!" He barely managed to spit the word out without biting through his mask, which was starting to warp the air around it with its heat. "We're leaving."

I let go when Lung pulled away, and watched him back off, his bare, clawed feet scraping across the basketball court, absolutely ruining the finish. He turned back at the door and there was fire in his eyes. "You will suffer for this." After he'd sunk below two and a half meters, he was more intelligible, but being really, genuinely pissed was thickening his accent.

I crossed my arms and just stared back, focusing on displaying as much utter disdain as I could manage. I thought the hovering helped, but I would have seemed even more unimpressed if I had a cape. Alexandria had a cape, so probably I could pull one off, right?

He slammed the rec center door, snapping the hydraulic brakes, ripping it off its hinges, shattering the glass, and leaving smoldering claw marks in the metal that crashes to the floor.

"He has just decided to strike against your father."

"Yeah. Don't need to be a Mind to spot that, Sufficient. He's just another giant fucking bully." I kept my eyes unwavering until Lung vanished from sight, and kept staring at the surveillance windows that immediately popped up on HUD, but I wasn't even seeing Lung anymore; I was seeing the system that built and enabled him.

Necessity plus power meant a murderous, slaving gang boss could fight the entire Protectorate ENE and not get the Triumvirate dropped on him, because he still might fight Endbringers (and Scion). Necessity plus power meant Sophia was tacitly encouraged in violence against the "right targets," because capes were who mattered to the people in power, because legal-ish was better to the Protectorate than criminal. Necessity plus power meant a teenager in a robot body was allowed to direct the fate of billions.

No, that wasn't the right equation. The Sufficiently Advanced Technology could do this quite easily without me; it had casually admitted as much, multiple times. I was here because…

Necessity + Power^Power + X - Necessity = Taylor Hebert of Special Circumstances. Solve for X.

Pity? It came off that way, at first glance. But it was too quick to jump into my mind, too simple, too 'Taylor the victim'. This, too, is manipulation.

Empathy, which was like pity but left you feeling less like human garbage? Yes and no; or "necessary, but not sufficient." (Hah.) The Mind could feign it flawlessly, but why bother? I had to assume it was genuine, I had to assume it felt something for me that was at least closer to caring for another intelligence than to having a fondness for a particular toy.

Future necessity? Every time we talked, Sufficient had something new to teach me. In a good way, listening and asking questions that were always meant to push me forward in my own thinking, that's-

… that's why it reminded me so much of Mom. Of her reading to me from age-inappropriate classics, always confident I could pick it up with just a bit of help. Always stirring my curiosity and energy, then showing me a path I could send it down, but letting me walk it on my own.

I didn't have total control over this body; or at least, I didn't have total control over the mind that was guiding it. I didn't shudder, or tremble, but I did have to force myself to straighten out of a hunch, and to wipe the wetness from my eyes. "Why does my battle-droid body even have tear ducts?"

"Because you live in it, Taylor."

And Sufficient didn't hesitate to stop me when it could see my mood going down the drain. That was Mom, too. Dad tried, but it had been a long time since he had the capability to pay attention.

I jumped that train of thought and hopped the tracks at the junction to pay my own attention to Lung. They'd driven off in an old Honda, out of what I hoped was camouflage and not national pride, because the car had definitely seen better days. They stopped on the sidewalk by the hillside, and Kenta glared over at his subordinate. "Call our men. Tell them to leave now."

In a new HUD view, an ABB hitter took the call from the Jin family's living room. A second and third glared at Gwen and her parents, the pistols stuffed in their pants making a constant threat without requiring any words.

Seconds after getting the call, all three of them were out the door and positively bolting for their car. Gwen's family hadn't moved, still in shock.

Lung picked up his own phone from the dashboard and hit a speed dial. "It's time. Make an example of them and prove you are worthy of my ABB."

I was already in the air and speeding up when I hooked into the cell towers and placed my call. This was going to be close.

Agent Taylor Hebert, Log 2011-01-20, 11:28:51 -05:00

11:28 AM

Class stuttered on, and all I could think was that an hour for lunch was nearly irrelevant. I wasn't perfect with it yet but I was becoming increasingly unhindered by time and location. When I could compress my rate of reality and receive live data from anywhere on the planet, it was hard to feel constrained to my body or normal schedule.

Or, actually - I did feel constrained, and it irritated me. Every time I got dragged back to the local present by a teacher's question, a classmate's nudge, an errant movement by a person of interest, I had to actively control my response, to keep up my good attitude. Yes, going from ignored to adored in a week was great, but it was also a lot of work.

I gave Madison a curt nod as our work group scattered at the end of class. She'd sidled in when Mr. Gladly let everyone split up for group work, again, and when I hadn't sent her into the stratosphere for her temerity (or at least into the ceiling), she'd stuck around. Hadn't said anything to me directly, and every suggestion she'd offered about the impact of Scion on the Cold War had been barely above a whisper and directed at the floor. It was almost comical how perfectly she was following the simulation.

(Note to self: Sufficient wouldn't tell me what it had modeled, simulated, or predicted for parahuman and governmental responses to my actual job, but was completely willing to share the best ways to manipulate and confuse my bullies. Another thing to track in my continued efforts to understand what the hell the Mind was up to, a mental record that was already dwarfing my harassment journal and looked like it would probably double each week.)

As everyone gathered their things and began to file out, Mr. Gladly approached me and quietly said, "I'd like you to stick around for a few minutes, please."

I considered him for a subjective minute or two, then nodded. His youthful appearance didn't come with a height advantage, and with more calm and a favorable temporal ratio to study him, his popularity-seeking behavior came off as even more immature than I'd used to think. Facing him down, I felt like the adult in the situation.

When it was just me and Mr. Gladly in the classroom, he cleared his throat and then told me, "Taylor, there are some rumors about you."

That wasn't new in the slightest, but it wasn't like he'd given a flying fuck when the rumors had been about me 'whoring out for the Merchants' rather than being able to subject Skidmark to Jupiter's gravity, so I wasn't terribly surprised he was only saying something now. I was pretty pissed off, but not surprised. Just "rumors," though? I spun up my processor speed to shoot off a skeptical, "Is he serious?"

"Yes. He thinks of himself as an informed expert in his field, but expresses that with a focus in global power news and popular parahuman sociology articles, which leads to gaps in his local knowledge."

I spun back down to give Mr. Gladly a raised eyebrow in response. "Okay."

"There are… some people… suggesting you might have powers, Taylor. That's a dangerous rumor to have floating… around…" He slowed down as I pointed at the empty coffee mug on his desk and snapped it through the air to my hand, then stopped as I flickered my fingers around, sending it careening back and forth towards various desks and other objects, pushing it as close to a shattering impact as I could.

Stunning him with this bit of theater amused me, but it irritated at the same time. With each action, I had to focus on a thought/command of I want to set the gravity between X and Y to Z, and let the control systems for my field projectors convert that to an actual effector. I knew why that particular bit of impersonation was hard-wired, and despite yesterday's impatience I really didn't want to have anything to do with Cauldron just yet, but operating under restrictions, at less than my potential still rankled.

"You should probably read the Brockton Bay section of PHO more often, Gladly," I said. I shot the mug back into my hand and passed it off to him, leaving the classroom while he was reeling. God, confusing adults was fun. I wondered if I could pull that off on Armsmaster.

"Situation B is developing." A view on my HUD popped up with Sufficient's warning. Yesterday's confrontation had been the spontaneous reaction of a couple idiot Empire associates; today was the work of a more intent mind. A test, probing my claim to Winslow - or mocking it.

Two beefy football players of the "steroids or held back a year" size had cracked open the roof access door, previously picked and re-locked by an Edward Nakamura, an ABB second-story kid taking a smoke break, and were looking to introduce him to the edge of the roof, either on a part-time or permanent basis.

At the same time, Ray Killian, one of the more persuasive faces for the proto-fascists, was trying to start a two minute hate against none other than track star Sophia Hess at the other end of the building on the third floor, insulated behind the thick double doors from the old chemistry department, where the nearest teachers were Quinlan (drinking) and Grover (suspiciously deaf during previous racist incidents).

I would have been more stressed about the attempt to divide my attention if I hadn't had full surveillance of the leaders of the Empire's Winslow hitlerjugend planning it last night.

And if I hadn't known in advance, I'd be less tempted to let Sophia try to handle things herself without revealing her identity. But she'd probably do it with (unpunished) violence, and Dean Hebert's Reformatory Program For Teenage Assholes strictly prohibited that.

I whistled while I kicked open the stairwell door and walked into the corridor. I could practically feel the viscous hate in the air, the vibrations of four boys and three girls spitting racist bile at the top of their lungs feeling more grossly tangible than normal words (or maybe I'd accidentally sampled some synesthete last time I was on Sufficient and was still feeling twinges). I waved one hand casually across the hall, fingers wiggling, then tugged it down, cranking up to 2g on everyone I'd targeted, leaving Sophia the only one standing, and cutting off the chants borrowed from 1960s Birmingham.

With my other hand I kept my phone up and filming. "Ray. Michael. Carl. Jordan. Elissa. Toni. Jane." I moved it to show each person's face as I said their name. "Was I unclear? This is a school. People are trying to learn."

"You can't film us, lesbo bitch!" Jane, struggling to push herself upright, giving me such a lovely reminder that not being one of my active bullies didn't mean you weren't a huge asshole.

"I think it's fairly obvious I can. You might mean it's illegal to film you, but that's where you run into the problem that I don't care. If you weren't ready to go public, you should have stuck to shouting at an unflattering picture of her in a basement somewhere."

"That's a joke, Hebert. Why would you care about that nig-" I went up to 3g on Ray to remind him that neo-Nazi language was not acceptable in my presence. "… everyone knows the bitch hates you."

"I don't care who you're hurting. You think you can hurt people because nobody's watching and nobody cares. I'm here. I'm watching. I care." I kept my camera on him, and with a little more effort, kept my eyes on him, but at least two people in that room knew who I was really talking to. "No more."

I punctuated my final comment by slamming the door open, leaning around a corner, and pointing without looking at Eddie Nakamura right as he fell past the third floor window on the opposite side of the building. His scream strangled in his throat as he continued to descend with a mere 0.1 g attaching him to the Earth, but that just made the number of people crowding around the window to watch him suddenly triple.

I stepped back into the adjunct hallway to find Sophia kicking Ray in the ribs, and slowed subjective time. I needed to focus in order to mold the right expression, checking in an external view on my HUD. Eyebrow down, slight tug of the mouth, no, eyebrow too furrowed. Don't let your hate show, Taylor. She's a shitty person but hating won't make her better. I was eventually satisfied that my look was one of icy disapproval and not unmitigated rage, and fixed it on her.

Sophia stepped back, then gathered herself and brushed past me with a muttered, "Whatever," barely slipping into the stairwell before the kids that had figured out where I was started swarming the area. I locked the doors with as much force as they could take without cracking, and glared at the prone Empire idiots.

"You get a chance to turn back. But if anyone associated with E88 tries something in this school, I'm uploading this." I slid my phone into my pocket, released the doors and got ready to answer questions.

I left them on the floor in heavy gravity to wait for my "power" to expire. Maybe it would be counterproductive to intimidate Sophia, but I had to fuck with somebody.

Agent Taylor Hebert, Mission Log 2011-01-20, 17:24:47 -05:00

5:24 PM

I slammed into the sidewalk with an impact the concrete felt more than I did, and ran into the Jin house, bursting the door and shattering the tense quiet that had sunk over Gwen's family when the ABB muscle had left.

"Sorry! Get out, fast!" I shouted, waving at the doorway while I traced an area with my other pointer finger and yanked. The floor ripped up, causing more screaming, until they saw the three foot wide disk of metal and plastic and weird pulsating bits of blue LEDs that were obligatory on Tinkertech shit, sitting in the crawlspace. "Bomb!" I added, somewhat unnecessarily (in my mind).

That got Gwen on her feet and grabbing her mom, and her dad stumbled after them. I stared down at the bomb, inconveniently lacking a large timer in red lights. I angled my fingers down and looked up. "You're sure this won't set it off?"

"Now is an interesting time to be having doubts in my calculations, Taylor."

"It's not you I'm doubting, it's crazy alien technology."

"I do occasionally consider myself such. Gravitational disturbance and impact will not set the device off prematurely. I understand its function and mechanism perfectly, regardless of its origin."

"Thanks." I threw my arm up, and the bomb punched through the ceiling. It detonated about a half-second later, and the piercing vertical column of blue-white light stabbed the ground, then started to expand.

I barely had time to register it even in the highest temporal ratio I could push myself to, responding purely by my pre-existing intent. Both hands clapped together and the column slowed, strained, then sunk inward, collapsing to a needle-thin line connecting earth and heavens before dissipating with a boom that rolled over all of Brockton Bay.

I held my hands out a minute longer, staring at the perfectly erased hole in the ceiling, floorboards, crawlspace, foundation, and lithosphere, down to seven hundred and sixty eight point seven meters. "That was a laser from Legend."

"The New York Protectorate was responsible for capturing the Cornell bomber. Based on the way "Tinker"-designate colonies inspire their hosts to mimic other colonies…"

"Legend! The Legend! That thing was - that would have vaporized me, wouldn't it?"

Sufficient hesitated, which was all the confirmation my mind needed. "Enough of you."

"That's it. I'm killing Bakuda."

"As you like."

I ground my teeth, forcing my arms to lower to my sides. I could already hear the roar of a motorcycle engine dopplering up in pitch. This was not how I wanted to present myself to Armsmaster. Not nearly enough opportunity to tease him, or to show off how amazing I was.

Also, Jesus Christ! A bomb using Legend's lasers! I would almost have preferred nanohole warheads or plasma bubbles or one of the other Culture mega-weapons - those, I'd just read about. Legend, I had grown up with. Legend's lasers, I had seen cut Behemoth.

I staggered outside and steadied myself on the door frame. The midnight-blue motorcycle pulled to a halt just before Gwen and her parents, who were staring at the remnants of their house. I ignored the dismounting Protectorate hero and walked up to the Jins. "I'm sorry. I realized what Lung was doing yesterday but I couldn't move in until I was sure he wasn't here. Are you okay?"

Armsmaster was already scanning me with all the tech compressed into his helmet. It felt a bit like being poked by a caveman with a stick. Yeah, whatever, your lie detector's in alpha and it would fail utterly if I wanted it to anyway.

I offered Gwen my hand, and waited. Hesitation, trepidation, paranoia, all the familiar emotions from the mirror washed over her face, then she grabbed my hand and shook it fervently. "Thanks!" she choked out before pulling back. I let her go; I could see the anxiety already rolling through her mind. I wasn't going to solve all her problems in two days.

That would probably take a couple months, minimum.

I turned to Armsmaster. Even knowing what I knew about capes and powers, about the Protectorate and Cauldron, he cut an impressive figure. Held himself right, took in the situation rapidly, commanding presence. It stirred nostalgia. Heroes, capital H. The good guys. Here to save us.

Well, nostalgia was a limited resource. I nodded to him, kept the movement stiff and immediately dropped into an explanation. "Gwen Jin, goes to Winslow. ABB goons took her parents hostage to make her deliver a rendezvous note to me. Lung wanted to scare me out of heroing. When he couldn't do it with words, he did… that."

"What was it?" His voice was metered, but I could just see the little Tinker gears whirring, probably trying to process how he could replicate it or use it himself. He hadn't wasted any time once I got serious. I kind of liked that.

"A bomb? I sensed something really weirdly shaped under the floorboards, it looked like Tinkertech." Even if you can lie, reserve it for when you have to. I didn't have to fake the awe, though. "It looked like…"

"Legend." He nodded. "A bomb-specialty Tinker who launched a terror campaign against Cornell University was broken out of Protectorate custody by Lung last week." He shifted into a slight frown, and I restrained myself from poking his goatee. I flagged that behavior for review. It wouldn't be very helpful if I developed a complex for poking the influential and powerful.

Not physically, anyway. I was going to prod the shit out of their metaphorical ribs, right between the complacency and the cynicism.

"Do you believe it was intended as a warning?" Armsmaster continued.

"God, no. I had to tie a hasty gravitic containment field to the bomb casing, and I barely made it. I don't know how far it could have gone otherwise."

"That could have been placed beneath your house." Armsmaster was trying for serious adult lecture mode, but he wasn't very suited for it. For one thing, he didn't seem to have any other settings, and it devalued the warning to know how binary and over-seriously he saw everything.

I had been having so much fun with rhetorical reversals on adults, it was hard to stop - I nodded in agreement. "I can't see everything at once." Technically true, but what else were hyperspatial friends for?

"This can still be fixed. The Protectorate can keep you safe." He was going for the hard sell, and I couldn't say he didn't have the image. The evening sun glinting on his armor, the neatly trimmed beard with the powerful jaw giving a bit of humanity to an image otherwise dominated by inhumanly capable technology… very professional, very serious, very worthy.

I didn't have the wisdom of age, but I hoped the sad, experienced look I tried to give him properly conveyed the wisdom of suffering. "No. It can't." I spun around and stared at the destruction. "This shouldn't have happened."

"You're putting more than yourself at risk with this open identity business," he said.

I shook my head. "Lung taking hostages? That's not a new tactic for him, and it's not something he saved for me. You said he recruited this Tinker before I even went public. No, I need better information. I was capable of handling this, but I could have done better if I'd known earlier." Still technically true, and I fueled my words with a bit of my residual anger at Sufficient's delayed warning.

"We have the resources, Orbital. You can do more good in the Wards than you can alone." He reached out, and I let him put his hand on my shoulder. If he thought it was encouraging/inspiring/authoritative, let him.

I have never been alone, not since the moment they pulled me from the blood and rot. As far as comforting thoughts went, it was pretty high up there. "But not as much as I need to do." I met his visor's gaze and looked through to meet his eyes, if only in my own perception. "I'm sorry, Armsmaster, but the Protectorate isn't capable of doing what I have to."

"What exactly are you planning?" His voice wasn't warm to begin with, but he'd dropped tones from commanding to interrogating.

"I'm not sure yet." Lie, blatant lie, but I didn't feel that bad about it. "I need to research, and talk to people. I'll let you know."

"Don't escalate things, Orbital. This city is precariously balanced, and only careful, thoughtful actions will keep it from being consumed by war." Armsmaster's charisma wasn't sophisticated enough to keep out the obvious implication that only his actions would be careful or thoughtful. I wanted to blame him for that, to see another heartless agent of a flawed plan, but something had added up the wrong way in his post-facto arrival, his condescension and authority when I had all the facts, in his fanaticism - I could only see him as a victim. Not the worst victim, and not enough to change my mind, but I felt sorry for him, being pushed into the wrong - what was the word? World view. Paradigm!

Powers, power structures, it had all dragged him into limited thinking. He stared into the dirt, but I could see the stars (okay, yeah, it was still pretty awesome every single time I looked up through Sufficient's field envelope and saw them, saw the Earth or the asteroid belt or the Moon or wherever they were today, even realizing hey, this is more manipulation).

"I won't let that happen." I could match his passion with my own. He didn't understand it yet, underestimated what I had behind me.

That was fine. He'd learn. They would all learn.

Agent Taylor Hebert, Mission Log 2011-01-20, 23:29:59 -05:00

11:29 PM

If I neutralized the gravity between one ball and the roof I was standing on, then did the same to another, but proportionally magnified the gravity between the two of them, then threw the second at the first, I could create a pretty good orbital array. Then I could add another, on another plane, and so forth and so on, until I now had a model of a central star with 13 orbiting objects.

Trying to get the little ball bearings close enough to model comets without crashing into my beach ball sun was a little trickier, but it killed time while I waited for my guest.

My phone-function bracer buzzed. the fuck is that

Just get over here, you giant baby.

fuck u

u said come alone

u tryin 2 trap me

If I wanted to trap you, I would have waited on the Krispy Kreme roof you're hiding on. Come on already, we have things to do!

With the next rush of wind over midnight Brockton Bay, there was another person on the roof. She stood near the edge, balance split between jumping forward or falling back off the edge.

"Hi, Soph. Glad you came! Let's have a talk."

"What the hell are they, Hebert?" Shadow Stalker demanded.

I turned and glanced at the 2.1 meter figures behind me, utterly immobile, vaguely humanoid shapes with exteriors of bulbous, lustrous black material. "They're for later. Don't worry about it. So what's your deal, Hess?"

"Wh- what's my deal? You dragged me out here-"

"I told you I wanted to talk and the PRT wouldn't find out."

"You have some fucking Tinkertech goons-"

"They're for later, god, was I unclear?"

"And you're fucking blackmailing me."

"No, I'm blackmailing the neo-Nazis. Remember them? You, I'm just reminding what great buddies we are. How much fun we had at Winslow. If you want to walk away, I'm not going to tell anyone anything about you. I'm not doing the PRT's job for it, not about you. You're here because you want to hear my offer, but first I have to know what your deal is."

"What my deal is." Like she couldn't believe I didn't get it. Of course I get it, your opinions are as sophisticated as a shark's. But I needed her to say it.

"Why did you go after me?"

She couldn't tell I could see her expressions behind her mask, which is probably why she was making so many perfectly ridiculous faces. All of which were saved to my internal storage immediately. "Because until you either got strong or snapped this week, Hebert, you were weak. There are only two kinds of people. Predators, and prey."

"Wow." I held myself back. I had to be so, so careful. And I had so much I wanted to babble about. "Okay, that has so many misconceptions about humans, society, the ecosystem, and technology itself. Let me just start with one thing: humans are neither and both of those. Jesus, Soph, have you taken a look at your "claws and fangs" lately?" I waved leisurely and snapped her little hand crossbow from her belt to hover above my hand. The other was already in hers, of course, and raised towards me in reaction. I ignored it. "This is almost literally the first personal projectile weapon that couldn't be made with your own two hands. It practically screams civilization and specialization."

"It's- it's about mindset, about whether you're going to fight or just cower." She'd stepped forward, her remaining bow back to pointing at the roof. Potential combat conflict converted to social conflict.

"No, no, no. Reactions are conditional. Fight-or-flight response is atavistic and in most situations, useless. I mean, we've had people sitting around back home chipping flint spearheads for the hunters since before we were technically humans. That is just silly, and I'm going to show you why." I turned towards my two giant, stoic friends and grav-shot her crossbow back to her hand.

She'd half-raised her weapons. "Why what, Hebert?"

"Why predators aren't nearly as dangerous as toolmakers, Hess." With a gesture, I activated the control systems in the protective suits. Sophia jumped back as they unfolded from statue-like to something that probably looked more like an exploded squid, the pinkish-grey interior of each opened limb making graceful curls to allow easy access. I hopped into mine and let it close everywhere but my head. "Well? If you don't try out your new toy, I can hardly tempt you with it."

Sophia was silent, her head flickering slightly as she looked the suit over. "Oh, stop. It doesn't use anything nearly as crude as electricity for power. You can run away at any point."

I amused myself with today's Bolivian footage while she took a (subjective) eternity to decide she didn't have any choice besides trusting me enough to climb into the suit. Hers remained open. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Just tell the suit to close."

"… close." The suit's intelligence was sub-sentient, duller in hers than mine, but good enough to catch that was directed at it. She held in her flicker of alarm as it closed perfectly around her, and I sealed my own helmet. My HUD instantly integrated with the suit display, providing a slightly fish-eyed view of my own surroundings, supplemented by the Sufficient's ever-present observation. "You're trying to buy me with Tinkertech?" Her voice transmitted over the comm perfectly, along with a view of her head from inside the suit - mask still on, cautious as ever.

I chuckled "No, I don't see you as a fancy gifts kind of girl, Sophia. I'm going to sell you the experience." I hopped forward, the suit launching me into the air, and allowed its own antigrav system to hold me up. I flashed a command, and the weapon ports lit up, turning the jet black exterior into something more worthy of the Las Vegas skyline - neon glows in a half-dozen wavelengths from just about every useful surface. "Been keeping up on all your local villains?"

"I do my job!" Defensive, but not more than she normally was, talking to me.

"Great! Then you know exactly how much fun we're going to have tonight when we go see Coil."

Special Circumstances Director Taylor Hebert, Direction Log 2011-01-20, 21:28:02 -05:00

9:28 PM

I crashed through the basement door in a single fluid charge, the steel and wood flying outward, then back at me as the tripwires detonated the plastic explosives and their attached charges, hurling half the room's contents up the stairs and into the alleyway, clattering among the dumpsters and trash bags.

I noted a few scratches and dents on my armor I needed to polish out, but no damage to the undersuit (the only part currently made with Culture engineering). Then I turned my attention to the basement's occupant, raising a grenade launcher (pretty stupid in cramped quarters) and tugging down her gas mask. "What the fuck?!"

"What the fuck, yourself!" I stomped forward and shoved her lightly on the shoulder, sending her against the workbench. Something cylindrical and arm-sized rolled off, and we were both deathly silent for a moment as it clattered to the floor and kept rolling. Finally, we breathed again (or she did, and I resumed my imitation). "Legend lasers! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"I'm fucking awesome, that's what. Chill out, you're going nuts," Bakuda grumbled.

"If that had hit me, I don't even know what would have happened."

"Snap displacement to avoid upwards of seventy thousand deaths," Sufficient commented to the room.

"See! I actually had to work to keep it contained. God, you could have warned me."

"I did! I thought you were good at this, kid."

"You - ship, what the hell did she say?"

"Trust me, it'll all work out, this will be legendary." Sufficient replayed her own words, of course, from twenty six hours prior.

"See? See?" I could feel the smug vindication even through the damn mask. I smacked my palm into my head.

"It doesn't even conjugate the same in Marain!" I snapped in the same language. "You are so lucky I need you for this, Schoile, or you'd be waking up in your own body on the ship."

"Whatever. I'm here because you needed the best and you got the fucking best. If you want to embed another SC agent in the goddamn ABB, go right ahead, 'boss'."

"Just… finish the plan, okay. You have to blow this lab for cover, you know. What's it rigged with?"

"Spatial displacers. It's fucking sick."

"Right. I'm leaving. Sufficient, the building's empty?"

"Of course, Taylor."

"Great. Enjoy the boom, then get to Lung. Have him in position by Monday and I'll… see what I can find in the asteroid belt for you to play with."

She grunted, but I could hear the pleasure. I needed her to keep the next step of Brockton Bay's clean-up, well, clean, but I was wary about Schoile Virn-Elec's long-term viability, at least in this body with this power.

Our solar system only had so much to tempt her with, after all.[/hr][/hr][/hr][/hr][/hr][/hr]

888888888888888888888888888888888

Jun 13, 2017

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#596

Interlude 2

Lisa Wilbourne looked over the warehouse and considered how to use it. It wasn't easy to float the question in her mind and still maintain the focus necessary to keep her power from analyzing every spec of dirt, especially when her phone kept buzzing every couple of minutes.

Eventually, she pulled it out, unable to delay reading the text. Putting it off wasn't something she would have done with anyone else there to see it, but showing Coil just that little bit of petty spite helped her feel better.

Confirm PRT report on new independent "Orbital". Close attention to her identity and safeguards.

She wasn't entirely surprised to be asked to skirt around the unspoken rules of identities, but it still put the hairs on the back of her neck up. At least until she focused on it a little more.

Open cape. Gave identity to PRT, local news on first night.

That was interesting, and probably had a lot behind it. Should she focus there? Or would Taylor Hebert's reason for unmasking not be enough to satisfy Coil? She didn't want to give herself another migraine over this. Without cause.

Coil had stressed the identity. That gave Lisa a hook.

She took the risk of using a PRT login she'd puzzled out yesterday, but not used yet, rather than spend time and power going over to their Jacobstown Ave office and watching someone of sufficient rank until she figured out theirs. She had to sit on the floor, and her laptop and bag were the only equipment in the building. Seventy three percent charge, and no power to the outlets yet. She'd have to work fast.

The daily briefing. Armsmaster and the Director thought Orbital was being honest about her identity.

She was.

They expected her to be able to handle anyone coming after her, but not without collateral damage.

Holding back. Acting with higher situational awareness and strategic knowledge than apparent or described powers would indicate. Additional powers? No, outside source of information.

She'd revealed herself the first time she'd done anything heroic, and about a week after getting her powers if the PRT was right.

Risky actions are not as improvised or risky as they could be. Has additional loyalty. Explains additional intelligence, exceptional confidence, additional resources to protect civilian identity and father.

Not New Wave, they have no hidden powers. Hidden affiliation. Powerful. More powerful than Protectorate.

Lisa stopped, feeling the pain at the edges of her temples. That was a good start. And also not a hook she would ever, ever leave alone. The Elite…? Not unless they were secretly a lot larger than anyone knew. The Yángbǎn, Elitnaya Armiya? Same answer.

She stared at the footage of Orbital fighting common gang members. Faster than this. Stronger than this. Smarter than this. Powers linked to hidden affiliation.

Powers. Where did powers come from? She hammered the keys, desperately spilling out as many notes and conjectures as she could manage, even with the clacking echoing harshly in her ears and making her wince. Lisa focused on the origin of powers, the cause and purpose, and… nothing. Not even the pain, just a flat No Go, no clues, nothing anybody else didn't know.

She switched tacks. Orbital. Public reveal, even sent in a small press release. Expects to be attacked in civilian identity. Intends to crush it so thoroughly nobody will try again. No fear for her life. Suicidal? No. Was suicidal.

Is immortal. That needed more finesse, and she flexed her power, winnowing conjecture from conjecture. Acts immortal. Has complete confidence she cannot die. Reinforced by external source. External source related to powers.

Cannot die due to hidden affiliation. Big, but not enough. Maybe enough for Coil. Not enough for her. Her headache was up to full on spikes, drilling through her skull and into the cerebral tissue.

Hookwolf, the gang fight - lucky circumstances? Lisa didn't think of herself as that naive. But was it Orbital's intention, or…

Knowledge base of hidden affiliation is greater than local Protectorate. Greater than entire Protectorate. Greater than human civilization. Definitely not the Elite.

Knowledge of Brockton Bay complete. Knows plans of all villain groups and villains. Knows Coil contacted me about Orbital. Knows identities of all villains.

At that moment, Lisa WIlbourne felt the least investment in her personal identity that she'd ever had since creating it, but the sheer scope still gripped her mind - and the intrusion into her life, no matter how much of it was a mask. And there was something else.

Knows identities of all heroes. Inexorably, she followed the new train of thought. Orbital does not consider self hero. Considers hero-villain divide irrelevant.

Open identity: purpose is social manipulation.

Social manipulation: change status of capes, worldwide.

Worldwide end goal: unification of humanity.

She closed her eyes, unable to stand the laptop's light. Lisa fumbled out her phone and sent Coil a quick response without looking at the keypad. ID real. Danger worse than PRT knows. DO NOT ENGAGE.

Lisa had passed out, slumped against the wall of the future base, until the dim reflected light of the setting sun was just barely enough for her to see around the empty room. A spider was crawling on her hand when she woke, and she watched it pass over her, forcing down instinct and power to just observe.

"They know the plans of every villain in town, at least. Including whatever we're going to call ourselves. They didn't stop me from figuring this out; so they let me. Either that's part of their plans… or nothing I can do can affect them."

Lisa lifted her hand slowly until it was level with her eyes, the small-bodied, spindly-legged spider scrambling along the back of her palm at the movement, despite how patient she'd tried to be.

She sighed, and the heavy exhalation knocked the spider off, sending it back to the floor on a light thread, skittering away.

"Yeah. Me too."

A dark hole to hide in was looking very appealing, but that hadn't worked against Coil, whatever his power was, let alone the mystery affiliation's precise knowledge of my location; precise knowledge of my velocity - and she remembered just enough of high school physics to think her power was fucking with her.

"If they want to take Coil down, he goes down. How do I avoid going with him?"

She flipped open her laptop and opened everything she'd snuck from the PRT's servers about Orbital. It would hurt a lot less if she had every scrap of evidence in front of her before she started working.

Forty seven percent battery.

The PRT Threat Assessment. The K-Mart security footage - K-Mart still existed? K-Mart has 73 locations in tri-state area- no, she needed useful facts.

A new note. Classified higher than her current login should have access to. She flicked through several automated emails from HR and pulled out another headache and a daily password. Burning her access and making this kind of cheat a lot harder if the PRT got a Thinker in to look at what she'd done.

Lisa hesitated exactly as long as she felt was appropriate, about a half second.

Shadow Stalker had been ordered to spy on Orbital in her civilian- nope, nope, nope. Lisa jumped to click out of the note and glared at the treacherous file. Identities were serious, Taylor Hebert's strange openness aside. She wasn't going to get the hammer dropped on her. She wasn't going to escalate.

Except. A treacherous little thought wormed through her. Except that assumed the rules of the game were the same. And that there wasn't another player on the board. And that they hadn't changed boards, in fact, and everyone else was still rolling to move past Go and collect $200 when someone else had already chosen which square to place their battleships in.

She looked around for the spider but saw only dust. "No audience? Good lines being wasted here."

If the rules were changing, she needed to know how. And why.

If she was going to find that out… she had to get information from Orbital. Directly - piggybacking on the PRT's surveillance, assuming she could get another login after this one was burnt (probably soon), wasn't going to be enough - too taxing, too vague.

Twenty six percent battery. She closed the laptop.

That could wait. She had to stagger back to her apartment, take just short of liver-damaging amounts of painkillers, and collapse. Hopefully in that order.

Lisa tapped her knees and hummed tunelessly. Not that there was a lot else to do with a blindfold and earplugs, but she liked to think she could be more effective at annoying her armed escort if she could talk to them.

The first time being dragged in to meet the boss in person should be special, after all. Especially when various parties had gone to so much work convincing Coil to make that decision, especially Lisa.

At least, the conclusion that anything she was doing that wasn't directly countered by the mystery player was part of their plan hadn't been contradicted yet.

It was after sunset when Coil's three civilian-clothed agents had pulled up in front of her apartment and left her the choice of coming down or knowing they would come up. The oncoming night lent an ominous aura to the haste, the information blackout, the implied threats - actually, that seemed to be her new boss's modus operandi, but every bit of her being dragged in tonight was cranking it up to 11.

Lisa kept a tight rein on her power, trying not to analyze Coil's intentions both because she knew she couldn't do anything about it yet, and to avoid tipping over into more pain. She'd burned enough on exactly the right phrasing earlier today to get across "everything I send you is being spied on" without him asking "will meeting in person be any more secure?"

She felt pretty confident she could lie to Coil, but now would be a bad, bad time to test it. So she waited, and hummed something that was just close enough to the Star Wars theme to keep grabbing the attention of the guy riding shotgun, and just off-pitch enough to keep him grinding his teeth.

They took the blindfold off in a cargo loading dock, with the exterior doors already closed, but still holding a (for her) ridiculous glut of information on the location from the exposed stains (oil stains minor, majority are single splatter from six to eight months old, larger than semi-trailer truck, construction equipment, maintenance issue swiftly corrected), the safety and supply orientation signage (base built according to OSHA standards and default design; base existence concealed by paperwork, confusing design repetition, bureaucratic tricks), even the dust patterns (multiple people entering/exiting three vehicles, groups of four, paramilitary organization, weight of gear indicates barracks to left, armory down the hall). To say nothing of the empty midsize truck sitting at the unloading bay (no identification - removed, false/removable; docked improperly at an angle - amateur/untrained driver; wet aroma, sprayed down to clean - former contents biological).

Being allowed to see all this was either a very good sign, a very bad sign, or a very sloppy oversight. She ruled out the third one instantly. Not from what she'd seen of Coil.

The guard she'd been pissing off with the ruination of the work of John Williams shoved her in the back with his gun. "Go right. Downstairs."

She went down, following more growled instructions (forcing herself not to suss them out seconds before they were uttered, to conserve power and wait for the right moment and the right knowledge) down six flights, back up two, and down one more, to what ended up being a conference room.

The incredibly skinny figure at the head of the table was obviously the boss. The guys, girl, and… thing (resembles Portuguese Man o' War, resembles trapdoor spider, zoological chimeric appearance, nonbiological construction; Changer or projection) on the other side, in red and black and not much else unifying them, were new. And there was nobody on this side of the table, not even her not-even-named-yet "team."

Bad sign.

Lisa took a seat with as little hesitation as she could, and looked to Coil, scanning the newcomers out of the corner of her eye and trying to filter everything she could dredge. Closest one to Coil was the guy in the suit and top hat, stage magician style (leader, replacement leader, team dislikes, cultivates dislike, not trusted by Coil, Coil has leverage), and she focused on him. Both sides of the table were pointedly ignoring the Coil troopers on either side of the room behind them. Villain things.

"Tattletale. You insinuated you had more to say about Orbital that could not be provided through normal channels."

"You're not going to introduce us?"

It was probably pretty hard to get across withering contempt with a full-face bodysuit, but Coil did a pretty good job with just the tilt of his head. Lisa didn't wither, though - Sarah wouldn't have withered, and Lisa had a lot more to worry about than one annoyed supervillain with a supremely loyal, trained, armed killer right behind her.

Maybe not a lot more to worry about. But more, for sure.

"The Travelers have recently agreed to enter my employment for certain considerations." That finally placed them in her hasty preliminary cape research. Mercenaries, titular wanderers, bad rep, worse scruples. "That information does not leave this room."

Did he practice being- no, she couldn't let herself finish the question or she'd answer it.

"It's not Orbital you have to worry about." She smirked, even if she really, really wasn't feeling it. That was hardly new. "It's who made her."

"Clarify."

"Someone else gave Taylor Hebert powers last week. Someone who's more capable than the Protectorate, knows everyone's secret identities, and can make anyone they want immortal." Exaggeration, half-truths, and supposition. But the product of her pains was a pitch she was sure would hook him. A rogue power-granting organization, with hooks into identities, and that kind of power? A megalomaniac like Coil had to bite.

"Who are they?" The wounded arrogance, she was expecting. The flicker of hatred; betrayal, will kill me if I answer wrong, not quite. The cold intent attention from the Travelers' leader (Trickster, yes), also unsurprisingly unexpected.

The answer was in her throat when the lights died.

The red emergency lighting was on in a second, joined by the underslung flashlights of the guards a second after that, and then flickers of flame from between the hands the female Traveler (Sun… dancer).

"They're here," someone whispered, and Lisa almost had to dip into her power to realize it was her.

"Who is here?" Coil was standing over her, and his voice almost as serpentine as his motif. If his hands weren't behind his back, they'd be at her neck.

"I don't know. Not yet! They know we're here. They know what we're talking about. They know everything you're planning. They-" A loud crunch of something heavy impacting metal echoed above the ceiling. Another, louder crunch. And the ceiling caved in.

Something more than human-sized crouched in the debris for just an instant, light glinting off lustrous black curves and hooks, a blank-faced helmet with insect-like jaws. Then it was gone, and a statue from the back of the room (Rodin, the Thinker, replication in bronze, 1948) was in its place. The projection/Changer was already flowing towards the location, but the sudden displacement didn't disturb the intruder in the slightest.

They leapt, stirring more creaking from the floor, while the room strobed with the muzzle flashes of Coil's two nearest guards. The bullets were slower. The intruder crashed into the wall - but no, crashed was the wrong word for that kind of landing, adjusting to a horizontal stance, one hand raised and the other lowered with one leg, last limb ready to kick off. The head snapped around the room - tracking each of them.

"It's painting us! They're hunter-killer, there are tw-"

She didn't get the words out before it leapt. With another crash, it burst through the opposite wall and vanished into the corridors, moving faster than Trickster could move his face to track it (line of sight required, focus required, equivalent mass required, statue weighs approximate 1 metric ton).

Then the barrage punched through from the ceiling. A spray of gold lines, green arc lightning, blue spheres, red pulsing stars - she wasn't sure if she was in a rave or breakfast cereal, but the Travelers dropped, Coil's guards dropped, Coil - was moving already, out the door, and the thin white line tracing from the unknown attacker above the ceiling was following him at - well, fast enough to make him run, slow enough compared to everything else that it was practically leisurely.

And Lisa had to evade… nothing. She'd stayed perfectly still. Not a single shot, burst, arc, spray, or rebound had come near her.

She bent down and grabbed a pistol off the nearest guard's belt; it happened to be Mister Pushy. Felt his pulse while she was at it. Unconscious, neural scrambling, 23-48 minutes, residual dizziness, short-term memory loss. The Travelers looked about the same. She didn't waste time checking on them.

Lisa ran after Coil.

The distant echo of footprints was enough - right, left, down the stairs, 180˚, locked side door (still closing), continue down corridor - for her to scramble onto the steel walkway across the huge interior bay just as Coil was bolting down the stairs at the end, the whole thing rattling with the force of his movement. Pretty impressive for someone so skeletal. Or damning of the construction.

He'd reached a door big enough for an industrial concrete mixer, and was jabbing at the keypad in front of it. Floor leading up to door is wet, area has been recently washed. Biological contaminant, biological cargo from truck. Came with Travelers.

She raised the pistol, still not quite sure what she was doing.

The massive black hand - fingers too long, too many, remote controlled manipulators of suit, nonhuman design, neural interface - settled on her shoulder. The hulking intruder craned its helmet down to facelessly face her. Lisa waited.

The door opened. Something inside roared. The fingers snaked over her eyes.

Even through their gleaming black material, Lisa could see the light. She staggered, pain spiking through her head, and blinked through the afterimages. When she had recovered peripheral vision, she was alone. The interior bay was empty. The open… room? cell? was empty.

Coil was nowhere. The intruders were gone.

Tattletale walked back to the conference room. The Travelers were still unconscious, with the exception of the (legs - ursus arctos; torso - homo sapiens; arms - gorilla gorilla gorilla; head - falco peregrinus) projection, which was gathering them hastily in its arms. She ducked back out before it could make any decisions about her.

Tattletale walked back up the stairs and out to the loading bay unaccosted. More unconscious guards, more holes in solid steel and foot-thick concrete. She collected a second pistol just in case, and a few wallets because why not.

Opening the exterior door without triggering the explosives took a little thought, but her power picked up the code from the plainclothes agents lying in the sedan that had brought her. Then she dragged them out of it, and without looking back, gunned the engine and screeched off into the night.

Timeline B:

Calvert shut down his computer at the precise moment the intruder alarm started in his base in the other timeline. He pulled out his phone -

And his suburban Brockton Bay home was replaced with infinite darkness.

Ice spilled out from him as rapidly as he realized it was crystallizing air. He could just see the stars before his eyes iced over, and his mind began to feel foggy.

He only managed to gather himself enough to close the timeline shortly before unconsciousness.

Timeline B:

Coil resigned himself to the reality where his Tattletale had been brought inside the base. If she had to be removed permanently, he would proceed from there. He turned and drew his sidearm, aiming at the intruder, and-

The featureless mask swiveling in his direction was the second to last thing he saw.

The last was the light.

Timeline B:

"Open the containment!" he shouted into his radio, turning to bolt from the room. Before he'd made it two steps, cracks of red-orange light were spilling from the intruder across every visible surface. He thought he caught a glimpse of silvery-grey reflection in the middle of the room.

Detonation.

Timeline B:

Coil paused at the keypad. "This isn't necessary." He spoke to the air, but he knew they had to be listening. "Everything I've done has been as we agreed. I can change my plans to accommodate whatever you need."

The voice that responded, seemingly just behind his shoulder, had a distinct tone of amusement, lightly coated in disdain. And faintly British-accented. "We are not Cauldron, and we are not here to negotiate. Goodbye, Mr. Calvert."

Coil didn't have a chance to open his mouth before he was once more forced to say goodbye to Earth's atmosphere.

Spoiler: Author's Notes

Spoiler: Reader Note[/hr][/hr][/hr][/hr][/hr][/hr][/hr]

Last edited: Aug 13, 2017

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Threadmarks Plausible Reliability 3.1

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Noobsauce

Noobsauce

Already I am writing in trash can all of the time

Jul 17, 2017

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#655

Plausible Reliability 3.1

Taylor Hebert, Personal Log 2011-01-22, 07:13:19 -05:00

Saturday, January 22nd

"Morning!" I called without turning around. I wasn't sure if Dad would have noticed me otherwise. He was better on the weekends, and I kinda stuck up above the couch even when I was conceding to gravity, but… maybe I didn't want to know if he'd see me, or say anything, if I didn't speak up first. (Very healthy attitude, Taylor.)

"What're you doing up?" He turned his head, but didn't break his course for the kitchen.

"I don't need to sleep any more, remember?"

"Huh." Bubbling and whistling filled the silence until he walked out with a mug of mostly sugar and creamer. "So what have you been doing while I've been asleep, young lady?"

Well, I couldn't really expect a better opportunity than that. "Well, you know how I just reminded you I'm not exactly human any more? So some of my new friends…"

Of course, what came out of my mouth was, "Stuff."

"Stuff." Sip. "Does stuff have a name? When can I meet him?"

"Ew, dad! No. No boys."

"Girls?"

I sunk my head into the throw pillow. Seriously, Sufficient? My battle body has to be able to turn its face completely scarlet with embarrassment? "I'm doing the hero thing! That's all!" I was probably not at my most coherent shouting into a pillow, but that's what he got.

Sip. "The hero thing?" His long-suffering-father face suggested I'd let a bit too much sarcasm seep through my barriers.

"I…" I didn't lock up, because this body was more fluid and natural than the one I was born in. But it might be fair to say I was trying to move my tongue through molasses.

"Taylor, if you're feeling uncomfortable about this whole fighting crime concept, I don't want you to think you have to."

Oh thank god, a lifeline to escape the quicksand of talking to dad about dating. "I want to fight crime, Dad! But I know that punching people doesn't help fight poverty, bigotry, and socialized criminalization."

My superhuman audio pickups caught his murmur even with the coffee mug hiding his lips. "Your kid, Annette."

"And the capes make things way more complex," I added, steaming ahead to ignore the mix of cold pit of the stomach sadness and warm fuzzy goodness that his comment had stirred inside me. "When any murderous asshole with the power to turn into a dragon can threaten peoples' lives by existing, he kind of makes de-incentivizing crime a lot harder! The organized villains are bad enough but just the potential of people getting powers challenges our ability to hold on to any political stability. Every crazy, racist, or greedy jerk cape is as bad as a hundred regular jerks, and a lot harder to build socio-economic countermeasures against."

Dad was staring at me, his coffee practically forgotten. He stepped up to the couch and put his mug on the table. "I thought I'd have until you got into college before I had to have this talk."

"The 'Taylor please go back to worrying about boys, socio-politics is too much' talk?"

He chuckled, and turned to the other side of the room with a couple of long strides, then reached up to the top of the bookshelf, where Mom's books were. I didn't remember which was which - it had been a long time since we moved them up there, and it was part of the miserable fugue that filled most of my memories of that year. But I'd run my new eyes over them at least once, and that was enough for little title tags to pop up in my augmented vision whenever I focused on a book. Dad pulled down Problems of Knowledge and Freedom and Parahumanity: The New Power Structures. I hadn't read either, and I took them up gently when he handed them off.

"I don't think Annette had… I don't think she shared a lot of nonfiction with you."

I shook my head. "I was a little young." If his voice was a bit hollow, mine had been gutted and taxidermied. "We mostly read the classics."

"She minored in Sociology," he said, quiet, eyes on the covers. "We spent a lot of nights talking. About what one person can do to change the world. I decided to work on Brockton Bay and the docks. She - well, there were other ideas at first, but in the end she wanted to educate the next generation, to help you make things better."

I float-fell over the back of the couch and landed next to him. I regretted it, almost, getting his attention and pulling him out of his memories. But it wasn't the right way, for him or for me. I'd got Dad's brooding and his anger, and I knew where the memory pit led. Nowhere good.

I hugged him. He hugged me back. We stood in silence for a while.

"Good god, you're getting tall."

I might have giggled. "It's the night exercise. After your thousandth villain uppercut you gain an inch or two."

"Sure, sweetie," he offered, patronizing in the inoffensive way only a pater could manage. "And the muscles? Did we install a weight bench when I wasn't looking?" He rubbed his side and dramatically winced. "Or have you been sneaking down to the docks to juggle I-beams?"

"Powers," I shrugged. It was true, for a certain definition of true. "I'm keeping busy, promise. Um. Speaking of busy?"

"Yes?"

"Can you come meet my friends' parents? Tomorrow night?"

"Who?"

"The… Dallons and Pelhams."

"New Wave." I was still having problems distinguishing between flat affect from exhaustion and depression, parahuman-daughter-induced confusion, and Dad Sarcasm, but that sounded most like the latter.

"I, I asked if I could join. And they said that you would have to okay it."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, I'll come to meet them. We're going to have to do a bit more talking before I say okay to the team thing."

"But-! It's not like not joining will keep me from punching people, dad. Or looking for systemic ways to discourage violent crime." I trailed off, because that didn't really come off as a serious activity to worry about your teenage daughter getting involved in. Even if I was, and messing with people on a sociological level was simultaneously twice as boring and three times as exhilarating as cape fights.

I waved Mom's books for emphasis of the points I'd made aloud and the ones still lurking in my head. I wasn't sure I could quit changing the world, even if (worst case) I had to go without Sufficient's flawless guidance; at 2 AM this morning, the nascent Special Circumstances - Earth-Bet Council had completed a plan to complete disarm every faction in the Second Senegalese Conflict in the next two months, remodel the economy in the next six, and rebuild the infrastructure in the next eight - using only Senegalese contacts, agents, and assets, nothing from the Culture but the plan and the setup. I was saving more lives from my living room than Alexandria could in an Endbringer-free week.

"That doesn't mean New Wave is the right fit for you, Taylor. I'm going to sit you down one day to talk about which college you go to, right? Then we're going to at least have a discussion about what cape team you join." I paused. I hadn't really thought he'd be this onboard with the powers situation, or this… well, helpful. Dad-like. (Unlike him, unlike recently… but Dad-like.)

"Okay. That sounds fair. It's a barbecue, at the Pelham house."

"I'll cook something to bring over." My hesitation must have shown on my face. "Potato salad. I can't mess that up, can I, kiddo?" I winced, more at the dorky nickname than the prospect of Dad's cuisine. He probably couldn't mess it up, and his cooking wasn't bad, just… lackluster. Even when I wasn't comparing it to the untranslatable meal of synthesized meat and near-vegetables with a sauce that wasn't stable in Earth's atmosphere that I'd tried on Thursday.

I slapped a smile on, and it wasn't even forced. Things weren't perfect, but my life was working again.

Taylor Hebert, Personal Log 2011-01-23, 13:22:50 -05:00

Sunday, January 23rd

The New York office had that new stuff smell that- okay, it wasn't entirely a smell, because I could catalogue every errant molecule that my sense of scent picked up, and break it down to find nothing in particular, but that feeling of newness, the memory association from plastic wraps, disinfectant, and freshly-printed furniture, permeated the whole place. Especially since we had it to ourselves, two people in what was going to be a three-hundred-person command center.

"You know what kind of enemies you'll be making with this, right?" Dr. Juarez wasn't out of place in faded jeans, a "94 NEVER AGAIN" t-shirt, and work boots, as if we'd been physically assembling the office instead of displacing the fixtures in. That blue-collar image was a little skewed by the can in her hand being her fourth diet soda instead of beer, but she had her reasons.

"Just opposition, I hope. They don't have to be enemies." I sighed, shifted in the lounge chair, one of thirty in the waiting area, the table between us filled with what would be an obscenely expensive amount of imported Earth-Aleph electronics (imported, yes; from Aleph, very much no). "We have to start outside the system. Even if Cauldron, or the Simurgh, or just Watchdog didn't neutralize an internal Protectorate movement, sooner or later we'd have to be so unconventional that we'd earn the same opponents we'll be making by starting an NGO."

She leaned over the table. There was an inescapable seriousness to her presence; even casually, Juarez - Carmen, off the clock - only moved as much as she needed to, kept her eyes on me but her attention ready to shift in a moment. It was attention-grabbing, even menacing, but it seemed exhausting. How long had she been living like that? How long could anyone? "Name alone means something to a lot of people. Being 'government', 'official', it gives you cover. Openly denying their control? It's going to provoke some of them."

I had thought of this. (Kind of. Sort of. I was thinking of it now). "Cauldron's already against us, even if they don't know it yet. They've got fingers in everything - we need an opposing force that's ours."

"Fingers aren't control. They're scary because they could be anywhere, not because they are everywhere. As far as we can tell they're what, six people?"

"At least nine. Not fully functional people, but nine people. Three of whom are the Triumvirate, and the Chief Director of the PRT."

She met my eyes and held them. "Alexandria can only be one place at once. This 'Contessa' can only be one place at once. The Sufficiently Advanced Technology can do a lot more. The ship's avatar is just a convenient interface. It said the best comparison for its influence is a medium-sized civilization." I kept my face straight, my eyebrows just a little furrowed. I looked attentive, not upset, hostile, annoyed, guilty at the presumption that she knew more about the Culture than I did, after four days. I hoped I did.

"I know! I know." My face was under control. My voice a little less. The frown that crossed Carmen's mouth and the calm patience in her eyes just tripled the guilt, drove the other flickers of emotion out. (Yeah, I get it, I'm an emotional teenager. Why can't we get over this?) "We can't just tweak people and nudge the system. This country is broken. You know it. I know it. Nobody wants to talk about it because they don't see any solutions. But if we give people an alternative, a new way to work with parahumans and keep the world from failing, we can give them hope!"

I couldn't tell what she was thinking. I could pick up microexpressions and subvocalizations and all that, but I didn't have any guarantee I was interpreting them correctly. Not that she had a lot of tells to begin with. That was probably something six years as a hench drilled out of you pretty thoroughly. Then she gave a light smile that just barely crinkled her eyes. "Just wanted to make sure you knew what we're doing."

"Building a new human society?" I tried to make it a joke, but I nodded as I spoke. "Why not? You talked to the Mind. It is the Culture, a small civilization. If we can, sort of, mix with it, and come out with something that's human but better, why shouldn't we?"

"Then we should get started," Carmen said. She tapped the table display, began flickering through menus.

We both froze when a scarlet timer popped up in my (and presumably her) UI.

Endbringer: Simurgh - Melbourne AUS said:

-32d05h31m

We exchanged glances.

I shot out of the chair, then stopped in midair. "How sure are we?"

"Probability at six significant figures, assuming Ziz does not register our activity before the attack," the ship answered to the room.

"Why Melbourne?" Juarez asked, but it sounded almost rhetorical; she was already digging through the interface.

"G20 representatives will be meeting that weekend to discuss transnational anti-Leviathan shipping insurance. Six years of work on the part of over fifty Special Circumstances agents have gone into the persuasion necessary to secure a global agreement. An attack both destroys the unity demonstrated by this agreement, and contaminates a significant number of important diplomatic figures."

"Persuasion?" Juarez asked. I thought I could pick up a hint of strain in her voice and focused gaze - cynicism, maybe? Or sarcasm?

"Oh, mostly just using the right language to associate it with their self-interest. A refreshingly light amount of bribery and blackmail."

"I'm going," I decided. It wasn't on impulse - I needed to be there, to be seen, to maximize future credibility. But I knew what they had to be thinking. "I'm not going to fight her. But I can do search and rescue from outside her sim range, right?"

"If you are careful not to attract its attention," the Sufficient agreed.

"If I'm following your info correctly, the Simurgh 'simming' Orbital's capabilities means we'll be exposed to her, and maybe Scion, right?" Juarez asked.

"Probably. There is a varying scope of exposure depending on the construct's perceptual capabilities. We are uncertain whether it is able to detect attached colony modules or communicate with them. Either of those capabilities would neuter her parahuman disguise."

"It's worth it!" I was still too loud. But they were talking past me. I was the Special Circumstances Director, dammit! If they were going to treat me like a kid, the ship shouldn't have put me in charge! "I need the exposure, I need the reputation, and even in the worst case, we know her scan range, right?"

"98% confidence in an interval of two meters," Sufficient answered.

"I'm going, and that's final. Unless you're revoking my authority?"

"You have given me no cause to question your judgement, Taylor. I still trust you."

Juarez stared me down. Literally. I touched the floor before I realized I was descending. "You need to decide if you want advice or not, boss. I've second-playered this game before, and I'm not in unless you're going to take my opinion seriously."

"I'm not like them!" My shout echoed around the empty room. The localized acoustics weren't installed yet, so I got to hear my own stupidity go all the way across the office. "… I don't have a thing in my head pushing me to fight. I just have me, okay? I know…" Fuck. I sounded like an idiot, pausing every other sentence to figure out what I was saying. I was red as I continued. "I know that's not enough. I want to know what you have to say or we wouldn't have come to you. I promise."

I could see her jaw was tight. I thought that, plus the fixed, open gaze never wavering from my eyes probably meant she was evaluating me. I hoped that was what it meant.

"Okay."

I waited. We were both standing in the aisle between waiting areas, on metallic floor tiles still unmarked enough to almost serve as mirrors. Juarez was only a little shorter than me, maybe 170 cm, and a lot wider than I used to be - in the tee and jeans, she looked like a prizefighter, down to the scars on her arms. Maybe more of a pit fighter. And I still couldn't quite handle her eyes. She had presence, the way the Sufficient's avatar did. I wanted that, and I didn't want to wait twenty years to get it.

She wasn't going to say anything else. I filled the silence. "Okay?"

"We're good, boss. If I get worried, I'll tell you. I should let you get back home, and I should get to work. I'm going to need to be in meetings 24/7 to get everything operational by D-Day." She tilted her head to stare at the empty air. I thought she'd picked that habit up off me, but I couldn't be sure. "You're sure nobody will see me bouncing over the globe?"

The ship answered. "The micro-wormholes will not register on any existing instruments or Tinkertech. Displacing is a… sufficiently advanced technology."

We both cringed. A hyperspatial Mind with the equivalent power, focus, and wisdom of a third of our world.

And it made puns.

Spoiler: Author's Note[/hr]

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#673

3.2

Take your dad to meet famous capes. Take your dad to meet your friends' parents. Hang out with the first new (human) friends you've had in two years. Enjoy a barbecue when you know exactly when and where an Endbringer is going to attack.

Any one of those would have been enough, and I was trying to juggle all four.

It was going pretty well. Considering.

We'd shown up in Dad's car, at his insistence. I'd wanted to try out my new flying disk, but he'd asked me to ease him into the cape scene. I couldn't really argue with that.

The Pelham house was down the street from the Dallons, still in Brockton Bay's city limits (barely), the suburban districts that had sprouted in the late 70s, sputtered along against societal trends in the 80s, then stalled against economic downshift in the 90s, barely recovering now with the tech boom. Big yards, multi-story houses, and new or not-too-used SUVs and minivans dominated the area, along with the chatter of kids - even in late January, the local climate was still at jackets-and-jeans in early evening, and we were past the year's main (not-very-impressive) snow, with a weak encore not coming till March.

It was… nice. Kind of boring. Powers made you exceptional (not always in a good way), but they didn't make you "always on." I hadn't exactly hoped their real base would be in a skyscraper with a ten story tall team logo at the top, but… well, I'd learned about New Wave at a young age, and my imagination had gotten away from me. The relatively nice two-story Victorian townhouse was disappointing an inner sense of childlike wonder I hadn't realized I still possessed.

But it was still… nice. It was nice. Everybody was dressed down - not quite tailgating dressed down, although Sarah Pelham was wearing a Red Sox jersey that immediately drew Dad into a discussion with her and Neil about their chances ("The curse still counts, they only won in '04 on Aleph-" "They canceled the pennant because Leviathan hit Miami, they're still owed that win!" And then laughter, because I guess that was a sports joke), and Amy just had on a sweatshirt and baggy jeans that almost rivaled me at my lowest, although she crowned it with a scowl that radiated unapproachability in a way I never could have managed.

But Vicky was in a blouse and skirt that were actually quite nice (the cowboy boots didn't quite fit, I thought, but then spending time on the GCV had taken my lack of fashion sense and utterly nuked it with the sheer range of insanity that the Culture considered "clothes"), and Dean "Don't call me Gallant" Stansfield was a sports jacket away from a three-piece suit. So either I was bad at judging how formal this family introduction was, or everybody else was. A comforting thought, honestly.

Dad had settled in immediately thanks to the shared bond of old people who cared about baseball. That opened the door for me to sit down with Vicky, Amy, Dean, and Crystal and roll my eyes at the parents.

Vicky started from that and launched into school, with a brief detour to introduce her boyfriend. We managed to go five minutes before Crystal played Pandora and brought up Winslow, with an incredulous, "Is it really as bad as they say?"

I tried for a sincere smile, but (staring at external monitoring, sped up, scrutinizing every muscle twitch) I probably came off more sinister. "No. People always exaggerate. Nobody's getting shanked in the halls or spraying 88 crowns on the blackboards in the middle of the day. There's pressure, there's some sympathizers, there's assholes. But it's still a school, not a part-time prison! And nobody's gonna hurt anyone while I'm there."

Dean and Crystal were looking at me weird. That was okay, I'd earned it. I was trying to be maybe a little weird, maybe a little scary. They could scrutinize me. It was fine. Go ahead and look, Stansfield. My overlay had a color wheel of emotions queued up based on his PRT file. I'd put nodes at CONFIDENT/ARROGANT, HURT, and HONEST/DETERMINED. The little chromatic blobby representation of my mind in his eyes wasn't much of a stretch from how (I thought) I was really feeling, but the facade wouldn't have inconvenient bursts of being unsurprised, cheerful, or temporally misaligned. And it made me feel a little like a drone, aligning my aura to give the poor blind meatling some idea what I was feeling.

But my little spiel had Vicky grinning. "Sounds like you're just what Winslow needs."

"I guess, yeah. I'd like to be a beacon of hope. That kinda stuff." I thought my smile was better this time. More awkward, more nervous, but at least that was genuine. (At least, I hoped I wasn't being genuine when I looked so… maniacal)

"Sounds overdue," Glory Girl pondered. "I know the PRT keeps all the Wards at Arcadia for secret identity security, but don't they have anything to address gang recruitment at the other schools?"

I didn't address the popular misconception. Our surveillance had Sophia making practically zero personal connection with the Wards, and Gallant sharing only what his ethics would let him with Vicky. "Nothing effective. The Wards tour sometimes, but consider how useful that is. It sets them up as an external force, a bunch of outsiders. They fall into the background like the rest of the government does. What normal kid's gonna look at an intact road and go 'hey, that's paid for by my parents' taxes, and kept safe by the Protectorate'? The establishment is only visible when it fucks up."

"You think open heroes can do better." She tugged half her lip up in a smirk. If she didn't have such earnest, open blue eyes (great lashes too), I might have felt I was being mocked. But it came off as enthusiasm, I eased back on that particular terrible emotion trigger, and I nodded.

"To the kids in gang orbit - the ones who aren't in a gang but are listening to their pitch - the Protectorate just comes off as another gang. A shitty one that still makes you listen to your parents, doesn't pay you well, and makes you march around for photo ops." I realized through my video inserts that I was leaning over the table, gesticulating enthusiastically. Well, fuck it. If I was going to come off as a cape nerd, I could have a worse audience than other capes. "Being open changes that. I didn't even have to do anything - just being able to fly and punch stuff made me an instant celebrity. I jumped the whole popularity ladder, and everybody wants to hear about what I'm going to do next."

"Celebrity can be a double-edged sword," Dean offered. I thought he was probably trying to politely caution more than rebuke, but fuck that anyway. Dean didn't know me, Gallant didn't know me. I'd been the center of attention and I'd been ignored. Neither was going to work. I only had once choice left: seize the spotlight and rewrite my role. The critics could shut up and watch.

"A lot of swords have two sides. The secret is wearing good armor," I retorted. On the surface, an incongruous statement in a hoodie and jeans, but my skin alone beat any Earth armor, and he should know that after the Wards were briefed on me last week. But then we got into the "I know that you know that I know" and with my emotional facade, he didn't necessarily actually know I was reading him…

I was devoting a significant chunk of my expanded attention to just keeping everything straight. I shuddered at the thought of trying this infiltration without my sophisticated, accelerated information powers.

Maybe "I" (Old Taylor, Weak Taylor) wasn't cut out for this kind of work, for powers. The Sufficient thought the colony modules picked people they simmed as easy to manipulate, easy to convince to fight each other while Rome burned around them. With the stress of everything I was trying to pull off - just today, just at this fucking party - seething around the fortress of my mental enhancements, my sense of purpose and guidance, I thought the module that targeted me had probably chosen well.

But the Scion-thing couldn't see everything. I had been targeted, but I had also been chosen. The Mind saw something valuable in me, something worth empowering. If I wasn't even capable of living up to the confidence of the computer demigod that knew everything about me, then I'd give in to the misery and the pressure. But not before.

"My audience might turn on me, sure," I admitted. "But that happens to masked heroes too. The potential for trust is higher for me - they know who I am and what I'm doing." Blatant lie, nobody on this planet knew all of what I was doing, but hooray for artificial emotions. "If I have to live up to it, so what? Maybe we need more heroes to be stuck with it when they screw up." I caught Vicky's wince, but only because I was paying close attention. Dean seemed to miss it.

"You think the Protectorate's that bad?" Crystal asked. She seemed more curious than skeptical - her profile suggested decent odds of flipping to the Protectorate after college if I hadn't shown up.

I spread my palms in a half-shrug. "Okay, so basics. What's the Protectorate's job?"

"Fight bad guys," Victoria immediately answered.

"Keep the peace," Dean countered, and they locked eyes for a moment.

"Maintain social order," Crystal synthesized, trying to ignore the heated glances flickering over the other side of the table.

"That's all true, but their specific mandate is parahumans, right? Because parahumans don't get along." I looked around, met their eyes. Victoria was twitching her nose and looking through me with speculative eyes, Dean's flickering gaze probably corresponded to some internal calculations, and Crystal frowned. I saw the need to elaborate. "Not in anything bigger than teams, and sometimes not even that." I paused. "I'm not saying anything you haven't heard before, am I?"

"Nah," Victoria agreed. Crystal nodded; Dean played the part of a civilian and just tilted his head a little, waiting for us to continue. "There's always somebody worried capes are the end of the world," Vicky added with a grin. I felt a flicker of worry that I was veering into crazy person territory again, but - she still had those eyes. Still confident, still reassuring.

Okay, so I knew she'd broken a guy's spine three weeks ago, but right now I trusted Glory Girl's patience. At least enough to keep talking.

"We could be. I mean, they're wrong about the big kaboom, or the Rapture, or whatever, because the nuts all think we break things fast." Except Scion. There were more than a few people still suspicious of the Golden Man after thirty years, and even if most of them were completely unhinged, they were still right about "his" nature. "Powers are chaotic. Capes and powers themselves. The chance that anybody could be breathing fire or ripping minds tomorrow is a threat to any existing power. And it's not easy to mix with democracy and 'everyone is created equal'."

"People aren't." Amy had drifted over to us, a surly specter of doubt. "I'd know."

I rolled my eyes, feeling confident despite my instincts. It wasn't my knowledge behind the argument, but they were all my words. I knew what I was doing. Really. "Okay, so setting Nietzsche aside, powers would be a problem for the United States even if we were all stable and the world wasn't, you know," I waved my hand. "Endbringers."

"Not that," Panacea snapped. "People who can get powers have a corona pollentia. I can find it if I have enough time. I can't be the only one."

"I'm sure you're not," I replied, very, very sure of it. I paused for a second and thought for a minute. How much could I get away with? There was only one way to find out. "But the corona is more of Manton's theory than a guarantee. Does everyone with powers have it before they trigger? Does everyone with one trigger eventually? It wouldn't be easy to learn, and honestly, I don't really want to find out." Because if I 'found out', it would be because someone else thought they knew. "People would use it to discriminate, positive or negative. And they would be wrong to do so. Heredity isn't everything." That got Amy to twitch her eye, just a little, and I thought that if I was really interested, I could push right there and try to… I don't know. "Fix" her.

But I didn't. Maybe I wasn't ready to go poking in other peoples' problems with my own still prominent. Maybe I just didn't want to get involved. I told myself I was going to fix everything, and Amy would be dragged along with that. I even believed it.

"Can't you just be equal, whatever our differences? I think that American ideal isn't dead yet." Dean still spoke softly, but he projected his voice more. Go figure, reading your audience down to their emotions made you a more confident speaker. It also wasn't much of a surprise that the company heir was invested in stability, or that the secret cape wanted to feel normal.

It was an opening, and I took it, pointing at him a little more enthusiastically than I meant to. "That's exactly what the Protectorate is wrong for. By trying to slot capes into existing roles without dealing with us being uniquely weird but still human, the social structure starts to erode. It's a one-way change. We need a synthesis."

"How?" Vicky broke her eyes off Dean for a minute to challenge me. "It's not a bad argument, but what's your alternative? How can you make the world adjust to capes?"

It killed me to stop, but I'd come into this with a game plan. I had a role to play, here and now, and it meant- "I don't know," I shrugged. "At least, I'm still working out the details. But being open has to be a part of it. We have to stop hiding behind masks, all of us."

"You'd unmask villains?" Dean let some of his genuine concern into his voice. "I think that could escalate quickly."

I shrugged. That was genuine, too. "If it improves the situation, maybe. We're being held back by the illusion of stability. If things are going to escalate, better we decide to do it than be forced into it."

"So," Victoria declared, slapping her hands lightly on the table (lightly, because the wood only shook and didn't splinter), then splitting her face with a huge grin. "Would you date one?"

I could only manage a "What?"

"A Protectorate cape. One of those masked hero boys. Or girls. There's Aegis, Clockblocker, Kid Win, Shadow Stalker, Gallant," she listed off casually, not even looking at Dean. He frowned. Crystal rolled her eyes, probably just at Vicky's flippant subject change - I had no indications she knew Dean's identity. Amy, on the other hand, was staring daggers at the back of his head for a few intent seconds. I could probably take him with her (sarcastic) blessing.

"I'm… not sure? Who I would date depends on the person, not on what flag they wave. I don't need everybody to follow me. I don't think I want them to… but it'd be nice if they'd listen." I shrugged, and that managed to halt the least humiliating conversation about my personal life in the last three years - Vicky pivoted to Crystal's dating habits, and was a hair's breadth from uncomfortable questions about Amy's relationship histories before Dean dragged her away to give the rest of us some relief.

Sunset still came entirely too soon. We went home with a quiet happiness in Dad's old Chrysler that threatened to bring up nostalgia. No wonder our home life had been so fucked, if the slightest bit of joy made us both feel a little guilty. I gave Dad a hug before he went to burrow into his bedroom office and harass his union lobbyist at home on Sunday night. "Thanks for coming."

He paused on the stairs. "I'll always be there for you, Taylor. Even if I'm not sure what you're doing, you can ask and I'll try to help."

I wondered how much he'd heard, but I didn't scan my memories or aerial recordings. I just stared at my dad, and nodded. It was enough.

Spoiler: Author's Notes

Last edited: Aug 3, 2017

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#698

Interlude 3.w

Monday

Indecision was bullshit. It was ugly and annoying, a curling worm in her stomach. The longer she let it stew, the uglier it got.

Fuck this!

Sophia stalked past the daily spectacle that was Hebert landing in front of Winslow and shoved the door into some dweeb without looking. If she wanted to, she could get that kind of attention. If she felt like throwing her life away and getting her mom on her ass for the rest of time.

You just traded one cage for another, Hebert. She paused in the main hall to watch "Orbital" slowly trudge through the swamp of parasites and scavengers she'd landed in. Civilians were a waste. Obstructions in a fight and bottom-feeders outside of it. At least the PRT kept her supplied and even passed on news she hadn't already heard sometimes. What was the point of showboating for useless people? If only I could get her to go to my shitty PR events instead of me.

It just didn't fit. Everything else worked, or she could make it work. Sophia could admit when she was wrong. Hebert had been weak, but she wasn't the kind that was permanently broken. When she got powers, she went strong. There was no denying that. Sophia was still a little doubtful after Hookwolf, but after the weekend… those suits, Coil's base, the fire that was brighter than white. She was more powerful and more vicious than the Protectorate could guess - and she was definitely a hunter.

Why do you pretend to care? Sophia asked silently, lingering at her locker to catch Hebert's eyes. The return stare was not cold, but -. Sophia clamped down on her instincts. She was a predator. Hebert was an act of god. A tiger didn't fight an avalanche, it ran. And it didn't matter if you'd scratched the rock, it was going to fall on you if and when it wanted to. But it still didn't fit.

She spent so much time on people she had to know were cowards, sympathizers, vapid, and weak. Is one of them your secret tinker? Does it just amuse you to see how petty they are?

Sophia was focused on the line of thought, chasing it to its conclusion, that she didn't even recognize the ragged mess that slapped her locker shut.

Emma had pulled her hair back into a tight bun, but there were more than a few escaping strands, and they weren't artfully arranged. The entire effect came off as "bedraggled", not "delicately tousled," and that was before getting into her smeared eyeshadow, globby mascara, and the slight smell that suggested she'd slept in her tank top and jeans.

She seemed to be waiting for Sophia to talk.

Sophia turned and started walking down the main hall to homeroom.

"Get back here!" Emma hissed, tugging at the sleeve of Sophia's track team windbreaker. "We need to talk!"

"What about? It's over, Ems." She waited, anyway.

"It's over? That's - no, you don't get to throw me away like that." Emma growled through her teeth.

"Jesus, Emma, just leave." Sophia pulled Emma's hand off her jacket. Emma didn't resist. The hand dropped to her side.

"What kind of hero are you?"

She fought to pull words out, but it was secondary to scanning the hall. Almost everyone was gone, the second bell for the actual start of class less than a minute away. Nobody within thirty feet, at least. "The best thing you can do for both of us is to go away, Emma. You don't get it. She won."

"I don't care about Taylor!" Emma almost screamed, but kept it down to a loud seething. "She's still weak! She'll always be weak! What about me?"

Her thoughts drifted. There was too much to consider, to offer. Too much to explain, too much she still couldn't explain. She couldn't move, couldn't think - until Emma moved, and she reacted. Sophia slammed her friend against the locker and whispered, almost touching her ear. "This is what you need to do. Hebert is stronger. You have no idea. Just lay low and hope she forgets you."

"You're not… you're not running away like this. I-I know things!"

Last week that would have chilled her. But the spike of fear that jumped in the back of her mind at Emma's implied threat was muted. So she'd killed. A kid killer and an 88 hitter. What the hell did that matter? The dream of the black armor, the mind-blurring speed, the power at her fingertips that smacked down capes in microseconds. That was real. And Hebert still has it. She was hiding that, she has to be hiding more. She knows what we did, she knows what I did, and she's bigger. More important. Emma could hurt her. Hebert could hurt her more. And would.

"Not enough."

Sophia turned and walked away. Emma didn't follow.

Spoiler: Author's Note

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Threadmarks Interlude

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#789

Interlude

He wasn't avoiding her, or anything. He wasn't afraid of her. And he definitely was not stalking her. Greg was just giving Taylor plenty of space. Parahuman space plus Special Circumstances space plus angry girl space was plenty of space.

He felt a little stupid trying to take alternative routes through the school; they were still in the same three shared classes, even if her exile to the Loser Group in Mr. G's was over and done with. And he was sure turning around if he saw curly black hair, or anything floating, or honestly just a crowd, was possibly overdoing it.

Possibly. But he really, really didn't want to piss her off. More than anyone else on Earth-Bet, Greg thought he knew how bad that could be.

So he took longer routes and focused on… other things.

PHO HUD active

Mild social guidance active.

Significant physical guidance active.

High chance you will be banned if you post at all in:

Topic: Who will be the most influential cape, 50 years from now? by FenestratorofPrague

Topic: Canary Trial Verdict - Not Guilty Of Murder, Guilty Of Stealing My Heart by Locust 404

Topic: What's Your Worst-Kept Secret? [Personal][Offtopic] by Winged_One

Moderate chance you will be banned if you post with your typical verve in:

Topic: Brockton Bay Cape Sightings by Morgan Sinister

Topic: Protectorate vs CUI: Boots in the Sky [Speculation] by distrophe

Topic: Public Parahumans Megathread - New Wave II: Electric Boogaloo by 38-thirteen

Topic: What they dont want you to know about powers by paranoidandroid

The usual chance you will be banned if you keep posting in:

Topic: Orbital by Orbital

Topic: Legend in BB? - UPDATE: Cornell Bomber in BB! by Alathea

Topic: Orbital

In: Boards ▶︎ Parahumans ▶︎ America ▶︎ New England ▶︎ Brockton Bay

(77 of 83)

▶︎ Orbital (Verified Cape)

Replied on January 24, 2011:

I'm not going to repeat myself. Anyone that approaches my home without an invitation will be politely, but firmly removed. Anyone that goes near my dad or his work will get the same. You will not get an interview, autograph, or zero-G fun ride, you'll just be briefly sentenced to a very boring time trying to fight a fundamental interaction of physics. My terms for in-person questions and media appearances are in the OP and on New Wave's website. Yes, I can tell when you're lurking. Yes, I can tell when you're stalking us. If you endanger anyone while you stalk us, you will not get my time. You will get extra bored. And I might slash your tires.

Alathea

I don't think that's a useful distinction. "The personal is political", you know? The role of parahumans and paramilitaries in society affects me, so why can't we talk about it here? I'd prefer if this thread had a purpose besides gawking at me and rephrasing the same couple of permitted questions.

You're the mod, but I know what would keep me coming back to talk.

Primer

I'm not "against" you, buddy. If you have a problem with the choices I make, that's your business. I'm not your enemy. If I ever have a problem with the Protectorate, you will know.

That's not a threat. I'm just a very open person.

Gleamerglow

Of course I know the best thing for the entire planet, I'm a teenager with super-powers and emotional damage.

Doesn't everyone say Vista's their favorite BB Ward? If they don't, they're lying. For Protectorate ENE, I haven't worked with everyone yet. I'll have to tell you later.

I'll do what's most helpful. Whether that's S&R, fighting, or staying at home to enforce the Truce depends on which one attacks where. I want to fight. Of course I want to fight. But I know better. It's not always the right thing for me to do.

I prefer it. They'll speculate anyway, and if the mods ban, people will just move to off-sites. I knew what I was in for when I went public. I'm not talking about my trigger because it's not my personal circumstances that matter, it's the way we've had almost twenty five years of damaged people becoming damaged capes without an organized response besides "shuffle them into the Protectorate when you can." I'm dealing with my trauma on my own terms - I got lucky with my powers. A lot of people didn't.

Prometheon

zg133

Hi-Load Deluxe

Go to New Wave's website. Talk to the freaking adults. But I doubt we're interested in becoming corporate capes.

Pictur&que

Replied on January 24, 2011:

What do you use to get your footage? That's some amazing camera work considering how fast you move, do you have backup or is it your own device?

XxVoid_CowboyxX

Replied on January 24, 2011:

The renewed open cape movement is a precursor too a change in parahuman society, the open claiming of feudal powers and rights by parahumans for being our only protection against other parahumans and Endbringers, no doubt this is coming, and it has been planned and affected by the powers that be, as the cost of human survival.

Pictur&que

Replied on January 24, 2011:

VoidCowboy

Jesus. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I wish you'd go back to just off-topic bitching about the class changes in Ransack.

XxVoid_CowboyxX

Replied on January 24, 2011:

Patch 2.6.3 was imba OP bullshit.

== Move Left, Greg

He blinked and the words faded to shadows. Greg stumbled left just in time to only be clipped by Walt Green's shoulder and lightly tossed into the wall.

"Watch it, dipshit." The burly junior gave Greg an extra shove, and he stumbled into a half-stagger before he was able to right himself against the wall.

He waited while a few more upperclassmen pushed through. He'd probably be late to homeroom, but that didn't really matter, in the long run. Like most things on Earth.

"Tell me you planned this."

He jumped, making Sam Lyon (the reason the computer club was too cool for Greg) glare at him with a curled lip before pushing into a classroom. That probably hadn't done his reputation any favors.

"Taylor?" Greg whispered, looking around.

"I thought you'd already know how to do this. Subvocalize or just access your neural lace." The voice was coming from a translucent head, staring at him from the bottom left quarter of his sight.

"I-" His response was cut off by the second bell. He jumped and started running, his eyes constantly darting to her ghost-like face. He barely made it into homeroom by the end of the bell, panting heavily. Greg waved off Ms. Ross and stumbled to his desk. Choking the words halfway through his throat, he nearly said, "I thought you didn't want to talk to me."

The Taylor in the display didn't have shoulders, but her head bobbed with the motion from the shrug he couldn't see. "I'm around. You're the one avoiding me."

"I." He focused on the assignment being passed back to him, handed it to the desk behind him. "I know I fucked up. I'm sorry."

"Hmm." Taylor considered him with a flat mouth.

"I should have acted. It. I wasn't being a good friend." He should have left it there, he realized even while he kept talking. "It's hard to. To see people as real."

"What?"

"We go home every weekend to a vessel that's not even orbiting this planet. I still remember seeing Earth for the first time, and getting an injection to make my gill ridges to stop growing. My drug glands are starting to grow in. I grew up in Brockton Bay but I've always known I'm not from here. It got easier to just." Greg was a good rambler, but every now and then the self-awareness came barreling down and flattened him.

"Just what?"

"Just be a watcher. I started thinking that the things, the people in front of me weren't, uh, real." It felt stupider and meaner the second time. But it was true, so he couldn't really deny it. "I'm a space alien growing up on Earth, Taylor. My life's already a movie. I watch and I tell myself, 'the heroes have to stop the villains', or 'the Endbringers keep them from killing themselves.'" He paused. "Or 'Taylor's gonna get a great job and rub it in their faces at the reunion.'"

She didn't answer, and the little display of her face froze in place. Greg mumbled something about the checks and balances in government in response to the homeroom teacher, his eyes constantly flickering over to the avatar. Why couldn't he do that? Actually, could he do that? But then, he didn't have a lot of people to do it to.

Greg ended up breaking the silence himself. What could it hurt, really? "Taylor?"

"Hm?"

"What did you mean about planning this?"

"Your posts. Did the Mind set you up for that?"

"No? I was just posting what I thought."

"Greg. Special Circumstances set my whole thing up. You know that."

"Right? But it could still be true?"

There was another long pause. He almost spoke again, but she answered abruptly. "You think it might be possible that a Culture Mind is trying to set up a feudal aristocracy of parahumans on Earth-Bet as part of the Scion removal and general enlightenment of humanity."

"Centralized power is easier to manipulate key individuals, and democracies are resistant to change, so maybe?"

"Okay. Sure. Are you willing to help me out?"

He almost jumped out of his desk, and got more weird looks. "Of course."

"Keep it up for a while. Speculate. Follow your guesses." She paused again. "The Mind says 'within limits.'"

"Sure? I don't really get it but whatever you need, Taylor."

"'I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.' Yeah, Greg. That'll be fine."

He managed to muddle his way through the rest of class, vaguely pleased, if sincerely confused. At least they were talking again.

Spoiler: Author's Note

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#809

Interlude 3.m

All things considered, Tony Walker liked his job. Harcourt wasn't the nicest neighborhood in Brockton Bay, to live in or work in, but he'd grown up in the Harcourt Housing Project. The north end of the Docks had been tough enough in 1967, and maybe it was his nostalgia talking, but even with the parahumans thrown in, he'd take the modern criminals over Harcourt in the 80s. At least nowadays most of the kids were graduating high school, and there wasn't a single gang from Harcourt. A couple kids with records, sure, but the 88s and the BBs weren't coming here for obvious demographic reasons, and the Archer's Street Shitheads weren't welcome. Miss Moore's boy, Rick, had tried pushing their junk when he moved back in '08, and his momma had marched him out of her house and three blocks down to Tony's office, shouting in the boy's ear the entire time. Rick was working in an auto shop on 44th now. And he had his two year chip, but sometimes he came in to Mackie's to talk to Tony (Tony always bought him a Pepsi), when somebody from the old days dropped something in his ear, and Tony could go have a talk with them before anything went down.

As far as Sergeant Walker was concerned, the Brockton Bay Community Policing Initiative had done a damn fine job for the last twenty years. But the state comptroller didn't listen to a beat cop who didn't even carry a gun, and each new Parahuman response had been taking bites out of his budget, every year, without fail. Tony was lucky he still had enough pull to keep himself and two officers this year - for the whole city, not just Harcourt.

Well, Tony had enough to deal with in what might be his last six months on the job. There weren't a lot of entry level jobs in Brockton Bay, but he'd push every unemployed kid, single mom, and ex-retiree in his neighborhood through the door to an interview, if he had to walk them there himself. Which was why he'd taken the call from Danny the minute he saw the name on Caller ID.

"Long time, no word. Good news, shrimp?"

"You wouldn't believe what the tide dragged in, old man," Danny said without preamble. Tony hadn't heard much from the dockworkers lately, but he'd seen Danny peeling out of the Association in that beat up work truck to more meetings in the last two weeks than the year before it. A lot of the families in the Harcourt Project had depended on dockworker jobs, and a lot of Tony's time in the last couple years had gone toward finding replacement work to keep them housed and their kids in school. Crime didn't get serious in a stable community, he'd always told his officers. If Danny hadn't just split Mackie's for another bar, and was back to work for good, then Tony had one of his best allies back. And his friend had maybe stopped hurting.

"And here I remember you telling your dad you'd never go back to fishing, Danny?" Tony leaned back in his chair. The one-man Harcourt Community Policing office in a half-empty strip mall was nothing grand, but he'd put a lot of time and effort into keeping it nice and welcoming.

"I hauled it in, I get to keep it," Danny chuckled. Tony hadn't heard that sound from him in a couple years. Or a sincere joke. "I've been calling everybody in the Association even, if they haven't come in in years, but it's not enough people. Can you pass the word that anybody with construction, shipping, or admin experience should give me or Lawrence Junker at the Boston ILU office a call. There's a big job swell coming up, Tony. Big."

Tony rolled it over. When you got a lot of blue collar jobs in Brockton Bay, it was usually a case to hand over to the PRT - a new parahuman criminal hiring a gang, or something more complex. But he could trust Danny. He hadn't always been the biggest admirer of the law, but he cared about his people. Danny Hebert wouldn't sell out a single person he was representing to a criminal organization, let alone dozens.

"Alright, Danny. How about I drop by the Association later today and get some of your cards to hand out?" And talk, and maybe find out how things were going for an old friend.

"I'm working late these days. How's seven thirty, old man?"

"Should give me enough time to hobble on down to your place, shrimp," the forty eight year old sergeant chuckled. "Stay safe, Danny."

"I'm not the one getting between robbers and cashiers, Tony. Take care of yourself." He didn't quite reach for the puckered scar under his dress shirt where his left kidney had been (operation in '91, again in '93 to save the remaining half, finally tore it out to avoid necrosis in '94), but he would have five years ago. He was still working away from that habit.

Tony had just hung up and started his department-issue computer chugging onto the help wanted ads when the doorbell rang. "Officer Walker?"

He was up out of his chair and smiling before she was halfway in. His desk was against the wall, no barriers between him and anyone coming in. He'd been a sergeant since Anisa Johnson was knee-high, but her mom called him Officer Walker, and her mom. And it wasn't in Tony's nature to object, anyway.

She was a good kid, even for Harcourt. A little trouble in 7th grade (Vandalism, misdemeanor; Injury to Public Property, misdemeanor his training supplied, but he'd never said the words to Anisa or her parents), but she'd fixed the fence post with him, bought the Mandelbaums a new window, and now she was graduating Winslow in less than five months with a scholarship to Emerson.

She had a hand clenched tight around something, and her other hand grabbing the strap of her backpack. "Officer…"

He patted her hand gently and stepped back, giving her room to pick which visitor's chair she wanted while he sank back into the worn leather of his chair (he didn't have much of a budget, but he used to). She picked one of the swivel chairs just next to his desk. "You know you can call me Tony if it helps, Anisa. What's wrong?"

"I was at a party. There was drinking." She stopped and looked up through her eyelashes, but judgmental wasn't in Tony's range of facial expressions, and he wasn't even disappointed. Kids were kids. If they told you what they'd done and made up for it, they learned something about how justice feels.

"I don't think you'd be in here for just that. Did something happen?" His voice made it clear that if something happened to her, something was going to happen to whoever had done it.

"I don't know. A boy got me a drink. I don't remember his name, he wasn't from here. When I drank it…" She bit her lip and Tony moved his hand behind his back before making a fist. Ninety percent of the time, he was almost happy to let the rest of the force almost forget he existed, except for how the budget for Harcourt kept being cut because it 'wasn't needed for a low-crime area.' This wasn't that ninety percent. That boy was going to get a squad car dropped on his ass the minute Sergeant Walker knew who he was.

"It's okay, Anisa. You can take your time."

"Officer Walker, I think I'm - I've either got powers or I'm going crazy!" Her wet eyes broke into tears, and Tony's bushy eyebrows crept into a furrow.

"What makes you say that?"

"I had some of it and I - I heard a voice. It was real calm and quiet, like they were whispering to me. They said, 'Someone has tried to drug you. You should go to a place of safety.'"

Tony didn't deal with parahumans. Nobody in Harcourt ever had powers, and the big fights didn't come this far north. Maybe some street-level gang members stored contraband in abandoned buildings in the neighborhood, but that was straight BBPD work - the PRT didn't show just because somebody with a gun might call in a parahuman. So he just did what he knew how to do: police work. Get the details, Walker.

"What can you tell me about the voice?"

"It was kinda soft, but a little boyish too? Real hoity-toity and posh. Sounded English, like, from England."

"Did it say anything else?"

She shook her head. "I - I wasn't sure, so I asked the boy if he, uh," She looked up again, but Tony knew what she was looking for. He just nodded and kept writing on the scratchpad in his head. "I asked if he had anything good. He gave me these."

She finally opened her hand and showed him a little strip of blister packs with five fat blue capsules in them. They looked like they'd just come out of a pharmacy, very professional, all the way down to some little manufacturing code in dots on the capsule. Tony took the package from her hand and glanced at it, then back to Anisa.

"I tried one," she said in a smaller voice, head down. "And I heard the voice again."

"What did it say?"

This time her tempo was smooth, a sure sign she'd been memorizing and rehearsing this line. "'If you want to experience Snap, please think of the color white, the letter Z, the number 8, and the color blue in that order.'" She glanced up at Tony and shook her head vigorously, her cornrows almost rattling. "But I didn't. Nothing happened."

End of the story, for her at least. He clapped her on the shoulder. "I'm glad you're safe, Anisa. You were lucky."

"I know! I should've come to you first, Officer Walker." She was almost in tears again, so he offered her hand. Danette Johnson lived just down 39th, and her mother would know what to do. He was just helping her to her feet when the screech of brakes and the crunch of metal echoed outside.

"Hang on. Go home when it's safe," he told her, patting the girl on the back before he swept out the door.

A beautiful cherry-red '79 Camaro was bent and smoking in the street, mid-morning traffic just starting to pile up behind it, horns already adding to the chaos. The other party was already walking right down the middle of Jefferson toward the bay.

Tony ran for the man. If he was still stumbling after that crash, he was probably concussed. If he hadn't been messed up beforehand, he realized as he got closer. A long and pretty dirty coat, barefoot and with black hair that came down to the coat's collar. There weren't a lot of Japanese refugees in Harcourt, but Tony had taken a couple regular beat shifts before, and there were a lot of men on the street from Fukuoka, or Nagasaki, with blank stares and trouble feeding themselves. He'd seen PTSD from men his father's age coming back from Vietnam, but the Endbringer Complex was something else.

They weren't usually as big as this guy, though. Tony grabbed his arm and felt a lot. He'd been a big guy himself, especially at just five foot seven, most of it long since turned to paunch, but even when the USMC, the BBPD, and the boxing ring had all wanted a piece of young Tony, his thighs hadn't been as wide as this man's upper arms. Or as hard.

Then the man turned, and before Tony was flying through the air, he saw the mask. The steel cover, and the glowing eyes behind it.

Tony started to pick himself up, but the lightpost he'd hit was still arguing with his spine. He managed to crane his neck at the scream, and waved off Anisa Jackson, hovering, unsure where to touch him. She had her phone out already, calling 911. Good girl. The swelling forced his left eye closed. His right tracked Lung down the street, people starting to flee their cars shouting. The Camaro's engine burst into flame, and the fire jumped off it, circling the parahuman like an eager puppy. Tony's right eye started to close. He could just see Lung coming to Whitmore, and turning for the Dockworker's Association.

Stay safe, Danny. I mean it.

Spoiler: Author's Note

Last edited: Sep 2, 2017

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#844

Interlude 3.h

Joe Schmuck wouldn't notice it, and the BBPD would probably give you a smug sneer if you told them, but the Parahuman Response Teams still had their own titular patrols, still went out to do things besides babysit, transport, foam up, and scrape up capes.

And of course, if it was brought to their attention, most people wouldn't want the PRT out there patrolling their cities. Bold, bright (ridiculous, exploitative) costumes? I can't get enough! Black body armor, assault rifles, jeeps, and helicopters? Militarization! Collateral damage! Fluoride in my water!

Nevermind that the "hero" capes were nearly as destructive as the "villains," America was still very busy blocking out the late 80s, the time between the Golden Guy and the Endbringers when it seemed like there was no limit for the new powers. Except other people. And shit, when it came to dehumanizing, ignoring, and trampling other people in your way, humans had a lot of practice.

Nobody wanted to remember the days when it seemed like the United States was a hair from martial law, from civil war, from god-knows-what - the nukes, the Russians, the aliens, the Chinese, the AIDS, the Russians and the Chinese. So nobody wanted to see the same under-equipped, under-appreciated SWAT teams, military police, FBI, Coast Guard, and every other sonnovabitch with no powers but rapid projectile launching, who'd thrown themselves into the meat grinder to keep the country going, twenty years older and fifty years more cynical.

That was how Trooper Kurtz saw it, anyway. And her views might have been filtered down from the force's grognards, given that most twenty eight year olds didn't have active experience with policing in the 80s. But then again, most twenty eight year olds, even PRT troopers, hadn't landed in foster care at age nine, and Rachel Kurtz wasn't the kind of person who shied away from bringing up a traumatic personal history to score points in an argument. She did prefer to deliver the line 'Parahumans killed my parents' from the back of an armored van, and over the top of a shotgun she was loading with (probably) nonlethal rounds, but that was just because she was a self-admitted drama queen.

And it was probably why she volunteered for every one of the rare Parahuman Response Team patrols. Even if it meant suits instead of armor, and a Chrysler instead of a milsurp truck. Which some guys would argue were just tricks of the mind, making you feel more confident while providing basically no coverage against most powers except the lowest power punks. And Kurtz would reply 'Yeah, but I like confidence.'

But nope, they had to appease the fragile nerves of the public. Go professional, not military. Make them bored, not scared. I watched too much X-Files and I think it's possible to run in pressed slacks. The usual excuses for making her wear a damn tie and just carry a pistol. Not that she disliked her M1911. She spent a lot of time practicing at the HQ range, cleaning it out, and polishing the casing to that perfect black sheen. But it lacked the comforting heft of her standard issue Mossberg, the promise that some bitch with lasers might burn a hole in her skull, but there would be a couple gangster suck-ups on the ground first.

But even Rachel had to admit, leaving her smoking pistol behind with the extra magazine in her sport coat, that her shotgun probably wouldn't have done any better against Lung.

The call had come in while they were checking the empty Rook St. warehouses that Circus and Erebus had been punching holes in last night. Independents, hero and villain, were unified by one trait: they were really fucking stupid. Stupid enough to think powers meant you were ready to run around as a wanna-be cop or career criminal in your teens to twenties with absolutely no training or experience. So they were staggeringly more likely to do dumb shit, from dumb shit the PRT hated like attacking villains committing misdemeanors or nonviolent felonies in the middle of populated areas, to dumb shit the PRT loved like coming back for trophies, loot, or best of all, personal identifying information they'd left behind.

There was also the chance you'd just get a cape-chaser sniffing around, but Kurtz differed from the common Trooper opinion on them. They were idiots, absolutely, but they were useful idiots, always overflowing with rumor that hadn't even hit the streets yet. It was mostly bullshit, but if you learned to filter out the bits that weren't, that scoop on intel was a damn good path to squad leader, or higher.

But when multiple 911 calls flagged the keywords "fire", "explosion", "giant", "monster", and of course "Lung", the day-old crime scene had become bottom priority. They were actually in a position to be first responders, for a change, and it had just taken one desperate glance at Wolanski before they were in the sedan, roaring north down the harbor-side. The perks of having an ambitious partner: no argument about taking on the mad dragon.

The coat burst into flame along with the car door it was caught on, the Chrysler smoldering and starting to melt. She kept rolling away from it, then scrambled to her feet.

Training: Bolt right, drop behind the dumpster, hit the chain link fence at speed and it'll drop. Get inside the garage and he'll ignore you. You delayed Lung, that's more than any Trooper should be asked to do.

Reality: Motherfucker, Wolanski didn't make it all the way out. Her partner had taken in a lung of smoke, twisted while he dove, and had one foot stuck in the door, coughing his ass senseless still halfway in the flaming car.

It was a close call, but at the end of a couple seconds of panic, Rachel's complete disregard for her own safety determination not to lose anybody else to parahumans won out over self-preservation. She vaulted the trunk, clutched her right hand to her pants and hoped it was just a first degree burn, and yanked on Wolanski's jacket with her left. He was still stuck. She tugged again, watching the flames creep around the other side of the car. Then they ignored the last foot and a half and just jumped right for the gas tank, blowing off the cap and roaring out in a blast. Fucking pyrokinetics, she had time to think, before - the flames vanished?

Her peripheral vision corrected that impression. The fire had moved, becoming a giant burning aura that surrounded Lung, who was taller than the family market across the street. From fifty feet away, it made the burning building simulator she'd gone through in training feel like a joke.

But his attention was focused on a two-story at the end of Whitmore, first floor an empty storefront, second floor some offices. 3117 Whitmore. That was a familiar address: 0800 briefing, 1/21/11. Orbital: associated locations, Dockworkers Association - Father's Workplace.

She really, really wanted to have a pithy statement ready, a last incisive quip before Lung detonated the building and probably turned her and Wolanski into charcoal as an afterthought, but at the worst possible time, nothing was coming to mind.

She did manage to keep her eyes open as the entire body of seething, power-controlled flame turned into a massive whip tendril reaching for the office. Maybe they'd accept after-action reports in Heaven. Or wherever you went when you'd missed your bat mitzvah.

Lung had incredibly precise control over the fire, curving it into a crisply-shaped string that he was pushing together to make hotter, red and orange giving way to blue and white. And… black? A black sphere that the end of the fire spiraled around.

"Do you know how much gravity it takes to bend light, Kenta? Usually it requires an entire galaxy between you. And do you know what you need to capture it?"

The PR flakes would have killed to have any one of the ENE capes look as goddamn poised as Orbital did, floating down gently with one hand pointing at the sphere, which kept flickering between the brightest and darkest thing Kurtz had ever seen, as tendrils of flame and light drifted in front of her view. She stopped ten feet from the ground, her head still above Lung. Then she gestured, and the entire thing leapt up, a reverse comet dragging fire away from the Earth, into the sky and out of sight. Kurtz watched it the entire time, until the sun was once again the brightest light in the sky.

It didn't phase Lung. His head was higher than Orbital now, halfway to the size he'd been when he wrestled Leviathan: speculated maximum 35-45 ft. He moved disgustingly fast for something that size. When a building moved, it should be some ponderous, Hollywood special effects, guy in a rubber suit bullshit. He shouldn't be able to accelerate faster than a sports car.

And a teenage girl, even a tall teenage girl flying in a costume, shouldn't be able to catch his claws in her spread arms. He lashed out with his other hand, but Orbital threw him back, cracking the asphalt with his impact.

"You were warned, Kenta." Her voice was quieter this time, not cranked up to loudspeaker level but still echoing over the grinding crunch of Lung righting himself at the road's expense.

His return was a garbled mash from a slavering four-piece jaw, fire sparking in midair all around him, more like an earthquake than words, but Orbital seemed to understand.

"The old way is over. You don't get the Birdcage, Kenta. You get ejected from the game."

The fire raced in every direction, including right at Kurtz and Wolanski.

"I said no. How many times, with how much force do I have to pound it into you?!"

There were a dozen black orbs, and midmorning felt a lot more like dusk. The weirdest, most terrifying dusk ever, with twelve fire-covered balls of infinite darkness eating the light, shooting off into the sky. Kurtz almost missed what happened next.

In between the roar of the flames and the angry dragon, she could barely hear Orbital crash into him, knock him off his feet - but Lung never hit the ground. Orbital stood under him, both hands raised, and the dragon struggled against her, fire lashing out, scales peeling off his back in the wake of fleshy ripples that split into giant metallic wings, beating to throw him at the ground.

This is what Piggot meant when she said the Triumvirate response time was too long to count on.

Orbital moved. Even with the wings, Lung was pushed back - pushed up. She lifted off, flame searing the asphalt all around her. "I thought they shut down Cape Canaveral…"

It was only when Orbital turned her head to face her, still pushing Lung up foot by foot, yard by yard, that Kurtz realized she'd said it out loud, and somehow she'd heard. Unless she was already dead and one of the cape-worship cults was right about their four color afterlife.

Then Orbital's lift really kicked in, and there was a glint of scale and fire rising in the sky for a brief moment. And they were gone. Both completely, utterly gone.

The worst part of wearing a goddamn tie was that suits didn't have a helmet-mounted camera. There was exactly zero chance of getting anyone to believe everything. She'd have to start chopping the less plausible parts out of her report before she could even think of handing it in.

The relative quiet of car and security alarms left by a cape fight was familiar enough that it didn't disrupt her composition, although the absence of a building being devoured by flames was unusual for a Lung fight.

Rachel knew she definitely had to edit out the choked scream and flailing she'd been unable to hide when Orbital tapped her on the shoulder.

The New Wave cape still looked better than any of their promo posters. Her costume wasn't scratched, ripped, burnt, frozen, or even bunched up. And her hair was floating like it did in every picture they had of her.

"Thanks, Kurtz."

She zipped into the air, heading for the office, casually hovering to talk through the second story window.

It wasn't until she was editing her formal report that Rachel was a hundred percent certain the cape had spoken.

It wasn't until two days after submitting the final draft that she remembered something else: BDUs have name tags, suits don't.

Last edited: Aug 31, 2017

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Threadmarks Interlude 3 - Omnipresence

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#880

Spoiler: Author's Notes

Interlude 3 - Omnipresence

GCV Sufficiently Advanced Technology: Surveillance Log Annotations, Private Communication - Taylor Hebert

Log SH

"… she's protecting Emma from me?! Like I'm the fucking villain here? Fuck you, Hess. What a load of-"

"The false consensus effect is a psychological bias leading to the overestimation of similarities in the thoughts of others to the subject's own thought processes. Preceded by the theory of psychological projection, it-"

"Okay, okay. I get it. Is that really what's going on?"

"It is a use-"

"A useful approximation, I get it. Which means "read more Marain books and discover the true secrets behind the universe and the minds of humans.""

"At the least, we do not charge a monthly fee."

"A money joke? You really have gone native."

"You are not that easily distracted."

"I'm not. I can't believe she said that. No, I can believe it, which is worse. How much work is she going to take?"

"More than one week."

"… I'm not stupid, Sufficient. I know I can't have everything immediately. Am I asking too much when I want to shatter someone's life philosophy and make it stick?"

"Hm."

"Fine. I can be stupid sometimes. What do I have to do to get through to her?"

"Which her?"

"… I'll let you know."

Log GV

"You saw that, right?"

"I see all, I know all."

"Thanks, old testament. Why does Greg keep dodging the very sight of me?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

"… which is your way of saying I should talk to him."

"Yes."

"... if you say so."

"Okay, so he not SC. He's not even Contact. And he's actually honestly fifteen. Why, exactly, does Greg live on Earth? No, back that up. Why is Greg?"

"There's an old concept called Referrers. Squirting data to you."

"… what. What? Greg? Greg? Are you telling me Gregory fucking Veder thinks on the level of a Mind?"

"I am telling you that, Taylor. But only for comedic purposes."

"… Sufficient."

"It's a largely discredited concept. Hasn't been cited in centuries. Bad statistical methods blamed for the whole thing, swept under the rug, some very embarrassed Minds took up lonely exploratory courses for several ashamed decades. But his parent was interested, they were a biological fit, and he does develop some terribly amusing ideas when you wind him up."

"Okay. That I believe."

My Personal Observations of Taylor Hebert

2011.01.24, 11:17 T-5

-Processing Speed: 1.35 (default)-

"Incoming call from Bakuda."

"Whyyyy… Fine, put her through."

"Boss, problem. Lung downed like, seven bottles of sake and was growling shit in Cantonese. Translator gave me something about disrespect, whelps, and lessons of fire can never be unlearned?"

"94% chance of him enacting Option A."

"Are you giving me numbers now?"

"I would be amenable."

"How long do we have?"

"90% confidence in a range of 28-32 minutes before casualties."

"Chance of keeping it out of public view if I wanted to."

"86%."

"Okay. Deterrence Plan One. Chance of success?"

"Immediate objective: Deliver Lung to PRT. 98%. Intermediate Objective: Deliver Lung to Birdcage. 87%. Longterm Objective: Eliminate threat from Lung. 62%."

"Deterrence Plan Two. Include general repercussions."

"Immediate objective: Remove Lung from atmosphere. 97%. Longterm Objective: Eliminate threat from Lung. 97%. Chance of Protectorate response: 32%. Chance of Cauldron response: 27%. Chance of "villain" response: 21-35%."

"Good. Give me the best time to arrive without casualties or Protectorate interference, but maximum visibility?"

"19 minutes."

-Processing Speed: 9.7 (tactical 1)-

"How much of what I'm saying is complete bullshit?"

"Oh, most of it. The distortion could be caused by several other means, lensing effects can be detected even from sub-celestial-object gravity depending on the sensor, so forth and so on."

"And this isn't really a gravitational effect."

"It isn't. I'm using hyperspatial dislocation and micro-wormholes to bleed off the excess energy and create the visual effects. A real gravitational singularity of the necessary capability would be potentially planet-cracking if it escaped control. Risk level would be a little excessive. This effect wouldn't fool a finely-tuned gravity sensor in local proximity. What a shame Colin is still leaving the Rig, I know he wanted to test his new kit out on you. But the visual recordings will appear accurate when anyone does the calculations."

"That's… good. I don't think I need to command a planet-cracker. Yet."

"A wise decision, Archimedes."

"Archimedes? Oh. A long enough lever to move the Earth. He didn't warn anyone how hard it is not to crush people under that lever."

"Power and conscience are a difficult mix."

"Thanks. How much longer do you want this to go on?"

"I have the connection between the colony and the neural growth isolated. If you could give me another 35 seconds, that will be plenty of data to analyze."

"Fine, he gets one more attack. What's he going to do? I want to really no-sell it."

"Hmm. A pyrokinetic nova to attack the bystanders and show off his power. Omnidirectional."

"Can you create multiple "singularities" to contain all of it? This needs to be theatrical."

"Absolutely."

"Oh… that's beautiful."

"I'm taking inspiration. I think a garden piece, perhaps. They'd be excellent light fixtures for a mid-tempo party. Sufficient data, by the by."

"Good. Can we make the takeoff extra dramatic?"

"Allowing for release of monitored pyrokinesis. Filtering hazardous flames out of your dimensions. You may begin countdown to launch, flight commander."

"I remember Dad told me about the Space Shuttle launches. One of the few things he and Grandpa could do together without fighting."

"You can bring that back."

"I can. I am. Let's make this arrogant, sociopathic fucker the first payload… Heh. Nice line. Squirt me something on that Trooper?"

"Service biography sent. Enjoy it on the flight."

-Processing Speed: 4.8 (strategic 2)-

"That's sufficient. You are no longer in visual range from any observatory. Earth-based precognitive simulation is acceptably dulled. Simurgh is moving towards you and will crest the horizon within seven minutes."

"Okay. I'm dropping back. God, that's…"

"It's different when you're outside my envelope, isn't it?"

"Yeah…"

"Simurgh in range within six minutes, thirty seconds."

"Fine. But I'll be back."

"I have absolutely no doubt."

"Is it done?"

"Dragon repurposed the Simurgh observatory 0.32 seconds ago. The Lung Stellar Object has been observed by the Protectorate exiting Earth orbit 0.21 seconds ago."

"Good. I'm going back to talk to Dad. I should hi-five that Trooper, too."

"Hmm."

"Too casual. Hug?"

"Mm."

"Too intimate. Thumbs up?"

"I know you are just teasing me, Taylor."

"I'll try to maintain my dignity. But I want to acknowledge her. What's the point of social cheating if I don't use it to be unnaturally charismatic?"

"Indeed. Armsmaster will arrive at the scene in seven minutes, twenty seconds."

"Okay. I need to talk to Dad, fast. Get some anonymous donations to the PRT-IAC for repairs. I was maybe showboating a little there."

"Only a little."

Spoiler: Supplemental Notes[/hr][/hr][/hr][/hr][/hr][/hr]

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Threadmarks 3.3

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#928

3.3

Taylor Hebert Personal Log, 2011.01.25

I was honestly starting to enjoy, maybe even prefer, the aftermath of my actions. Confrontations were exciting and fast-paced and adrenaline-filled - but having a pharmacy in my head designed to negate exactly those feelings - to give me a little Calm and Quicken to make taking the right choices and actions in those confrontations so much easier and smoother - was starting to level them out. What was regular became boring. And the aftermath was when I really got to control things - to determine what the precise outcome of events was, and more importantly, how it was perceived.

And I didn't think I would ever get tired of leaving voicemails like, "Hi, Sarah, it's Taylor. You probably heard I threw Lung into space. We should have a team meeting, right? My schedule's open, let me know when you want me to come in!"

I'd been a bit less cavalier scheduling the Protectorate for a full debriefing, and telling Channel 7 when they could have my interview. I was even nice, I let the PRT know I'd be chatting with the media rather than springing it on them with the rest of the audience.

Really, that was all just… continuation. Utilization. Not actions that deserved the title "aftermath," filled with so much cultural context and implications of dread.

That belonged to explaining to Dad that I could throw, had thrown, and didn't regret throwing Lung aka Kenta Yamamoto into space, which even for him would be an eventually fatal experience.

I thought it had gone well. That is, nobody had shouted. Only mild property damage (a snapped cork coaster). And the hug was only barely awkward, although it would have been bone-crushingly tight if my current "bones" could be crushed.

Mundane cleanup was easier, although not less interesting. My personal understanding (once again, formed with only hints and idle comments from the Sufficiently Advanced Technology to help me actually understand the flood of data) was still conflicted on whether the colony parasites nudged their hosts away from the consideration of the long-term effects of cape fights on the unpowered, if the PRT's assumption of responsibility in those matters just made it easier for parahumans to ignore, or if the inherent risk and cost of a "secret identity" scared the most well-meaning off from extensive help (and liability) - but the part I was sure about was, nobody really expected the "hero" to stick around after her fight and fix what she'd damaged.

To be fair, if I had an ordinary fifteen year old's knowledge and reasoning, I probably wouldn't have been the best at reconstruction anyway. I couldn't fault the system for not asking people to trust, say, Clockblocker to apply a rapid-drying plaster to keep a guy's spine straight and lift him over upturned cars to an ambulance. And repairs like remixing asphalt on-site were out of most capes' powersets anyway (although I flagged a file - Faultline Construction? Check interest level with next "do-nothing" bribe).

But it helped. Being there in the real aftermath let people see me and talk to me, let them understand I was human and trustworthy - although my juggling several dozen tons of shattered pavement into an open-air ball of churning, pressure-heated wet asphalt probably zeroed me out on the comforting-terrifying scale. It was sad that our societal experience with these phenomenal, civilization-altering powers was almost exclusively as weapons.

That one can be safely blamed on the golden useless asshole of an Aggressively Hegemonizing Swarm Object, I thought. If nothing else, Earth-Bet humans would have preferred to monetize powers, wherever possible.

And repair work let me see people. I got to (had to) see everyone I was affecting, from my own eyes and not just nearly-omniscient surveillance. The shock, the willful ignorance in order to keep your life together, the people who couldn't any more and just stopped - it was all familiar from the news, from Endbringers, S9, the Fallen, the Guise, but I hadn't seen it before in my city (just in my world, and that wasn't just a figure of speech any more).

I did what I could. Basic mental health triage, reassurances and focal pointing for trust or hate (whatever helps, just tell yourself 'whatever helps them', Taylor), relying on Sufficient to tell me who would be worse off if I approached them and hoping the existing support systems were enough.

It was garbage. Not useless - never useless, not with the full knowledge and a fragment of the power of the Culture at my metaphorical fingertips, but it wasn't enough. And this was just Brockton Bay. Population three hundred fifty two thousand, nine hundred and twenty eight, as of the birth of Daryl Whitmore Jr. 31 minutes ago. Earth was still out there (Earths). The caped war of (outdated, incomplete) economic ideologies still being fought across Central and South America by guerrilla and terror attacks. Warlordism circling the bastion of the Republic of Kenya in subsaharan Africa. Outright wars of conquest by the C.I.U. against the Golden League of Southeast Asia, parahuman powers changing the nature of warfare in the same was as mechanization a hundred years ago: faster, larger, more death on a wider scale.

If I didn't have whatever biomechanical equivalent of Calm that the Mind had installed in this brain, I would have broken under the pressure long ago (days ago - but calendar time was quaint, outdated next to processing time). This was far from the first time I'd circled that emotional vortex.

I hadn't quite fixed the shattered asphalt crater in front of Dad's office by the time the Protectorate arrived, and I just finished my immediate pour rather than deal with an argument about permits, safety, expertise, and the rest. I didn't feel very bad about the economic repercussions, at least. A day or two of work for one crew versus the potential shutdown of local businesses, plus the knock-on effects from taking Lung out.

I'd been able to get Miss Militia to accept a very limited on-site debriefing/statement with a promise of more depth later - after all, I wasn't going anywhere. Although restating my ties to Brockton Bay had included a reminder that I'd just de-atmosphered the last person who'd tried to get to me through my dad. Just as a casual statement of fact, of course. Not that I expected responsible government employees to even remotely entertain an idea like that.

The words that made it outside of my head were less sarcastic and more subtly phrased. I was still unfamiliar territory for the Protectorate; I'd been intentionally avoiding meeting most of them or spending time around the ones I had met (flag for review - creating emotional distance to avoid feelings of betrayal at our eventual turn against Protectorate/"hero" system? Discuss w/ ship).

Of course, I was officially (nominally, under false pretenses) part of New Wave now, and avoiding my own team wouldn't fly quite so well.

"We might have started on a course that will destabilize the entire city," Sarah was saying when I dropped in. The Pelham living/dining room was a bit classier than backyard barbecue, but I still had to suppress laughter at the setting of our team meeting, especially with Vicky floating horizontally a couple centimeters over the couch - not a huge difference from the rest of the flyers, few of whom could consistently act like gravity could hold them, but even with my sympathies for the attitude, it came off just a little bit flippant, casual. Lady Photon immediately switched her attention to me, drifting over and putting her hands on my shoulders. The flight made up for the height gap. "Taylor, are you alright?"

I was just in jeans and a blouse, with my backpack slung over one shoulder, which put me at the same sartorial level as Victoria and Mark, but everyone else was in costume.

"Dad's okay. Lung didn't get near him." She nodded. Sarah Pelham's cape hangups had progressed past her trigger, and gotten snagged on Fleur's death. Family vulnerability was one of the only things that could get the fairly unshakeable New Wave team leader to go berserk. "Me? I'm… well, I found new depths to my power out of sheer desperation," Technically true, omitting the true source of the desperation and the nature of the depths, "and I removed one of my childhood boogeymen from the planet. Literally." The mania in my forced chuckle was entirely genuine. Knowing my capabilities and stretching them were still two separate acts. I didn't have to be a bit stunned, a bit nervous, and a bit vainglorious, but I liked the authenticity too much to drug it down. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop to discuss the repercussions." I really was sorry. My entire New Wave tenure would be a lot easier if I wasn't pretty sure full truth would be a disastrous policy. "What are we expecting?"

"I'd like to get an accurate picture of what happened, first," Carol said. It wasn't quite a suggestion, because the undertone said that it wasn't going away, but it was about as far as I'd heard her get from cross-examination. Very polite, almost understanding. Suitable for a friendly witness. I supposed she couldn't be hardline all the time and still be good at her job.

"My filters flagged an anonymous email for my attention this morning," I started off, counting on my fingers to keep pace. "I checked it between classes; it seemed to be somebody in the ABB reporting Lung was drunk, angry, and had mentioned my dad." All true, also all manufactured by the GCV to provide a cover. "I took off and picked up the 911 calls on the way there. He was almost Leviathan-sized by the time I got there. I guess he must have been expecting to fight me. And he was spitting fire at Dad's office." I stopped, held up my hand, and stared at it. "I needed to be able to affect it. Stop it. And then I could." I looked up, measuring the mood of the room. Undercurrents of skepticism and cross-referencing ran beneath rivers of concern. But the ignorance that the colonies smothered their hosts in was on my side. People, especially parahumans, took it for granted that other parahumans could accurately describe their powers, even when they were implausible. "I saw the world as so much larger than it seems. I saw beyond what I could understand, the underlaying levels of interactions at the subatomic levels." I was channeling myself for my quiet awe, remembering when I had first been handed the controls to Sufficient's staggering array of sensors, effectors, and more specialized tools. I had been given a revelation, a glimpse of the fundamental truth of the universe that I would have lived my entire life without ever becoming aware of.

It wasn't a very hard feeling to dredge up from memory. I still had to forcefully avoid being submerged in sheer awe sometimes when the Mind handed me raw feeds along with its analysis. It wasn't really something I could just dip my toe into - information cascaded into more information, added levels of complexity unfolded if I focused on them, and I could easily become lost in a recording of a single room for hours. I was amazed anyone in the Culture could ever pay attention to, well, anything.

"I realized I wasn't constrained to linking what I thought of as objects. I saw the nature of gravity as a fundamental interaction of the universe." I tried out a disarming grin, with hopefully the right amount of sheepishness without coming off as outright silly. "I really need to study more physics." Still true. I was mastering most of Earth's understanding, but Hyperspace and the higher dimensions were still tricky, and I wasn't even thinking about looking into the Sublime. Not yet, anyway.

"So… what happened?" Neil Pelham asked, after a few seconds of silence.

Oh. I'd forgotten the little factual details in my attempt to rouse the sheer awe-inspiring true nature of space-time.

"I was able to control gravity entirely at one point, then to concentrate it from a point to a singularity. It wasn't very stable, but it was enough to capture the fire in the gravitational field. I threw it up, to let it dissolve away from everyone. It shut down his attack safely."

"What happened after you nullified his fire?" Carol had recovered enough to keep me moving along.

"Well, we got to go face to face for a couple passes. He was hitting hard even with the strongest counterforce I could snag him in - I was localizing it to his arms by then, which took a lot more concentration." True, even this body couldn't take a full-force punch from ten meter tall Lung. "And then he erupted with a lot more fire in every direction, and I got desperate. The singularity trick didn't feel safe, especially when I had to redo it a dozen times faster, so I knew I had to end it before there was serious collateral damage."

"And that's when you…"

"When I threw him into space, yeah," I nodded. "Launched, really. I had to stay with him to keep the force high enough that he couldn't counter it - did you know he grows wings when he gets big enough? Grew, I guess. Moot point. So I stuck with him until the atmosphere was thin enough that I could provide that final guaranteed exit thrust, and then zoomed back down before the Simurgh could spot me. I think." I knew, but a little humility in the right spot was good for PR.

It threw off the pace of the conversation, too, so I was able to interject while Carol chewed it over. "What are we expecting for fallout?"

"Empire's probably going to make a move," Crystal suggested. "Othala and Victor have been big on street presence since you took Hookwolf down, and Kaiser's always been fond of grandstanding that makes him look powerful."

"Who's in charge of the ABB with Lung gone?" Eric added.

"Not Lee. I think the board talk is right - he's lost it, for whatever reason. When I saw him around Lung it was… less loyalty, more zombie." I could even attest that from normal human observation, no brain scanning required.

"So this 'Bakuda', then," Carol decided. My emotions flickered through sarcastic amusement at the utter lack of consideration that a non-parahuman might have taken over, then reluctant acknowledgement that it wasn't exactly surprising to assume someone with unique personal power would rise to the top of a criminal organization, then concern that my first response to my (adult) teammate's idea had been so snide. I was getting better at managing to stay present while using my lace and thinking at enhanced speeds, at least.

"Pushing a bomb-maker on the defensive sounds like a recipe for huge casualties, on both sides and a couple adjacent blocks," I suggested.

"We'll have to be ready to move at a moment's notice," Sarah agreed.

I drummed the tabletop with my fingers, thankfully not breaking it. The autonomic systems in my body were amazingly good at interpreting my (presumably, mostly) standard human nervous signals into precise levels of super-strength based on the situation, which spared me from hyper-consciousness of my own strength. It wasn't, in retrospect, all that different, or less invasive, than the buffers and hard locks that the modules put on their powers to keep their hosts from ripping themselves apart, the often-mislabeled "Manton Effect." But I trusted it a hell of a lot more to do what I wanted it to do, because it was Culturetech. And Culturetech didn't casually accept disabling huge chunks of the brain or throwing in disabling pain as a side effect or control mechanism. Being able to change the settings on my own mind-body interface was pretty reassuring too. "I was thinking about that. I mean, I have been since the first bomb. I'm not sure if reactive patrolling is going to be enough to handle the threat of that level of devastation."

"You come up with anything?" Vicky rolled back and adjusted her hover to standing just a few millimeters above the floor, with an eagerness to her grin that would have disturbed me if I was her target.

"There's a couple of ways we could go proactive on an E88-ABB war. Hunt down Bakuda, hunt down her suppliers, or…" I paused, summoned all my sense of drama and tried to pair it with decorum. "You're the only people I would even consider bringing this up with, but we don't have to play by their rules." I dug in my backpack, and pulled out the paper-packed manilla folder, tossed it onto the table. "I was contacted by somebody last week who said he was inspired by my own publicity to try and do something honest - he thought he knew someone who was an Empire cape, and he was willing to tell me a few minor details that might help us. I got an update from him just after the news broke the Lung story. I guess he thinks I can really do what I said I'd do. This is his best guess on Kaiser's real identity."

"Contacted by 'somebody'?" Carol jumped on the unexplained detail, as expected.

"Somebody at Kaiser's probable workplace. I didn't say where in case you decide not to use it." I kept my voice free of judgement about that option. I needed a little Calm to do so. It's not as obvious to them, they only have normal information and judgment. They have an investment in the current cape system, you need to convince them and to convince them you need to seem neutral.

"And this somebody was willing to expose Kaiser and put himself in God knows how much danger, because you went public." Her skepticism wasn't overwhelming, but it was evident.

"He admitted he's been running from a guilty conscience for a while. I just gave him an excuse." Mainly, I gave him a call on his implant and said, Set up the paper trail for the Empire exposé, to which he'd responded, Burning bridges now, Director. But in Marain.

"Do you think he's providing accurate information?" Sarah asked, pulling out of a rapid series of whispers with Neil to focus on me.

"The timing of Kaiser's alias's absences checks out. I haven't had a chance to go full cui bono on the financial forms my source provided, and tracking where everything really ended up probably needs a warrant. I'm still learning financial law," I shrugged, again truthfully (honestly, that was one area where the GCV hadn't pushed me to learn - "largely non-functional transitional field" had been its dismissive summary of all Earth economics, in fact).

Vicky snorted and gave me a half-envious, half-pitying glance. "Just mastering another field, bee arr bee."

"I have to do something while everyone else is sleeping," I shrugged, and looked a little weird correcting my impulse to hunch in on myself at overclocked speeds.

"So - we could go after Kaiser where he works. Where he lives?" Carol asked, glancing from the folder to me.

"Yeah. And speculation on three other heavily associated people that might be Empire capes. If we go after this, seriously investigate, I think we have good odds of uncovering all of them." A hundred percent was 'good odds'. I had the informants, coincidences, evidence, and fall guys all lined up.

The adults exchanged glances, while the younger member' expressions reflected varying degrees of secret knowledge. Crystal and Eric's pensive caution betrayed a familiarity that yeah, this level of crossing the unspoken boundaries wasn't unprecedented for New Wave/the Brockton Bay Brigade. Victoria's flickering gaze suggested curiosity without certainty, and Amy's cold glare at the back of Carol's head - actually, that was probably just normal Amy. Marquis was obviously heavy on the minds of everyone who knew about him.

"There could be drastic repercussions even if we were completely successful," Sarah said, drawing the sentence forth, deliberately selecting each word.

"If we fail, definitely. But what if we succeed? Give the PRT a fait accompli and they won't complain too hard about the 'unwritten rules.' The media and popular opinion won't let them, especially if we can bring our narrative and agenda to public attention. And then who's left to cause repercussions?"

"The ABB?" Eric suggested. "That might be tipping the balance of power too far back in their favor."

"Maybe," I acknowledged. "They've always been a one man army, though. Bakuda's got power, or the potential for it, but she needs a lot more infrastructure than Lung did in order to be an aggressive threat."

"It could turn the independents against us. Faultline, Uber and Leet, and I wouldn't rule out some of the more violent so-called heroes like Erebus or Rattler." Carol's tone was cold, her lips drawn and eyebrows sharp. Vicky managed to not look guilty; it'd been nearly a month since she'd almost-crippled anyone, at least.

And she probably felt justified, had plenty of self-definition to separate her from the short-lived violent vigilantes currently active in Brockton Bay. I couldn't say she was entirely wrong to do so; she didn't have the same intent as them - Erebus made criminals (people) disappear, and US Rattler left their remains in front of their gangs as intentional acts of violence; Glory Girl just didn't have perfect control over her powers and aggressive impulses. It was definitely different, if not necessarily "better".

"I agree it's possible, but I don't think it's likely," I argued. It was a moot point, of course. I had even more per capita planning for the independents than the teams of Brockton Bay, mostly due to their eclectic motivations. It boiled down to pretty simple responses when you had total knowledge of someone's behaviors and frankly, better than magic genie abilities to fulfill their wishes. I had a list somewhere in my personal mental files - it boiled down to:

• Faultline's Crew: continue bribery, provide Cauldron hints, finish Gregor's personal research, lay groundwork for Elle psychotherapy.

• Uber and Leet: exclusive Earth-Bet ports of Culture video games, bribery in the form of.

• Erebus: provide a house in Newton, MA, and enrollment at MIT for son.

• Everyone else: sorry, the numbers say that if you cause problems, you're better off getting arrested.

"I think we might be getting too far ahead?" Crystal suggested. She had a straight face, a pure necessity when you worked maskless, but my monitors caught the crack in her voice and her elevated heart rate. And I didn't imagine her family was missing that either. "You're assuming we can use some identities to take down the entire Empire without some of them escaping, warning the others, or taking us down."

I forced my face to calm, manually checked myself, kept my smile down. I needed to convey confidence. Not megalomania. They didn't know how powerful I really was, how powerful the ship was.

Not yet.

"Hope for the best," I started, and dug out the second folder. "Plan for the worst. Known hangouts, safe houses, and sympathizers. The kind of retreats they'd use when burned."

"Where are you getting this?" Carol was suspicious, although her tone tried to cover it in curiosity. I couldn't deny she had a right to be both. I had been "cheating", using knowledge and resources beyond what I could reasonably possess without, well, extraterrestrial backing. And in retrospect, I hadn't always had the best excuses. It would have been easier if the Sufficiently Advanced Technology had been willing to tell me what to say. It would have been easy, period, because what Mind couldn't run a civilizational infiltrate-and-uplift without coming off standby mode? But I had to rely on a (admittedly, boosted) teenager's creativity and foresight, so yes, in hindsight there were a lot of flaws in my explanations, visible even to an outside eye.

But I was going to defend the second folder from Carol because this was my work. The work of a thought-accelerated Culture-trained bio-droid, built off the SC-obtained real identities, sure, but every observation and hypothesis in the folder was my own, put together with evidence seen with my own eyes and heard with my own ears (and catalogued with my own neural lace).

"I watch things at night instead of sleeping. It helps that the Empire keeps a thick line between their legal and criminal activities. Or between what's tacitly accepted and over the line for public opinion, anyway. It boils down to keeping their more menacing acts in the shadows. Which aren't enough to keep them hidden from me." I left unsaid that I didn't stop following a murderer just because he took his mask off. The whole attack plan kind of suggested my opinion of villainous secret identities, adding more could just make me seem overzealous, turn them off.

"Leave some work for the rest of us, maybe," Victoria said, scoping out the folder from over her mom's shoulder. It was pretty obvious she wanted to flip it open and get started.

"You know I wouldn't leave you out," I said in mock hurt. "I don't think I could do this alone." True. "And I'm not going to try to run the team." Also true. Bigger things to run. "But I got that itch to be doing something, be working on the problem. So…"

"So obviously nobody should leave you alone when you're thinking about Endbringers," she snarked. I laughed. I didn't really think about them, though. Better Minds were on the problem.

"How soon will this information be outdated?" Carol asked, interrupting our back-and-forth.

"The identities won't change, but the source is more likely to be outed if we wait. Not to mention the Empire's odds of starting a war with the ABB."

"I want everyone to consider this," Lady Photon decided, looking around the dining room and meeting everyone's eyes. "We'll decide tomorrow, and if we're going to do it, we'll start then."

I left my arguments there, accepted a bit more personal concern over my stress levels, my dad and his safety, the little touches of teamwork that were intellectually minor but had very disproportionate value to me, just to be reminded somebody knew and cared about my life. It wasn't back to being a normal feeling yet, for all that I could tell Sufficient was trying.

Flying home was quiet. I could tell Isk-Berniav had an opinion, but she wasn't going to push it on me, judging by the way she was motionless in my backpack with a feed to the ship net. She at least knew the whole truth of what I wanted to unleash. New Wave's adults probably had some idea what my idealism might lead to, but they didn't have a clue about the scope.

Unmasking the Empire would just be the beginning.

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Noobsauce

Oct 11, 2017

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Already I am writing in trash can all of the time

Nov 5, 2017

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#1,125

3.4

Taylor Hebert Mission Log, 2011-01-26, 14:35:19, -05:00

Brockton Bay Time: Wednesday, 2:35 PM

Shipboard Time: 00:19:33 [26 hour cycle]

I stared intently, trying to isolate the exact moment, but I still couldn't get my mind up to speed enough to catch the actual micro-wormhole transition. I saw silver-grey, and reality changed.

"Good morning, Sufficient," I said, kicking off the hull and hovering aside. The ship never displaced me into anyone's path, but I still felt like I had to move away, like I was getting off a bus.

The lighting of the ship's open hull and its entire envelope emerged from hundreds of different sources (at least, this time) along the open deck, creating a pattern of long shadows from the furniture, sculptures, blisters, and even more mysterious things on its deck, changing as light sources switched on and off. The long-term trend was towards fewer shadows, but the shifting was a gradual process, and the whole performance art project probably wouldn't be done for another hour.

So, your typical morning on a GCV, if it had decided to indulge in day/night cycles.

"Good morning, Taylor." For a change, the ship's voice didn't come from the air right beside me, and I spun to see the ship's avatar walking up a shallow bridge over a lily-filled pond. It was wearing something between a tunic and a sportscoat (maybe a broad-shouldered qipao?), and its bare feet had arched toes longer than (my kind of) human, and widely-splayed enough to seem almost frog-like. No, bird-like was better. Sufficient's avatar was panhuman, but if I was going to give it metaphorical qualities, I would call it owlish. Wise, with a faint aura of menace.

"Is it a special occasion? I haven't seen you in person for…"

"Six days by objective measuring. Seven hundred and nineteen hours of your subjective processing time."

I ran the numbers. "Wait, that - I'm living five times faster than reality?"

"Averaged out. You are experiencing closer to seven times more than the waking life of an average homo sapiens. But reality is… often a relative term." The avatar smiled. "Perhaps not that relative. The necessity of a physical body for continued existence does make the baseline universe rather unique compared to all simulations and constructed realities."

"Thanks," I offered with only mild sarcasm. "That was very helpful. Why are you here?"

"I like seeing you. Do I need another reason to speak with a friend?" The avatar's wide eyes held nothing but polite concern, the same as its stance.

"You do. You're a Mind. No offense."

"None taken. But a Mind can have non-mission interests, including people." They started walking along the bridge, inclining their head slightly. I followed at a casual float.

I dropped it. I didn't really want to narrow down Sufficient's interest. It could only add to my creeping cynicism, so why not leave it mysterious and special? "So how's the, uh…" I wiggled a hand, unsure how to describe the latest work the ship had informed me of.

"Experimentation-slash-evesdropping-slash-interrogation?" Naturally, they got the entire phrase out in a single exhalation. "Useful. Nothing actionable yet, but the metadata is already starting to shape my iterative approaches."

"This-" I bit down my question. But they had to know what I was going to ask, which meant I might as well ask, so- "I have concerns," I said, feeling stupid the second I got it out.

"What about?" The avatar asked, ignoring my idiocy (as usual).

"When you recruited me, when we planned our approach, you stressed not messing with the colony organisms during the quiet phase. A lot. But you're basically dissecting Coil's module now. Aren't we going loud by doing that? Or worse, risking it without being sure?"

"I would like to offer a counter-question, Taylor. Are you worried I wouldn't tell you?"

I stopped in midair. I still couldn't handle that, the way they could dance around an issue like I had no reason to approach it, then suddenly bluntly state the idea I wasn't ready to say. But I had to find an answer, and it was - "Yes. I don't see any reason why you would keep me fully aware of what you're doing, and tons of reasons to let me be ignorant."

The avatar's expression, always somewhere between amused, attentive, and concerned, shifted sharply for the latter, with hints of sadness and empathy. "I don't want you to feel like a puppet, Taylor." They raised a hand, one and a half webbed fingers raised in polite interruption, before I had my mouth half-open. "Not least because you are not a puppet." They pivoted and walked backwards exactly as quickly and nimbly as they'd been walking forwards. I drifted after. "You are the true motive force and guiding mind behind Special Circumstances operations on Earth-Bet, as I said you would be."

"Yeah. I mean-" I rolled up from a floating lounge to a standing hover, and crossed my arms, rubbing my elbow uncomfortably. "I know. But I also know you could convince me of anything. What- how- I can't just… believe. I'm sorry. It's not in me."

"I neither need or want your belief, Taylor. Culture Minds aren't gods, whatever some Abominator-classes think of themselves. All I can hope for is your trust, as a friend, that I am providing you with every single piece of information that I believe to be relevant and that I think you are capable of processing."

"That." I jabbed a finger into the air, felt rude, pulled it back. Then stuck it out again. "That point, what I'm capable of. It's so - so small! I'm not enough for this. I spend all my spare time cramming a lifetime - a dozen lifetimes - of study into my head, which is basically limitless at this point, and it's not enough. You know I'm not - not sufficient." I only cringed a little at the pun.

The ship's avatar didn't react to it at all. "Are you concerned about my veracity or about your capability, Taylor? I can expand the latter, but it very much requires me to put you further under my power to do so."

I laughed, but there wasn't much in it. "I'm already a, a semi-Stored brain remote waldoing a gynoid body at superhuman speeds. I don't - don't have any way to tell if I'm even real any more, Sufficient." They raised an eyebrow. "I know, I know, we went over this, but - but even if I accept you can't model the whole universe properly, what am I supposed to do? Call CERN and say 'Salut, je suis un adolescent américain. Pouvez-vous prendre des mesures quantiques pour moi?' I don't have the resources to tell if you are puppeting me." I was trembling. More importantly, my effector fields were trembling, doing all sorts of ugly things to gravity at my fingertips.

I looked up at the touch on my wrist. The avatar's arm was reaching through those ugly things, unaffected. It took my hand and pulled me down, touching my boots to the deck. Then it stepped closer, and hugged me. Its skin was smooth but not quite soft, and smelled a little like sanded wood. The silvery-grey hair hanging over my shoulder felt like wires, only finer. Not quite abrasive, but still… strange. "You have the resources you need to trust me. If you wish to." They stepped back, and I straightened, realizing how much I'd leaned on them. "I won't press you. The offer is still open to pass Special Circumstances efforts to me entirely, if you desire. You could even step away from the Culture, be a superhero and nothing more."

I returned the hug. It was light and uncomplicated and desperate. "Sufficient… I trust you. But I need to know what you're doing. Whatever that takes, I'll do it." I let go. I didn't really want to, but I had to have some kind of distance. I had to show I was ready, if nothing else. And I thought if I didn't let go now, I wouldn't be able to step back without being asked by the avatar my surrogate space-mom. (Be honest with yourself, Taylor.)

"I'll start the process. It may be a week until you're prepared for significant changes."

"I - really? That seems… long."

They laughed. "Taylor, sleeving an agent in a new avatar is usually a process of several weeks. The human mind operates directly off the human body, and we don't like making sharp changes to one because it will affect the other. You're lucky you have me, for the sake of your impatience. I'm quite impatient myself, when it comes to Mind-level schedules."

"Okay." I gathered myself, pushed off the ground and drifted on. "What can you tell me about? That I don't know, I mean."

"Based on Coil's shard, three to eight weeks to develop isolated point-to-point communication with colony modules. Quaternary power core is under testing, but I've built another three effector blisters for it, primarily for the aesthetic. You have nine hundred and thirteen suggestions from my crew in your inbox; one hundred and seven have interesting if not viable viewpoints; thirty three have actionable plans." They paused. "These are not things I would have kept from you, predominately. There are several other relevant issues, but I'd suggest you speak to the relevant experts. There is your pending action notification…" A screen popped up in my view, appropriately labeled. I stared at the frozen viewpoint, the perfect fidelity of the Pelham kitchen reminding me that oh yeah, I was constantly spying on my so-called friends.

I tapped it anyway.

"New Wave is a dream, Carol. Sometimes we have to give up dreams, especially when they're over-ambitious. Accountability from heroes isn't the world's greatest need right now, and don't even start about exposing villains. We can't do this."

"We can't let it keep happening!" Carol Dallon stalked back across the tile, on the other side of the kitchenette island, and glared at Sarah. "If we're afraid to take down villains - criminals - then why are we out there?"

"Don't pretend that's the same. You're talking about assaulting people in their homes and offices. The world will be watching, and that kind of escalation won't be ignored! I don't like people committing robbery and murder any more than you do, but you know damn well we are outnumbered and outgunned, and putting pressure on the villains won't end well for everyone else."

"It doesn't have to. If we do a clean sweep - stop, Sarah, listen to me. This is good work." Brandish swept the dossier off the kitchen table and waved it at her sister. "It's very thorough. It's better than some cases I've received from discovery in an active trial."

"You still think she's getting outside help?"

I clicked my tongue. "Tsch."

"You knew they would expect this, Taylor."

"Ship, being discounted because I'm a teenager doesn't actually get any easier with repetition. I put Lung in orbit, what else do I have to do to be taken seriously?"

"Power and maturity do not have a causal relationship."

"Hrmph."

"Maybe. I don't think she's intentionally trying to manipulate us, but I find it hard to believe she did this all on her own. I think someone else is nudging Orbital, at least."

I didn't growl. My reaction was a very restrained and mature biting of my lip.

Carol tossed the folder back down, a couple pages slipping partially loose. "I don't think it matters. There's nothing obviously false, all of the links and identities stand up to scrutiny."

"Carol. You looked?"

"Of course I looked! I'm not a teenager, Sarah. I am capable of knowing something without immediately acting upon it. Knowing what I have and what part of it I can use is my career. Both of my careers!"

Lady Photon stood still. The kind of standing still that broadcast very obviously that she was holding herself back from moving. "Did you learn something worth jeopardizing both of those careers? Some reason the rules we all accepted after Genevieve no longer apply? Just because we can take down the Empire doesn't mean it will improve our situation." Each sentence was firmly pronounced.

I didn't have siblings, but I didn't need that experience to understand just how pissed Sarah Pelham was at her sister. (I had done that. I had created this conflict.)

"It's strongest as a case against inaction. We will not remove, or neutralize, or even mitigate the Empire playing 'cops and robbers.' The people they're connected to, the people they are - the connected names in here, the funding and semi-legal support - these are big names. Huge. There might be one old family in Brockton Bay that has never contributed to these bigots. One. Maybe. Well, not the Stansfields, at least not directly."

"How does that make removing them any better of an idea? I can't imagine their supporters will just fade into the shadows, unless you're proposing we go after half the city's infrastructure as well? We took down Marquis and we removed the Marche entirely! Is the city any better for it, Carol? Did we achieve any lasting results, besides boosting our own egos, until 'New Wave' got Franklin's fiancée killed, and forced our children out in front of the media for the rest of their lives?"

I paused the playback. I closed my eyes. "Would they have had this argument without me?"

I wasn't expecting an answer, but I received one. "No." I opened my eyes. The ship's avatar held an expression slightly more instructive than curious, and raised a hand to counterweight the sinking feeling in my gut. "Without your interference, the odds would be significantly in favor of one or more members dying in an Endbringer attack without having a chance to bring up their feelings about Marquis and the New Wave movement."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" It did. It shouldn't help, so I complained as if it didn't, but it genuinely did ease my turmoil.

The avatar shrugged. "The outcomes of our actions do not care how they make us feel."

I resumed playback.

"Marquis needed to be stopped, Sarah." The repeated use of names didn't sound like closeness, like family. Or maybe they did. Maybe mine wasn't the only family that could pack up our sadness and frustration and bundle them into the names of our loved ones, wrapped around old arguments and unfinished fights. "If Brockton Bay is worse off now than it was with him active, it's not for lack of trying."

"We started a war!"

"We prevented worse!" Brandish seemed on the verge of summoning her weapon, or at least her shield. Lady Photon hadn't moved toward her, maintained the same rigid body language on the other side of the kitchen, but it was still obvious who was on the defensive. "Marquis's danger wasn't his power, it was his legitimacy! People obeyed him," she spat, not quite literally. "Because he could hide what he really was behind a thin mask of 'fairness' and 'chivalry'. Because he had 'Robert Lavere' to mask himself with, and to make people think he wasn't a monster. Just like Kaiser is doing."

"You won't restore faith in the government by assaulting people in their homes, Carol." Lady Photon suddenly sounded tired, exhausted but unable to stop. Overwhelmed by momentum.

"We're legal. This would be legal. Orbital even cited the appropriate laws on parahuman citizen's arrest. She's enthusiastic." Brandish tapped the dossier several times.

"That entire folder is prior knowledge of crimes that we should give to the Protectorate. They might not charge us if we pulled it off, but they wouldn't be happy. And it's their business to handle. We said we would stay out of their homes!"

"We were wrong!" She no longer looked ready to call on her power, but Brandish hadn't surrendered any of her emotional intensity. "Step by step, the government, the law is losing. The villains are starting to not just break the law, but to put themselves forward as an alternative to it!"

"This isn't the way to stand up to them, Carol! Attacking their homes, escalating, it's just playing their games!"

"I will not leave my daughters in a dying nation ruled by feudal bigots!"

There was a silence almost long enough for me to jump ahead in the recording.

"I want to talk to Orbital again before we decide anything. And the entire team. But I'm still team leader, Brandish," Lady Photon said, emphasizing her use of her sister's alias.

"I never meant to challenge that, Sarah." Carol's response was suitably conciliatory, but there was still a nettle of intent in her throat. "It's your decision, and I'll back you up no matter what you decide."

"They're going to say no." I didn't ask if they would. Too high of a chance the GCV wouldn't say.

"It's still possible to go either way. It is probable they will decline. You have other options than words if you wish to change their minds." The timetable, map, and surveillance popped up in my view. I wanted to throw them away, but I looked. They were going to say no, I had to consider it at least. I'd told New Wave that the informant's life was in danger if the Empire found out about him. I hadn't told them he'd 'screw up' and let them find out if I ordered him to. Or that we had an entire projection of the Empire's response, and plans to turn it to our PR advantage.

"He's one of ours, so he's backed up, right? Keejey Shochung." The Empire informant was a balding mid-40s white man named Kent Hunter, and he hadn't existed four years ago. The mind inside the body was much older.

"That is correct."

"Would he… feel it?" One particular entry on the timetable kept pulling my eyes. +19 Hours: Public Execution of Informant - expected participants Krieg, Victor, Cricket.

"He would probably choose not to retain those memories."

I let that stew. It didn't get any more appetizing. "I'd still be killing him."

The avatar didn't let me stew in that. "You would not. You are not responsible for the Empire's actions even if you know what they are going to be."

"It's my order. I'd still be getting him killed."

Sufficient's avatar held my gaze. "Yes. Accept that responsibility and weigh whether you can accept it. But do not take up the fault of others. A Mind is not a god. Even the combined processing power of the Culture isn't divinity. The minds of others and their decisions are their own."

I nodded. "I think I can process that." I gave the entire Operation Martyrdom display spread another hard look, then waved my hand through the UI and dissolved it. "No. Not yet, anyway. Hold off on anything until I talk to New Wave. And - can you find something else to distract me?"

"Acknowledged."

My view snapped out in a displacement bubble, but my head couldn't manage the same clarity of change.

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Dec 25, 2017

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#1,154

3.5

The fade of the displacement shield made me wonder for a half-second why Sufficient had bothered displacing me from its own exterior to interior. But then my (nervous, paranoid, operative) habits took over, cataloguing and comparing all the irregularities and peculiarities of my environment. Slight variance in construction (fundamentally similar but slightly more refined materials), appearance (slightly older guideline patterns on the wall), and form (millimeter differences in height and width).

The snap-displacement of a flat-topped pyramidal drone about as long as my arm into the corridor just a few meters away was another evidence point, especially given the exceptionally massive continuous transmission rates to and from the drone, and its complete lack of a signal aura.

This was a ship drone, a manual avatar, and the identification of my new host and surroundings as the Limited Offensive Unit Considering the Consequences squirted to my neural lace just in time to hammer that home.

Along with an organizational chart I hadn't seen before.

General Contact Vehicle Sufficiently Advanced Technology

Spatial Enigma Task Force

Limited Offensive Unit Considering the Consequences

Limited Offensive Unit Necessity's Stepchild

Limited Offensive Unit The Least Offense

Rapid Offensive Unit Excuse The Preceding Unpleasantness

Anomalous Hegemonizing Swarm Object Investigatory Committee

[Demilitarized]Rapid Offensive Unit Bully Pulpit

Very Fast Picket It Doesn't Bend That Way

Click to shrink...

I thought I was handling it well, but it was still offputting when the pyramid spun like a ghostly frisbee and zipped down the corridor, accompanied by a small line of text squirted direct to my UI.

so your its new pet projekt. huh. woulda expected u earlier or later.

I squinted for a moment and blinked, despite "seeing" the message in a way that left it visible on the insides of my eyelids. Was it even possible for anyone to be that bad at Marain? Were those compression artifacts causing spelling errors? How did you even do that with a lossless transmission?

I started on my response, but the follow-ups were already pinging. I could barely pick out individual lines.

rhubarb rhubarb rhubarb

it goes thru these fascinations u no

youv got a couple decades to centuries of it being interested in bios

then its off and obsessed with nebulaic protostar-eaters or radio frequency sentience

The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog

remind u of anyone

see u around or more likely ur desendants if it remembers u existed next milennia

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet

And on, and on. I cranked up my processing speed. Then again. Sufficient had been almost comically patient with me, if this was how fast Minds normally communicated. How could it even stand the plodding existence of bios and slow drones?

"That's enough." I wasn't speaking, wasn't even subvocalizing, but the devices and processes that let me get my mind (my remote, my emulation, my thing-that-is-Taylor) up to this speed associated communication with speech, and it became words in my memory, even though the entire conversation happened before I could've said one syllable. "And please drop the act."

i dont have to listen to you.

The wasted time as I let that statement proverbially echo was nothing objectively, but it felt very, very prolonged. I was reminded of the last work party Dad had dragged me to, more than a lifetime ago, and trying to talk to someone's five year old, feeling oh-so-mature at thirteen.

"Of course not. You're a Mind. You also don't have to act like a child, but I guess nobody can make you stop."

damn right.

"I mean, I could tell other Minds you're exceptionally childish. They wouldn't just take one bio's word for it, of course. Right?" I didn't even believe what I was implying. Agreeing with a human, guiding us, even deriving companionship or a spark of inspiration, sure, a Mind could do all those. But it would take very special circumstances to treat one as worth arguing with, especially if the Mind wasn't very well inclined towards you to begin with. But what else did I have but bluffing?

The return delay felt just as thrilling as my own stunned confusion had been irritating; it wasn't every day you got to threaten a Mind and have it actually consider your threat for more than a few picoseconds. But both were tainted with a sort of sickly sweetness, a feeling I'd thought I'd banished, an uncertainty that came with having no clue what was going to be said next but being certain it would be bad.

I'd thought I'd mastered the flow of social interaction, but really I'd just forced it, made myself too big to be hurt on the local scale, thinking that was it until I was suddenly dragged up into the big time. Forced to confront the fact that everything out there was perfect, that not every Mind was going to be my mentor (mother substitute). That if I pissed them off or they just didn't like me, a Mind could make the Trio look - well, exactly like they were, a bunch of unimportant, unimaginative tiny primitives.

Ho-hum. Well, I suppose there may be a reason or two Itself thought you were prepared for this level of involvement.

I probably should have accepted that answer and tried to move forward with what I had. But comparing the Mind to the Trio had my lizard mind angry. And I had changed. I'd made promises I was going to keep, and the first one I'd made to myself was "no more running." I'd thought when I made it that I had power now, real power, but even with the rude reminder that power is relative, I didn't want to break that promise.

"Okay. That's grudging tolerance, I guess. That's not enough. Sufficiently Advanced Technology sent me to learn about our work, so I need you to take me seriously." I couldn't cross my arms, but I could convey that I was thinking it with a couple second-order patterns in my massive grid of Marain transmission. It hadn't really surprised me to realize that in the Culture, even the language was a game, with scaling mastery of both writing and geometry allowing more sophisticated jokes, wit, and sarcasm buried within successive layers of observing a statement.

That's a rather significant need.

I could feel the physiological response to the dismissal and implied mockery, the crawling heat and shame, and I thought, at least I don't flinch any more.

No. No, wait. I turned the thought over. I couldn't flinch, I couldn't cringe, I couldn't feel heated and humiliated, because the entire conversation was happening between the breaths I didn't need to take.

Sufficient had told me human minds were linked to human bodies. My newborn's grasp of Neurobiology 101 agreed. But I wasn't in a human body, hadn't been for weeks, subjective months. Was I still "human?"

More importantly, did I care?

I was still me. I was still Taylor Hebert. I still had my father, my friends, terrestrial and extra-, my willpower, my determination.

And I wasn't going to do this again. I wanted to fall into old patterns and step back, avoid conflict, and hide. I wanted to call for my One Good Adult Mind to come help me.

But… I could follow through on my bluff. Maybe I couldn't believe I was special, but I could believe the results - the Considering the Consequences did (or it was setting up a large-scale mockery or it was pretending to avoid upsetting Sufficient, or it had its own aims and was amused by my affrontry…).

"Grow up. Do you even-" I started a rebuttal, felt lost. Remembered I was only as lost as I wanted to be. I snapped off an inquiry through my lace to Sufficient's data net, and received a comment-free reply. "Ah. You don't have anyone to talk to. And you haven't had a crew for a while, have you?"

I've yet to find a use for bios that knife missiles can't fill.

"You mean they don't talk back," I concluded. Or was I suggesting? I flickered a tendril of attention to review the M2 social codes. It seemed the default in this case was a statement. I'd have to add a couple patterns if I wanted to make it more subtle… and maybe I didn't want to.

An overrated value. Organic contributions might be in vogue, but we're on the front lines here. I don't have time to indulge in frivolity.

I rolled that one around and considered the statement. It was Marain, obviously, yet… there was some part of it that felt indefinably British. I shot off an idle data query to Sufficient, received another comment-free response.

"You were born here."

I'll thank you not to be rude and use meat terms for a perfectly normal construction process. It was in orbit of Titan, besides.

"You're younger than me."

By experiential time, I'm two hundred and fifty eight.

"Don't give me that. Solipsistic existence at high speed entirely inside your own mind is just going to drive you more nuts. You're eight years old."

Eight and a Mind. Do you have a point?

It was hard to describe exactly how we were communicating at that point, especially in languages lacking precise verbs and adjectives for direct mind links. In some ways, it was just like typing into a chat room, all of our concept sorted into distinct words and transmissions of written Marain (not that it was simple - we were far beyond the basic 3x3 grid, each character encoding additional information, each sentence holding new patterns, the language of poets and engineers).

In another way, even that was too formal of a description. My mind was connected to the Mind, and I could just see enough of it to recognize the borders of the Mind's own ego, like a glacier, an avalanche poised to fall on me but held back, restrained from dissolving me into it, even when it surged closer with every argument and counterpoint.

How could Culture citizens stand to be so close and so dependent on something so much larger than them, so massive, but so intricate and sophisticated?

Maybe the zeitgeist of Minds-as-gods wasn't entirely a projection onto the Culture by outsiders.

And yet. I still had the fragment of an idea clutched tight, a rhetorical approach that terrified me with its implications, but I couldn't let it go.

"My point is, I want to talk to you as one Sol-native product of the Culture, of Sufficient, to another."

Do you really expect me to acknowledge you as an equal?

That was a good question. Did I think I deserved to be a Mind's equal? Did I think it would act like that? Did I have some delusion that Sufficient wasn't just humoring me, devoting an infinitesimal fragment of its genius to soothing my pathetic ego?

It didn't matter. The answer wasn't exactly "yes," anyway.

"I need you to work with me. I don't really care how you treat me if we can make an arrangement." It felt… I don't know, kind of dirty to say that? Because I knew those were basically the terms I'd imposed on Sophia. 'Suck it up and get to work'. Which wasn't the worst bargain in the world, but she was this close to psychopathy, while my 'flaw' was just being made of meat (mostly. Partly?). But I didn't care. It wasn't like unfair and degrading treatment was anything new. And I still didn't know if this rude, obnoxious machine would agree. I decided to play another card. "Whatever it takes to get Sufficient's plans done, right?"

Either the Mind was capable of thinking even faster, just staying at this level to let me struggle to catch up, or it really didn't consider the consequences at all. It answered immediately.

Fine.

I could just barely see the start of the displacement bubble around me, and I almost dropped my processing speed to something more in sync with my physical speed - before the data squirt hit me, forcing me to stay accelerated just to process it quickly enough to avoid neural shock.

It was a lot. I had a global, national, city, and palace map before I even saw the world I was on, along with three dossiers on the target, from the PRT (small, half-wrong), Cauldron (a little larger, a quarter wrong), and Special Circumstances (immense, overloaded with information in some circumstances, with numerous logical leaps and Marain linguistic linkages that I never would have thought of and that took me relative minutes to process). By the time I saw Sinead Jordan, aka Goddess, Queen Ilāhah, Blue Radiance, I already knew everything it was possible to know about the planetary ruler of Earth-Shin from direct observation, rumor analysis, destroyed record archaeology, and Constructive Historical Integrative Analysis (the Mind-level guessing covered the largest area, and had the most citations in other reports).

She had links to at least three different colony modules, a stack of powers each good enough to merit control of her worldwide organization, the legitimate loyalty of over fifty class-A capes, and ten years of experience as dictator of the world.

Needless to say, I had concerns.

"The PRT knows about this world. Cauldron has her flagged as a potential asset and threat. This sounds a lot like going loud. Please tell me you're living up to your name."

Size and philosophy are the two strongest influences on the predictability of an organization. Your PRT is immense and bureaucratic; your Cauldron is insular and the very definitional exemplar of sunk costs. By contrast, "the Cadre" of this Earth is aggressive, power-hungry, and filled with delusional individuals possessed of particularly chaotic delusions. In short, the potential havoc they might wreak when we go loud is worth removing in exchange for the busywork required of our coverts to clean up what you leave behind. Not that you'll have to deal with it, out of your jurisdiction.

"Blowback is a thing that exists," I sent, already moving at Goddess, leading with my left elbow. Vox Deus was the first to react, and he opened his mouth along with his power, his shouted "Halt!" becoming a massive vibrational cone that I was just on the leading edge of. It clipped my right leg, and I watched my internal meters show the structural damage - minor function impedance in ankle, 7% loss of force from calf. Repairs began automatically. "And Cauldron is always my business. I don't care if they're hiding on another Earth. They've screwed up mine more than enough."

We do need our niche protection, don't we? Where would Special Circumstances be if every ape, lizard, and bloatsac started thinking they could run their own little lives?

I thought I was starting to understand the Considering the Consequences. And to dislike it. How could a massive, superior intelligence be so pointlessly, pettily contrarian, all the damn time?

The ripples of Vox Deus's shout were just reaching the wall of the command center behind me, and I directed Isk-Berniav to expand the damage, while knife missile number one was assigned the task of preventing a second shout, via high-velocity impact to the cape's abdominals. Knife missile number two jumped to the task of handling Isengrim, Blighteyes, and Coal-Burner.

Her eyes boring in on me, Sinead was speeding up, moving faster than human, density increasing, gravitational shadow spiking beyond her apparent mass.

"That's interesting. And alarming."

A little. But it's probably adapting to your 'demonstrated' abilities from the 6.7 seconds you've been in the room, rather than accumulating knowledge from other colony modules that have encountered you.

"Probably. That's a little less than reassuring to me right now." I was closing on her, Sinead's growing acceleration still not enough to evade my full speed. 1.1 meters, 0.935 meters, 0.84 meters. "It's not consistent with how we thought the 'Trump' modules work, either. It should be reaching for my module and attempting to adapt to it."

And instead it seems to have modeled what it expects you to have and reacted to that. Figure that out.

0.33 meters, and Sinead had increased density by a factor of ten. I could see how the Considering the Consequences was the result of Sufficiently Advanced Technology's creation and education, that attitude of 'you'll have to get your own answers' seemed fairly rare for a Culture Mind. Although they had considerable differences in presentation. "It's dumb, but insanely capable. It performed a massively complex task of assuming my powers based on gravitational fluctuations and then adapting to them, instead of just pinging my module, getting an error, and calling for a troubleshooter. Are the modules even sentient? Or is that the wrong question?"

Warmer.

Sinead was shifting course, but it was much too late for a counter assault; she was still just decreasing her acceleration the wrong way when I hit. "Ass. Fine. If you need to feel better by smugly grading my guesses, I can work with that. The modules have some sort of independent thinking, they're not linked strongly enough to be real subprocesses or networked thinking on Scion's part. But they're incredibly incurious about anything outside of their scope. The closest analogue I can think of is computer science we don't even use on Earth-Bet - non-anthropomorphic artificial intelligence. They've been trained to do these very specific things, and they're incredibly good at those things."

Our impact was closer to construction equipment than people. Nearly a hundred thousand Newtons of impact bled off on both ends, her modules dumping most of it through the "dimensions" her excess mass was coming from, my fields converting the kinetic energy into light, sound, and gravitational waves. The shockwave took down the walls Vox Deus and Isk-Berniav hadn't already shredded, the knife missiles briefly glinted silvery-chrome again after dropping their shiny field polish for battle mode, as everything went into EM-band fields pulled tight to their hulls. The massive flashbang I'd released, at the upper end of human survivability, hit the four members of Sinead's entourage. She and Isengrin were least affected; her last-moment telekinetic dampening and adjustment to my "power" retained most of her senses, and her brutish lieutenant's redundant anatomy swapped out undamaged organs from another Earth.

Suppositions supported. So far.

"I don't see where it changes anything," I decided. I caught the furred ruff on her costume as I passed, converting the other parts of the collision to more speed and force, taking us both through the disintegrating wall ahead of the collapsing ceiling. "If what we're guessing is right, they're still the essentially single-purpose organs they appear to be, with their guiding minds explicitly uninterested in anything outside their domain. If anything, our job is a fraction easier, because this is more evidence they won't care or react to outside changes."

Careful. To continue the analogy of the modules to neural networks, machine learning without guidance can have unexpected results. Usually terribly flawed results, but this whole overwrought operation of ours is vulnerable to even one point of open contact with a semi-intelligent chunk of the hegswarm. Don't poke the idiot savants and they won't go glitchy.

I leaned back, internal gyros ramping up my momentum to counterbalance telekinesis - strong, but brutish, pumping kinetic EM energy from the module's physical form in a cycle through multiple worlds to shove me with molecularly-distributed force. It was almost farcical, how intensely her power was assaulting me while remaining utterly restrained; even the slightest amount of chaos would have been enough to start scrambling my molecular structure, but the patterns of her power were locked (hardwired? It seemed like a small word for the power restrictions, which were immutable to the mindset of their users, but dynamic and adaptive by raw physics - the "Manton limit" involved so much measurement and factoring of qualities before it made the final decision about whether to "affect" something, it astounded me that anyone could have mistaken it for a natural limit).

As it stood, Sinnead's power was outputting enough kinetic energy to send even my enhanced mass soaring, but I needed to absolutely deny and destroy her. Getting thrown around by her power, even if I survived it, wasn't on the path to that goal.

So I didn't let it happen. I directed what I understood - EM fields nudging strong nuclear forces to hard counter the telekinesis, trusting the mechanisms and formulas in my hardware and software to translate the universal theorem into base inputs and outputs. Then, having started arm-wrestling with the fundamental interactions, I shoved that onto autonomic control and began to undercut the entire ordeal.

The distributed cross-world nature of the module's work was efficient, a temporary structure of interacting forces that I could metaphorically call a muscle more than a machine, with a functional resting state and a high rate of recapture for energy lost to heat. It was also incredibly vulnerable to anyone who could see its entire function and screw around with it at any point.

My internal effectors were unlocked, free of the constraints Sufficient had programmed in to create my "power," as long as I remained off Earth-Bet. But they were also limited by design, subtle biomechanical field generators that also had to seem more like organs than machines to any module capable of seeing them, and they were only as large as this body could fit.

The Considering the Consequences was another matter. An LOU didn't have a twentieth of the mass that its GCV parent could swing, but it was purpose-built, sacrificing all that General toolkit for a very specialized loadout.

Its effectors tore apart the electromagnetic loop in multiple worlds at once, converting them not just to light and sound, but radio waves, microwaves, x-rays, and ionizing radiation.

"Show off," I declared, but tagged the comment with undertones of good humor. The LOU was an ass, but right now it was mine, and I would swallow any grievance I had to in order to keep its effectors aimed on my targets.

To Goddess, her power reached out at me and died. I didn't give her time to react, pivoting and slapping my hand against her arm. The airborne particulates from crumbling, melting, and/or vaporizing structural material were dense enough to drop visibility to under two meters, and the more vital structural elements were starting to detach from the bunker's ceiling and plummet down.

None of her subordinates witnessed the silver blink of a displacement bubble.

GCV Sufficiently Advanced Technology

He sat down without preamble and scooted a plate in front of me. "Eat, you're in a dining hall."

"I'm in a multipurpose atrium, and I don't need to eat, Jeryn."

"I made it myself, humor me. And please call me Ethan." Assault, in costume except for the mask, perched on the adapting chair, which was something between a saddle and a bar stool at the moment, half facing me and half facing the table.

"Is that a personal decision or an operational one?" My chair was more like a lounge, with big comfy armrests. A slice of the table under the plate he'd given me detached from it, drifted over to the chair, and attached to an arc that had grown out of it, settling in my arm's reach. I started picking at it - looked like a variety on roasted sweet potatoes, with something not entirely like onions sprinkled on top.

He raised a patchy auburn eyebrow and gave me a look. One of those adult looks I wasn't used to, not sneering (like a part of me would always jump to) but just not quite believing. I'd seen it on Dad too much lately. "I liked being Ethan. Still do."

"But you and the Mind wrote Ethan as someone so broken that a conflict-hunting parasite would attach itself to him as an easy target," I said. I knew as much about Jeryn Valih Tsuch-Yooeh as I did about any Culture agent - an invasive amount to most Earth humans, probably, but it helped me skip a lot of introduction and questioning about his past, personality, and plans that I (to be honest) probably wouldn't have had the courage to ask otherwise. I could only lean on my "position" of Special Circumstances "Director" so much before I started feeling ridiculous, fake, and humiliated, a straight route back to the Old Taylor mindset. Circumventing that was a perfectly acceptable use of the Culture's utter lack of privacy.

"I'm my kind of broken, at least," he countered, never losing the crook of his lips in a semi-smile. Jeryn - Ethan - had a particular gift for coming off amused but not mocking. "I've never felt like I lost my essential sense of self, either becoming Ethan, triggering, or opening back to Jeryn-Ethan-whoever. I might change my name, actually. I only half felt Valih, it was more of a family tradition to take an adult name. Ethan feels more real."

I scoffed, sort of a grunt. It was a misfire. Too much change, too many different social circumstances, too much intentionally trying to escape Old Taylor that I let out something I meant i keep in my head.

"You disagree?"

"I don't obsess over Culturenik lives or anything," I started, which was in retrospect a telling statement. I couldn't stop from analyzing my last statement even as my next one kept spilling forth nearly unfiltered. "But it seems like a common enough trend that somebody born into the Culture starts obsessing over how much more real and honest the lives of us idiot uncontacted primitives are. And then if we poor savages are lucky, they only fuck up their own life trying to fill that hole in themselves. If whatever Mind was using that urge to make the citizen a remote tool managed to miscalculate some aspect of their personality or the civilization in question, you get something like the Chelgrian Intervention or that mess at Kurtamos." I grabbed the chair arms at the same time I managed to shut my mouth. I was gripping the cushions hard, but only with normal human strength. If I could control that physical impulse, hopefully I could control the idiot social impulses at the same time! And if I crushed the chair, it would be better than making an ass of myself again.

"Do I sound ungrateful?" Ethan scratched his stubble, his eyes flicking up like he was casually trying to look into his own skull. I wasn't sure if it was intentional, but I appreciated his deflection. "I guess I like being Ethan, but I appreciate the flexibility of being Jeryn Ethan Tsuch-Yooeh. I don't know if this is a phase I'll grow out of, but I hope not." He shrugged. "I'm no Mind, kid. Don't even think I have all my own answers. Hell, I don't even know what we're doing here, that's still-" He mimed turning a key in his brain. "Although it's not hard to guess it's about powers."

"So - why, then? Why volunteer to become someone else if you're not one of the - the obsessives?" I lost my deathgrip on the right armrest to gesticulate wildly, waving my hand around without pointing out anyone in particular. We didn't have any direct neighbors at this table, which stretched halfway around a room the size of the entire Protectorate Rig, but that was mostly thanks to my privacy settings, an automatic No, Thanks to all messages, invitations, and requests.

"I'm probably one of the other ones," he offered, widening his smile. "You know, the short-term tourists just here to ogle the crude natives."

"You're married." I kept my tone level. Adults without their shit together were nothing new, after all.

He scratched the back of his head in a gesture so conspicuous, I was honestly having trouble believing it. "I just said I'm not a Mind, I guess I should add I'm not even particularly smart for a human. I mean, I'm still me, so that has to have been a decision I'd make."

I couldn't find the words for that, which he acknowledged with a bigger grin, and kept going.

"I'll have to face the music for it with Barb, sooner or later. But I still think it was a good idea."

I kept my face under manual control. Why was his getting sappy making me want to blush? Being a teenager was still infuriating. I had to say something, I could feel the embarrassed flush of blood to my cheeks growing. I leaned my mind towards my duties. "Just don't let your guilty conscience control your lips."

He mimed a zipper, and I got to shift my focus to 'not rolling my eyes.' "No fear, boss. I've got my head in the game. What little there is floating around in there, anyway."

I managed a faint smile as I stood, nodding to Ethan. I had to head back to Earth-Bet. I needed a distraction from my distraction.

"What?"

She still had something in her eyes. Her hair was a mess (frizzy at the edges, knots from sloppy brushing, a kink halfway down that suggested she'd slept with it in a ponytail), her clothes were ill-fitting, shifting her body's proportions to seem ungainly and awkward, and her foundation had been overapplied but didn't hide the dark circles under the eyes that you got from crying yourself to sleep. Only Emma's eyes still held a fraction of the hate and power to destroy that my mind wanted to wrap around the image of my former friend.

"You're not better," she repeated. I was only a little sped up, but I could already picture a half dozen nasty retorts, spitting her own words back at her, even without asking Sufficient, who was always willing to give me the most biting attack I could ask for. Instead I just waited. I was surprised. Mystified, maybe. Where was she going with this? "You're still the same weak, useless crybaby hiding underneath those powers." She literally spit the last word, but it didn't seem intentional. The little gob of saliva just hit the granite-patterned linoleum next to my boots.

I did a momentary sweep of the area around my locker. Nobody in quiet hearing distance, although we were drawing stares, me because people still weren't over the whole 'hero thing', Emma because a couple people had recognized her and were still shocked that that's Emma?

And looking at us both from the ship's perspective (or no, Isk-Berniav's scanners, from inside my backpack), I was a little put off myself. Emma was still dressed in something vaguely fashionable, I was still more hunched-over than I'd realized from the inside of my body, but the cut of her clothes was made to hide more than strut, and I was taking a far graver risk than fighting Lung, by wearing a skirt and leggings to school. We'd passed each other going opposite directions, and some part of my realization must've shown in my own eyes.

Her eyebrows rose, then bunched together, shock melting under rage. "Don't you fucking look down at me, Hebert! I- I don't even pity you, that's how sad you are. You're still weak, underneath, and when those powers aren't enough, you're going to break and come running back to me. And I'll crush you like the worm you are!" She managed to hiss it all out in one breath, even.

I spared a second to stare and think. "Shouldn't you be saving that for your new ex-bestie Sophia?"

"You- you don't even have friends. You'll never have friends. Nobody will ever like you for who you are! It's just a mask they like. They'd run away from the pathetic real Taylor!" She was shouting now. I'd have to wrap it up.

I leaned in faster than she could lean back and whispered, emphasizing each syllable. "Pro-ject-ting."

She swung at me, and I decided not to let her hit me. With smooth, graceful steps planned out in microseconds, I danced around her and lifted her arm a little so she wouldn't overbalance and trip. I let her go, and Emma's momentum carried her a few steps further into the hall. I walked the other way, confident she wouldn't follow.

"I'm not going to let that drop without comment." Isk-Berniav flickered over.

"I think… I would have preferred a real attack. It would have felt better to crush something with power behind it. That was like fighting a toddler. Socially and physically. I feel sad for having been hurt by her."

"Most aggressors are sad. It doesn't render their attacks harmless."

I shook my head, not caring how odd it looked. If I developed a mild reputation for talking to myself, that was fine. Weirdness in the powerful and famous is just 'eccentricity.' "What she did to me still hurts. Even knowing what happened to her, even knowing what she's like now. But it's the past. Emma in the present is just… irrelevant. I'm Orbital. I fight Goddesses. I don't have time to waste on the wrong people."

She sent a faint hum, the transmission equivalent of pulsing her aura orange-red - for amused agreement.

Endbringer Countdown 26D 3H 14M.


	7. madgirl1

Nov 20, 2017

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#1

Blurb:

Sparks do not understand the concept of overkill or restraint.

Taylor Hebert understands neither compromise nor discretion.

What would happen if a young Taylor Hebert didn't receive a Tinker's agent, but instead ignited a spark?

Tonight, and for the period that I can stick at a keyboard, Taylor Hebert is a 'Madgirl in a Wormverse'.

Author's Note:

I like the Girl Genius webcomic and books, and I have lurked and liked the Worm fanfictions that I have read. Yet I have not read crossovers of the two that don't fail in either their: length, completion or quality.

So I had the thought of introducing a young Tinker who doesn't so much 'tinker with reality' as mould it in the spark of her madness.

Invisible (and irredeemable) bonus points to anyone who recognises material from a film, joke, quote, comic or song.

Warning: This will be slow moving for some time.

Because every Tinker needs their support structure, right?

.

.

And every Heterodyne needs their Castle Heterodyne, right?

Disclaimer: Neither Worm nor Girl Genius belong to me.

I am just making sandcastles using sand from the original authors' sandpits.

Madgirl in a Wormverse

Introduction: Ignition

Saturday 5th June 2004. The mother smiled back at her young daughter in the passenger seat as she drove her battered old blue sedan down the Interstate towards home. Laughing at Taylor's scrunched expression of disgust as the new song began on the radio her attention turned back to the road and the upcoming turnoff.

Taylor looked at the radio in absolute loathing as the 'new' no.1 came up. For the 10th time this trip. 'Who buys a song about a hero group who called themselves The Tetratubbies anyway?! Why was it so popular? Was this some kind of Master effect that the PRT hadn't discovered yet? Urgh! How many more times would she have to endure this one song assault upon her eardrums, intellect and taste before the holidays were over?'

School had broken up for summer break yesterday and she wasn't due to return until Tuesday 17th August. 'Holidays had only just begun; 10 and a half weeks was too much freedom left to enjoy for this… This to be ingrained on her tasteless hindbrain!'

There was only one course of action to take;

"Mom, may I change the channel?"

Annette laughed and took one hand of the wheel as she reached over to surf the bands, half an eye on where her finger was headed as she steered onto the freeway towards Brockton Bay. She knew she should have completed the manoeuvre first but admitted to herself that she couldn't stand this song either.

This was why when the bright yellow '04 Dodge Challenger came roaring up at speeds that must have been somewhat north of 100 miles per hour, before cutting her up inches short of the water butt barricades for the single lane turn off, Annette's reactions were not ideal.

"Oh, Sheee-ite!"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Taylor

Her mother's scream was what Taylor remembered best; her mom never swore. The rest was a blur of yellow, followed by being wrenched around in her seat, thrown against her seat belt time and again, feeling as if she were being yanked apart as blurs of blue, black, and green flashed past.

'A Crash for the car gods, Oil for the slippery roads' ran facetiously through her random frantic thoughts before, with one last massive Bang, the car came to rest.

Slowly the world began making sense again, no matter how much she wished it didn't. It hurt to move. It hurt to think. Her body was one big bruise, with her neck and right shoulder being exceptionally bad as shown by every little twitch and a stabbing pain in her left shin. And something was tapping on her left cheek.

'But, which way is down? Ah, right. Right is down'. The car was currently sideways with the passenger side on the ground and she was lying in her seat belt on her right arm and leg. 'That's probably why they hurt so much. Was she forgetting something? No. Mom would tell her if she was. Wait. Mom? Mommy!'

It was agonising but she turned her head. Despite the ache, despite the muscle tears and whiplash that she didn't know she had, all she knew was that she had to know what happened to her mother, and her neck was not moving like it should. And it hurt, but not as much as the ache in her chest when she could finally see.

The tapping was rhythmic and it was her mum, but it wasn't on purpose. Her mother hung limp above her by her own seat belt, blood dripping from her head and nose onto Taylor below.

"Mom?" was whispered weakly.

"MOM!"

No reply.

'Got to move, got to see, got to help, got to get help, got to do something, got to, got to, got to…'

Two larger than possible beings; traversing space, twisting, moving, communicating in inhuman and incomprehensible ways.

[DESTINATION]

[AGREEMENT]

[TRAJECTORY]

[AGREEMENT]

Then darkness.

But in the darkness there was a flicker. A light awoke, an ember burning; a Spark.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Danny

Sunday 6th June 2004. Danny was frantic.

Work had called him in for an emergency; he was needed to smooth negotiations over on an ongoing contract that had gone sour between a major client and some of his dockworkers at a warehouse. So yesterday morning he'd hugged his daughter and kissed his wife goodbye, when they had planned to be leaving on a day trip across the state to a book signing his wife was interested in, and instead started up his truck and made his lonely way to the docks.

They hadn't come home last night. Instead he'd had a phone call the next night; a calmly disinterested voice on a quiet Sunday evening telling him that his wife was in the ICU of Brockton Bay General Hospital and his daughter in the Accidents and Emergencies ward and 'oh, could he please come down to fill out some paperwork?'.

Several close calls, and multiple bent, broken and shattered traffic light and speed limit regulations later, Danny was entering the hospital reception area. Fortunately his licence was still intact and no pesky interviews were pending with police to change his and the DVLA's happy joint-ignorance of each other's bad habits.

After speaking with the staff in a calm voice, that admittedly almost caused the receptionist to press their panic button, Danny found that his wife was unconscious but stable and his daughter awake. She was heavily sedated having had her leg broken, her shoulder dislocated and sporting multiple bruises after their car rolled at least half a dozen times.

Sighing with the relief that hit him physically when he realised that both should make a full recovery Danny moved on shaky legs to see his daughter, promising the nurse he'd be back soon to sort out the paperwork.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Taylor

Waking up to bright lights and a white ceiling was confusing. As were the thoughts going through her head that agreed adding retractable spikes to the ceiling would make it far less boring, and that having lights that just lit up the room was wasteful; they should at least have diallable levels of death-ray abilities built in.

Oooo Death-rays.

But the constant beeping wasn't bad as a mental torture method.

'Wait. What!?'

She was shaken from her introspective shock as the door opened and her dad burst in, the nurse he'd been quietly speaking to checked Taylor's condition before stepping back allowing the parent to see his child with an illusion of privacy.

As soon as the nurse was out of the way Danny rushed to her side, arms out to hold her, before stopping awkwardly as he saw the bandages, bruises and heart monitor she was hooked up to. 'Ah, that was the beeping'.

She smiled weakly up at her dad as he settled for laying his hand on her head.

"Hey, little one"

"Hey Dad"

"I'm told you'll be fine, your mom too… I."

Words failed the man. Words had always been Mums thing. Actions and hugs were her Dads.

"What happened?" 'Something simple, keep him talking'

"The car crashed and rolled. I don't know much… well, anything yet but I'm just glad you're ok. Gonna have to change your nickname to 'Hop-along' for a few weeks I suppose"

Taylor wheezed a laugh at the weak dad joke.

"And Mom?"

"She… she'll be ok too. But it may take some time."

"'kay Dad"

"Get some sleep okay kiddo? I'm here for you now, and we will spring you just as soon as we can"

"'kay Dad"

And she slipped away.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Danny

Tuesday 8th June 2004. A couple of days later, Danny picked up Taylor so she could recover at home. Recover from the lack of colour in the hospital, as the nurses joked with the young girl.

Laden with crutches and instructions not to use them at all for a week, and only lightly for 2-3 weeks to let her shoulder heal enough to take the weight, she staggered in the door. Or rather Danny staggered in with Taylor plus crutches in a bridle carry. Her leg would take 6-8 weeks with the doctor telling her she was lucky she was so young or it would've taken double the time. Danny didn't feel lucky at that moment; when did his daughter get so heavy!?

After gently placing his daughter on the couch Danny turned back to the truck for the bouquets of get-well-soon flowers from three of the Barnes'. The Barnes' second daughter; Emma, was Taylor's sister by choice rather than by blood and the two had been thick as thieves since first grade. The father; Alan, was an old college mate of Danny's, they had drifted apart as Alan pursued a career as a rising star in the lucrative world of divorce law and Danny fought for the slowly dying Dockworkers Union, but they had since strengthened their friendship anew at their daughters' example. The mother; Zoe, was a trophy wife of Alan's, yet a caring one and enjoyed mothering three girls just as much as her normal two when Annette was unable.

They had left on a 3 week holiday for the Caribbean the same day as the road trip but had heard about the accident through the gossip vine when Mr Barnes called the office on Monday to ensure everything was running smoothly with his latest case. An envelope attached to the flowers reiterated their holiday plans and reminded that Emma was booked to head straight off to a Camp Chippewa from the airport for the rest of the summer but gave a number if Danny thought they could help by keeping Emma home. Emma was a redhead who lived up to preconceptions of her hair colours' passion and temper. So this was no doubt Emma's idea to support her BFF, and likely to have been tempered from a demand into an offer by her father's sense of compromise. For which Danny was grateful.

Danny's little girl turned big girl didn't even notice how heavy her father found her, her mind was busy with the number and weight of thoughts plummeting through her head. They were a stream with a single underlying thread: Not her family. Never again.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Wednesday 9th June 2004. After washing the dishes post-supper Danny headed towards the living room expecting to find the TV a source of the crashing he'd been hearing for the past 15 minutes.

Upon a yowl from the back garden, audible even through the closed kitchen, he smiled and diverted for the back door. He opened it in time for a black streak to pass through his legs at Warp Speed 3 with a 'mew' of thanks.

He smirked upon the abrupt braking the cat applied when it realised that from the angle it entered the door it had about 3 feet, and with a chair in the way, to stop before it hit the wall at 30mph. The furry speed merchant showed an enthusiastic amateur's ability level of free running as he diverted his journey with a fast leap to the chair and another to the adjacent side board in an abrupt skittering of claws on wood.

Danny turned in his direction and asked "And what got your furry britches in such a hurry, eh Mojo?" as he rubbed Mojo's ears affectionately.

A chorus of yips from outside answered his question before he closed the back door.

"Bloody foxes" he muttered to himself before turning back to his interrupted search.

Instead of finding Taylor curled up with a noisy action flick playing he found an empty couch and the dulcet tones of David Attenborough orating about animal life on the African plains. 'The plains as they used to be' his mind supplied sarcastically, 'before parahumans, and definitely before the likes of Ashbeast and Behemoth. Now, where is that daughter of mine? And… what IS that noise?'

Mojo passed him headed for the cat bed on the radiator, and curled up as smugly as only a cat can, as he left the living room for the entrance hall.

Following the source of the noises led him to the garage and his old Ford truck where he found an open door and a shifting car seat teetering on the edge of the frame.

"What the?" was all he had time for before, with one last wobble, the seat fell with a crash to the tarmac. And a head popped up in the truck.

"Hey Dad!" chirped Annette's daughter.

He collected himself enough to look around the garage and noticed that this was the second car seat that had been relocated this evening. The other lay on the far side of the truck, along with what looked like the dismantled remains of their vacuum cleaner, various small appliances, a Gameboy ('where did that come from?'), the broken laundry machine that had been in their basement, kept equally for reasons of spare parts and lazy homekeeping and, finally, what looked like every spare sheet of raw material in the house.

"What… is going on here?" he managed.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Last edited: Feb 20, 2018

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Threadmarks Chapter 1; A way forward

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Chapter 1: A way forward

Thursday 10th June 2004. Danny drove into work that morning in a daze that was only partially due to the late hour he'd stayed up to with his daughter. The rest of his mind was replaying the discussion he'd had with his daughter about why, and how, she'd managed to become a single person wrecking crew aimed squarely at renovating his personal transport overnight.

Taylor had tearfully confessed that she'd been having nightmares about the crash, and that she dreaded it happening to him too, or to her mother again. So when ideas had popped into her head, with detailed instructions for retrofitting ground vehicles with ejector seats complete with parachutes, then she took action. Inspiration from an old Earth Aleph movie 'XXX' suggested that such modifications, and more, could be done within hours (a half-day at most) so she decided to ask for forgiveness.

When Danny grilled her on these 'plans' he found out just how detailed they were, and how unbelievable the resulting equipment's performance should be. It turned out that combining the compression chamber on the vacuum with the gearing on the washing machine and managed by chips reprogrammed from the Gameboy would give an ejection system capable of launching the occupants of the 2-seater vehicle with an acceleration in excess of 60g. It would be activated to go off by its programming if it picked up a threat in one of the 10 small lenses it was linked to.

The lenses had been sourced from a bunch of mobile phones, the empty cases banished to a corner of the garage after having been cannibalised for their cameras, and Danny did not have a clue where his little girl could have gotten her hands on so many in less than a day.

He recalled that fighter jet ejection systems launched at around 14-16 gravities. Despite all the specialist funding, materials and custom designs of the MoD his daughter had built a device that, in less than a half hour (he timed it: 26 minutes and 47 seconds to finish assembly from when he interrupted. And she was muttering at the time that she could have done it faster if she'd just had a minion or two), gave more power from reused scrap than all the fancy doo-dads they used on a $19 million front line piece of kit.

Or at least it would have given more power if she'd taken a proper inventory before she began; she was missing strings of sufficient strength to make parachute cords, as well as parts for a coolant system for the processor she'd designed. Not to mention the power tools necessary to remove and re-fix the truck roof. They were a couple of small hiccups on the road to survival.

His little daughter had designed a processor smart enough to run a program that could have been called semi-sentient if you squinted and she'd written said program in the course of a day, three at most if she'd started the moment she woke up at the hospital. And yet she'd lacked knowledge of process management enough that she'd not known to do a basic inventory before she began a major project.

Needless to say he had been speechless. Even more so when he recalled the corollary to the little article on the F-16 fighter that he read about; that ejecting carried a 30% chance of spinal fracture and 10% chance of death. He did not want to think what it would be like to suddenly be sixty times his normal weight when not expecting it. Not even if he was to be seated at the time. Yeah, that one made him pale.

When he did remember he pointed this out to her gently and she burst into further floods of tears upon realising just how much danger she could have aimed at her own parents through her over-enthusiasm. Finally he managed to calm her down, pointing out that no harm had been done, and agreeing that she if she could put the truck back together now, pretty please, that there would be a ruling of 'no harm, no foul'.

When she was doing so he noticed how subdued she was, so decided to cheer her up the way he encouraged his younger lads in the Union when seemingly impossible, or unfair, tasks came up; that you simply start small, more was not always better, to take what positives you can and to learn and gain experience so one could make better choices or get better jobs next time.

And Danny set Taylor some homework too. Human biology or, as Danny put it, "If you know how we work, and if you know just how squishy humans are, then you are less likely to have accidents. You've had an unfortunate practical lesson in this, so it's now time for the theory to catch up"

Yes, gaining experience and learning from the small mistakes so she didn't make big ones, that was the key. 'Hmmm, maybe he should've phrased that better'

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Friday 11th June 2004. Danny didn't see Taylor when he came home. She turned up for supper sweaty, grimy and tired from clearing out space and taking inventory in the basement.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 12th June 2004. Together they went to the hospital to visit Annette, happy that she was on the mend and promising that they'd both been good; yes, they had been. Cross their hearts and everything!

Danny resolved to discuss their daughter and her possible little Talent with his better half when Annette was feeling better and home safe. A hospital wasn't the most private venue and he didn't want to stress his better half when she needed to be concentrating on her healing.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Sunday 13th June 2004. That morning he thought that maybe he should have shared the stress a little. He shuffled into the kitchen like an extra from a zombie film, but more like one from Shaun of the Dead rather than 28 Weeks Later; a zombie that hadn't yet had his morning caffeine-and-brains wakeup call.

He stumbled over from filling his mug at the percolator (that was a mandatory fixture in a kitchen of an early starting blue collar worker and an academic), fumbled some bread into the toaster and slumped into a seat at the kitchen table opposite his daughter. When the blurriness cleared a little he noticed she was frowning into her cereal.

"One lump or two?" he heard.

"Two" he managed to grunt in a semi-comprehensible reply.

Despite the words she didn't move a twitch, so he followed her frown; nope, not the cereal. It was the sugar bowl in the centre of the table that had somehow earned her wrath at this Scion-scorned hour. 'That gold poser, the Golden Boy, was nicknamed Lord of the Dawn, not Lord of the 'oh god, where-is-my-hand-in-front-of-my-face' Witching Hour. What were folk doing up at this time of the 'day'? Well at least the ants wanted to be awake at this time. Wait, ants?'

Danny's world suddenly shot into focus as he noticed the ants on the table top stealing 2 lumps of sugar from right in front of their owner; 'Bare-mandible theft!'

He had barely started to move to rescue his cubes from the miniature six-legged opportunists when his hand froze as he noticed the four ants nearest to him closely co-ordinating to lift their lump via the mug handle to the lip of the mug. The second gang of four hustled their lump in close formation inches behind, also making their way towards his mug via the direction of the handle.

Just as the second group closed the first fumbled their lump from halfway up the handle. The block fell like a miniature sledgehammer, scattering the second group as it rolled and causing the regimented cohesion to break, running like a gang of Merchants upon hearing the word 'Bath'.

The ant at the top of the mug, responsible for the slip rose to its rear four legs and reared its thorax in what looked like the world's smallest display of anger Danny had ever seen. Whereupon it promptly ran full pelt down the side of the mug and around the base in circles, still on its rear four legs and looking like it was flapping its front two legs like a chicken?! Whilst being chased down by it's 7 cohorts.

"DAMN!"

Danny jumped, distracted from the real life insect comedy sketch in front of him, startled at the violently loud outburst from his daughter on the other side of the table.

"Another dead end. Another. Bloody. Wild. Goose-chase!"

Taylor jumped from her seat, cereal forgotten, and wrenched a previously unnoticed thumb-wide shiny brass tiara from her head before throwing it violently into the wall and storming out the door, stomping off to the basement in a temper.

Danny didn't interrupt the tantrum; his momma didn't raise no fool. And if she had, 12 years of living with Annette's temper had cured any surviving foolish tendencies in the face of righteous female wrath. Nope, he sat there thinking invisible thoughts watching the ants chase after their dodging and darting goose-flapping brother.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

A short while after the drama had ended Danny finished his breakfast, cleaned up his dishes and quietly left the house to make the Sunday grocery run, not disturbing his irate daughter who had retreated to her room in a temper to rewrite multiple blueprints from the comfort of her bed.

With the kitchen empty of humans there were no witnesses when the goose-flapping ant, that had finally out-scuttled its brothers, came to a stop and squatted.

Thus there were no witnesses to the creation of the miniature speck laid upon the kitchen table. An egg shape destined to gleam for only a short moment in the light when being brushed into the dustpan as Danny wiped down the kitchen table that afternoon.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Monday 14th June 2004. The police finally left the hospital room after giving Danny a crime reference number for the insurance companies. His wife giving them a description of the unusual vehicle made them optimistic that they could narrow down the suspect, yet they were less optimistic that they could make any charges stick without further investigation.

Danny's fists clenched in anger as he watched Annette sleep.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 19th June 2004. All week Danny had agonised over finishing his talk with Taylor. He didn't want to leave it half done, or say silly things, or react badly after a long day at work.

Danny knew he had a temper, a bad one at that, but he never showed it around his family. Instead it simmered until the time it was too much for him to hold and then he blew. He suspected that if he didn't have as tight a lid on his temper as he did that his nickname at work would have been some derivative of 'The Volcano'; long fuse, big explosion, major collateral damage.

The danger to his little girl blew right past his control measures and hard triggered his Destruct button. But it wasn't his angel's fault. It was the rest of the world and she didn't deserve the fallout from him raging against something he couldn't control, so he procrastinated… er, waited for the best time to have a sit down with his little girl and talk about the outside dangers of the parahuman scene.

When his daughter came down, bleary-eyed from her rest, he waited for her to grab her breakfast before beginning gently.

It turned out that her class had started covering parahuman history last semester and she knew all there was to know about the first parahuman; Scion. The mysterious golden man had first appeared on 20th May 1982 to an ocean liner of people on the Plymouth-Boston crossing. The floating golden nudist had left behind a cured cancer patient and a newly emergent parahuman before appearing randomly around the globe dispensing minor miracles and good works in his wake. No power was so great that he didn't possess it and no good deed to small to be beneath him. He didn't sleep and had only spoken once when he gave his name. He had adopted a loin cloth in the interim and one of her classmates had joked that it was a side-effect of having saving cats-with-claws from trees as his favourite pastime.

That was as far as her class had gotten for the year, so it fell to Danny to give her instruction on the grittier reality that had developed since then. Despite the explosion of costume wearing parahumans (capes) that had decided to become paragons, for every hero there were five more that had become villains. Nobody knew for certain how many parahumans decided to stay out of the scene and constant fighting and simply live their lives quietly.

The surge of super powered violence in the 80s had forced society to the brink of meltdown, until four powerful heroes allied with the Government forming the Protectorate and encouraged other parahumans to turn their cape to the side of order. Under the oversight of normal humans; the Parahuman Response Team, the Protectorate restored order into the US. Different, battered, bruised and most definitely changed, society continued into the Golden Age of Heroes.

Understanding of parahumans grew and a classification system for powers emerged, driven by the PRTs need to have a fast method of evaluating and engaging threats.

The strength of a Power was rated from 1 to 12. Capes could have a power that gave them ratings in multiple categories but it was unusual if not exactly rare.

The twelve categories were;

Mover: has a power that enhances mobility

Shaker: has a power with an area of effect

Brute: has enhanced strength or durability

Breaker: can shift their body into another state

Master: can summon minions and/or control others

Tinker: can create or alter devices with futuristic technology

Blaster: is a ranged offensive threat

Thinker: focuses on information gathering or use

Striker: has a power that is short range or touch based

Changer: can alter their form or appearance

Trump: can manipulate powers in others in some form

Stranger: has powers based in stealth or infiltration

The Golden Age of Heroes has since ended. It began fading the first time a hero died and people realised that powers made heroes tough and powerful, yet did not make heroes immortal. The shine developed the first hint of tarnish.

Then the world changed again with the emergence of a new series of threats before which capes; hero, villain and rogue alike, were forced to drop their affiliations and band together to combat. Endbringers. Three monstrous engines of destruction, theorised to be wildly developed parahumans that had lost their humanity, appeared. They attacked individually in turn approximately every three months without pattern across the world leaving destruction in their wake.

The first appearance of an Endbringer on December 13th 1992 caused the Protectorate leadership to become a Triumvirate with the fall of their leader, Hero. This was the end of the Golden Age as told by the history books.

Very quickly the need for aid in these Endbringer battles had turned the cape scene into more of a game of cops and robbers between heroes and villains, with private identities sacrosanct and punishments light for villains who exercised either restraint or discretion and cunning. As a consequence gangs flourished once more with heroes unable or unwilling to take off the kid gloves to cut them back. The world was again crumbling.

Closer to home in Brockton Bay there were three gangs to be wary of, they were:

Empire 88; a large group of Nazi white-supremacy racists with an extremely large and flexible parahuman roster

The Azn Bad Boys; also known as the ABB, it is the rising star of the local gangs. Rumours had been increasing lately of Asian gangs being attacked and subsumed by an extremely powerful Brute called Lung. Lung could turn into a Dragon. The capital letter was justified as he could, and had, taken on entire teams of heroes and villains when he first arrived last year and came out on top. It seemed that he had gotten tired of being the help and decided to turn his hand to running the show

The Merchants; gangbangers, drug users and peddlers, they were the all round cockroaches of the gang scene. These persistent bottom feeders had expanded quickly by taking crumbs the other gangs didn't want and clearing out fast before attracting too much attention

There had been more gangs a few years ago, but after an independent local hero group took out the Marquis; the leader of the most powerful gang in the Bay, it had triggered a gang war that lasted years and resulted in house clearing and several gangs departing the Bay for greener pastures and lesser opposition. This left an uneasy truce between the city's Protectorate team and the remaining gangs. All of these parties would love to get their hands on a young defenceless Tinker, if only to deny their services to the others.

Taylor looked very thoughtful after hearing all this. So much so that when he reminded her that it was her Birthday today; she was now 9 years old, Taylor was shocked awake. Her eyes widened as they hadn't in their history lesson before she drooped knowing that her Mom wasn't there to celebrate.

"So, how about a little trip then?"

"Huh?" she managed.

"Now you've had your lecture, how about the field trip?"

"I don't want to meet the gangs Dad" she deadpanned.

Danny snorted into his coffee before replying "Cheeky brat. I thought something a little tamer for today. Get dressed, and bring your backpack. We'll visit the gift shop on the way out"

"Daaa-aD!" Taylor whined at his teasing.

"We're visiting the PRT building…downtown"

The trip was a success with little models of the current Protectorate team filling the backpack by the end of the day. But Taylor's brain kept working through the information dump she'd received and later that week she'd borrowed The Art of War and The Book of Five Rings from the library for a touch of light reading.

When he found out Danny suggested 'Parahuman Law for Dummies' and, at the flat look received, added 'PRT; The history and regulations'. Based upon the introductory chapter you would not find a drier read outside of a textbook titled 'A Detailed Comparison of Case Law and its Interactions with Scientific Principles of Human Psychology via Application of Advanced Calculus'.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Sunday 20th June 2004. Visiting Annette the next day was a happy occasion when they found her sitting up waiting for them with a smile on her face and a sparkle back in her eyes.

She kept her energy through being caught up with what the dynamic duo had been up to that week and enthusiastically endorsed the idea of Taylor clearing out the basement and using it as a projects room rather than the neglected storage area it had become. Eventually she tired and as her eyes began drooping Danny and Taylor made their excuses.

Getting into Danny's truck Taylor started complaining.

"I don't get it! Stupid doctors. Mom's been hurt for ages, I could have helped her by now!" she ranted.

Looking over, Danny raised an eyebrow "The tech you used to make George and Bush tougher?"

"Well, yeah. It worked!" she added defensively.

"They didn't survive. So no, you don't know what side effects there may have been… but yeah, it worked. Before you get too keen, let me ask you a couple of questions."

"Shoot"

"You made the repair machine out of the blender and other bits and pieces right?"

"MmmHmm"

"Your Mom's a bit tired and stressed right now, yes?"

"Yeah, I guess?"

"Yes. How do you think she'd feel about having to insert a body part into what is, too all external appearances, a regular kitchen blender…?"

"Err…"

"And a lot of the injuries are internal. How would you fit these, large, injured body parts into a 3 litre sized container? And remember rule 6 before you answer!"

"…I'm sure I could figure it out without mentioning dismemberment."

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Wednesday 30th June 2004. It was the end of the month, 26 days since the Crash and he contemplated how glad he was Annette was due home that day; they needed to talk about their daughter. 'Save me from an 8 year old girl who wants minions! To whom 'starting small' means making devices to Master insects, because insects are small. Yup, this is one for her Mother to deal with'

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Annette

'Well, Danny's certainly gone all out tonight' were Annette's thoughts as she tucked into the rich cheesecake, a perfect desert to follow the Italian takeaway that Danny had lain out.

'The only thing missing is an expensive bottle of red' and doctor's orders probably explains that. 'This is a bit much for a welcome back, has he been struggling with Taylor that much? I'll have a quiet word with her'.

"Hun, I'm glad you're back"

"Because you're sick of takeaway?" she asked bemused.

"No!" was the quick reply. "Well, maybe a little" he added sheepishly.

"It's… it's about Taylor"

Nailed it Annette thought smugly.

"Oh now. Whelp, you've fed and watered me delightfully" she gave him a sated smile before she sat up and her gaze sharpened. "What's she been up to?"

"Nothing!"

"Nothing?"

"Well, she's been acting a little odd. She's muttering about science all the time. She's humming and completely zoning out"

"That's not too bad. If that's the only change after the crash we can count ourselves lucky"

"And I think she's a Tinker"

"…"

Danny leant back as his wife froze, digesting this bombshell.

"Tinker?"

"Yeah, Tinker. You know; mad inventor, physics breaker, gimme some time 'n tools, stand back and hold my hat Tinker"

"But, Tinker? Are you sure? You are sure. Why are you sure?"

"'Cos, well, then there's the fish"

"The fish?"

"Mm-hmmm, you know how fish are supposed to float when they die?"

"Yeees?"

"Well, George sank and Bush disappeared"

"…"

"…"

"And you think this has to do with Taylor? Why?"

"The tank was in her room, the carpet soaked, there is the usual advantage involved in having an only child…"

"Huh?"

"…that you always know who did it"

"Ha! Yes."

"And…"

"….and? Don't make me drag this out of you Danny!"

"And every clock in the house has been dismantled, and someotherstuff."

"… Ah. Bio-Tinker?"

"Just a normal Tinker. Maybe."

"Mover, Shaker,

Brute and Breaker.

Master, Tinker,

Blaster and Thinker,

Striker, Changer,

Trump and Stranger." Annette sing-songed quietly to herself absently.

"Oi vey" Annette sat back and digested this some more before tensing and exploding again "Tinkers aren't normal, period. Even if it turns out that she isn't a bio-tinker, after Ellisburg and that madman Nilbog all it would take is one idiot and there'll be a lynch mob waiting for her first patrol. That's if they don't just chuck her into the deepest darkest hole they can find. And she's only 8 years old! I'm NOT handing her over to the Protectorate. Not now. Probably never. Not at her age! No!"

"No, I agree Hun" Danny placated. "But, we DO need to discuss this"

"Yes, yes you're right" Annette agreed absently, her distracted mind racing.

"So, what do we do?" she said, asking the man who'd had time to think about this.

"The Protectorate is not an option; possible bio-tinker aside, the Wards normally average a lifespan four times that of independents, but given that that is measured in months… just 'No'.

So, we encourage her to start small, work safe and that she has to HIDE this from anyone outside the family. Especially true given that she's shown the ability to make tech that controls other beings" he held up his hands to stall Annette's questions.

"Only ants for now and badly at that. But she's a Tinker. Master could be an entire available field for her that she would only get better at. We could steer her without the discrimination she'd get as a Ward, if the organisation didn't forbid her entirely anyway. I won't ask her to deny a part of herself. But I also am not going to stand by and watch our daughter damn herself into the hands of the gangs!"

She snorted "Even Lustrum's?"

"You mean if she were still around? Yeah, as a card carrying member of the Red-blooded Males' Club I think 'not even Lustrums'!'"

On that note the rest of the night devolved into giggles and cuddling before they began to plan in earnest in the morning.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Last edited: Feb 22, 2018

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Threadmarks Chapter 2; Playing with the cat

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Chapter 2: Playing with the cat

Annette

Saturday 24th July 2004. 'Some things' Annette reflected 'you just can't plan for'.

Over the past near month the basement had been cleared out and a mini-workshop of sorts assembled from second hand finds: soldering irons, hand tools and even two lathes taking up the bulk of the space.

Taylor had spent a lot of her time in there and when the TV was quiet you could often hear quiet humming floating up to the sitting room. More frequently disquieting laughter would erupt below their feet, audible even over explosions of a Sunday afternoon action flick.

Fortunately, despite the industrious nature of their only child, the harried parents didn't have to worry about accidents with errant Master abilities within the family. Taylor had come down from her tantrum and listened rationally to her dad's logical arguments not to pursue the avenue of research further.

The point that Masters were not trusted by the public nor authorities alike ("Yes, that includes Mastering insects; they are scary", "But they're only little!", "Bees", "Point."), and generally attracted censorship or harsher sentencing for relatively minor infractions than other para-humans, was absorbed impassively. Then he elucidated on how this would have a knock on effect on possible funding sources, from distrust for further unrelated inventions (due to people's prejudice of a Tinker's inventions if their known tech-tree included Master tech) to withheld licenses and extended testing by the authorities. This had a greater affect on his daughter, but sulking and a half heard mutter about 'Plebs who should be gr…' caused him, and later Annette, to resolve to keep a closer eye on what was being produced in her lab. If only there wasn't so much being invented.

Shaking herself from her thoughts Annette stared down at her latest challenge and prepared herself.

"Taylor, Honey. Have you been playing with Mojo? Downstairs I mean?"

"Erm, yes Mom"

"Is that why his teeth are all shiny now?" Annette asked as she looked down at the purring cat with his gleaming razor-sharp mouthful of metal teeth as he stropped her ankles.

"Yes Mom"

"Why'd you do that Honey?"

"He'd broken his old teeth Mom"

"He did? How did he do that Taylor?"

"I think he tried eating Bush"

"So you gave him metal teeth?"

"Well I had to give him some that wouldn't break next time"

"Why would they break on Bush the first time?"

"…because I might have coatedhisbonesinmetaltostopthemfrombreakingandbecauseIneededananimaltotestiton…"

"You get that babble from your father dear. Why would you need to do that?" she paused as a thought occurred to her "Is this because of your leg?"

Taylor looked down shyly.

"Yes, it just hurt so much and I don't want to feel that again and I thought that if I was tougher I wouldn't have to and then I realised that it was too heavy for Bush so I tried a lighter alloy for George, but when I turned around Mojo had taken Bush and was hurting and, and"

"It's ok Honey. Don't worry, you're not in trouble" she soothed. "It's strange, but nothing that a vet might not do. But can you promise me you'll ask permission before you do any more testing?"

"Yes Mom!"

"Good girl"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Annette

Sunday 25th July 2004. 'I think he needs a laugh' was Annette's thought as she peaked at her beloved angry visage as he read yesterday's letter from the car insurance company.

She considered how to raise the subject of their precocious daughter's choice of study matter with Danny.

"You'll never guess what I saw in the Lair the other week" she claimed. After equipment had arrived, been torn apart and rearranged, the underground room resembled more and more a cliché evil villain's hideout and the nickname had emerged.

A grin began lurking on lips as Danny's train of thought was diverted.

"Biological, mechanical, theoretical (please?) or diabolical?"

"Na-ha" she smiled back. "No clues!"

"Ha, I haven't seen any new Rules added to the fridge list… so, in that case; Cyborg!"

"Beeep. Nope. I think she's saving that for next month. Close though. I went to get her for lunch the other week and found her by her workbench. You know how she gets; didn't hear me until I looked over her shoulder and then she jumped high enough she almost hit my jaw! She was hilarious! Anyway, she shouts out "Don't do that!" and I say "No need to be so jumpy"." Annette paused for effect.

"And?"

"And there's a chirp from the shelf squeaking "HOW HIGH?" it was this little round pocket watch with tiny arms and legs. It was so cute. You should really ask Taylor to show it to you, if she hasn't taken it apart again by now."

"Why on Earth did she make something like that? I know we asked her to start small…"

"Turns out; our little girl really wanted something that would not disagree with her. She made something that if someone said 'Jump' it would say, and do, 'How high!'"

"What did you tell her?"

"I gave her a hug and told her how proud I was that she made such a marvellous little device"

"And what were you thinking?" Danny asked knowingly.

"It may have crossed my mind that I was really glad that our little angel has never heard the version that goes 'Shit'; 'Yes sir, what shape?'"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Danny

Friday 30th July 2004. "Aargh!" growled Danny quietly as he stalked up his porch, skipping the creaky second step out of habit and resisting the urge to slam the front door through sheer bloody minded will power.

It was the end of the week and Danny had had a bad day at work. A run in with Merchants had put one his guys in the hospital for an extended stay, and two at home on bed rest. That would've been bad enough but it caused the Union to have to pass over a 3 week contract for ten men full time that was to start on Monday as the guy in the hospital was the only one available with all necessary licences for one of the integral roles.

It wasn't his guys fault, it wasn't the potential contractors, and Danny was too honest and mindful of his union's reputation to risk sending men without the correct licenses.

'No.' Danny thought to himself. 'It was those f-ing gangbangers! I'm going to have one drink. Breathe. And then relax for the weekend, start fresh on Monday'.

Danny opened his drinks cabinet and felt around for the whiskey with his left hand as his right reached for a tumbler in the glass cabinet on top. 'It's further back than before' he thought as his hand hit air. Having retrieved his tumbler he stooped down to help locate his missing whiskey.

'Well, I now know why it's further back' "TAYLOR!"

"Yes Dad? What's up?" chirped Taylor's voice as she popped up by his elbow.

"Ah!" shouted Danny. "Don't DO that Taylor! I get enough stress at work Little Owl."

"'kay Dad" Taylor smirked.

"Anyway, I wanted to ask if you've seen the Jagermeister? We seem to be missing a couple of bottles."

"I thought Mom and you hated that stuff Dad?"

"Hmm. Yes. We don't drink it, but have you been using it for your experiments?"

"Er, kinda?"

"'Kinda?' Are you asking or telling me?"

"Yes … both? 'Cos I took it because I needed a base component with some kick, butIfoundthatitwasabittoounstableforlivetesting"

Danny rubbed his forehead as he unravelled his daughter's speed talking.

"Wait. So… you have taken the Jager. You've used it in a chemical process or a mixture of some kind. It is unstable. And you have not tested it on anything because it's unstable. Yes?"

"Yes"

"Okay. Now; 'unstable'. Explosive?"

"Noooo? It's just… unreliable. So no; no testing (now)… and none planned"

The cold chill that had been making its way down Danny's spine dissipated at Taylor's assurance.

"Well, not until I've nailed down the source of the peculiarities anyway…" she muttered as she turned to go back to the basement.

Danny's chill reappeared and made its way with impressive speed from the nape of his neck to his crevice in a flash.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Down in the basement a recovering patient opened bleary eyes and thought.

Concepts unfolded in his mind. Motivations beyond food, warmth and finding a willing female appeared.

'I need… a can-opener' was the thought as the newly sentient Mojo stood and jumped down from the table he'd been recovering on, making his way up the stairs towards the kitchen.

Well, other motivations appeared… but were disregarded for more important things. 'Mmmmm, tuna'

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 31st July 2004. Annette went looking for her little troublemaker in the basement, where she found her bent over her workbench grinding down a small piece of metal.

"Taylor, Mojo's claws are looking awfully shiny"

"Oh?"

"Yes Taylor, 'Oh'. In fact they are 'match his teeth' shiny"

"Ah."

"Yes Taylor, 'Ah'. Is there anything you want to tell me?"

"Erm. I might have coatedhisclawsinmetaltomakethemstronger."

"Taylor! We spoke about this. You promised you wouldn't do any more testing without asking permission?!"

"It's not testing! It's scientifically proven; George and Bush did that! They would've been fine if they weren't too heavy to swim"

Annette face palmed. She should have seen that loophole coming. 'Time to try again'

"Ok Honey. It was proven. But can you get permission next time before experimenting; I mean 'working', on Mojo?"

"Yes Mom"

"Good girl"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Monday 1st August 2004. "Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle"

Annette stopped reading her notes for next year's lectures and looked up and around, searching for the unusual noise that had broken her concentration. The house was quiet. Danny was at work and had taken Taylor in with him to both get her some fresh air and give her mother some alone time at home. All was quiet; it must have been her imagination.

"Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle"

She looked up again. Despite the low level of sound she could tell the origin was close, within the room close. She looked harder around the living room from her place on the couch. The door through to the entrance hall on her left was closed and the open door to the kitchen opposite her was motionless beside the inactive TV.

"Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle"

Startled she sat up from her slouch, looking down and right, straight into the wide eyes of Mojo staring soulfully up at her from beside her right knee. Relaxing with a sigh she patted the seat beside her in tacit permission for him to join her.

"Tinkle, de-DONG!"

'What the…?!' staring at the collarless cat beside her, that had apparently produced such a loud sound from thin air, she reached out her hand to scratch his head and search by touch for the belled collar that was eluding her tired eyes.

Nothing but fur and a purr met her fingers. The thought of what her daughter may have done now had her reaching with her other hand as well. With hands under his front legs she picked him up, belly and rear legs dangling, and stared.

"Taylor!"

"Tinkle?"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Monday evening. Annette managed to corner her misbehaving daughter after supper when Danny was out of the room washing up.

"Honey" she decided to come straight to the point "why did you decide to do that to poor Mojo?"

"What, replace his tongue?"

"Yes, replace his… wait. What? His tongue too!? Why did you replace his tongue?"

"Well, after replacing his claws, Mojo had a little accident while grooming himself" she paused to judge the reaction. Encouraged by her mother's thoughtful silence she continued "So I replaced his tongue with something that was a little tougher. Tough enough to strop his claws on actually. Turned out that what I had available to do the job was diamond tipped actually. No expense spared! Haha" she finished with a weak laugh at the raised eyebrow in front of her.

"And, the Other?" Annette prompted.

"Well, there was another accident…" Taylor trailed off uneasily.

"Yes" her mother agreed "There was. Now cats clean themselves, there is no changing a being's behaviour I know, into which including a tongue made of materials capable of sanding down metal could not integrate without complication" she noted logically.

"We had spoken in the past when he was younger of getting him fixed…

But why? Why did you think to make the replacements look like miniature Christmas baubles!?" she finished with a faintly aggrieved tone.

"It was the only way to power the Death-ray"

"And why did you add the jingle?"

"It was the only way to protect the pigeons"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Tuesday 3rd August 2004. In the evening Annette cornered Taylor again as she headed towards her lab.

"Honey, I… have you removed Mojo's Death-ray yet?"

"Erm, yup! Well… depowered it anyway" she admitted under her mother's flat stare.

"I thought you'd agreed it was best to remove it?" Annette inquired, arms folded under her breasts.

"I tried! But Mojo did NOT agree. Removing the power couplings was the most he'd go for!" Taylor pleaded.

Thinking back to when Danny had tried to take Mojo to the vet for neutering Annette slowly nodded realising what a rock she was being to Mojo's hard place. 'That came out wrong' was her following thought.

"I see your point" she reluctantly agreed as she recalled the week that Danny's hands bore plasters and the three weeks that Mojo had sat on top of the TV and glared at the pair of them, regardless of the operation being a failure.

"But, this reminds me. I thought we'd also agreed you wouldn't do any more experiments on Mojo without permission?" Annette asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Yeah, we did" nodded Taylor with a puzzled expression.

When Taylor paused Annette decided to prompt her "Who gave you permission?"

"Mojo did" was the glib reply.

"And how did Mojo give you permission? He wouldn't have had a clue what you were asking!" she pointed out exasperated.

"I… may have made him more intelligent" Taylor confessed in a small voice.

Groaning Annette woman-fully resisted the urge to facepalm.

"How intelligent?"

"Er, it's not stabilised yet" Taylor hedged.

"He's not stable?" asked a concerned Annette.

"No, no! He's fine. But he's still getting smarter at the moment. It has been slowing the last few days though. Or the little beggar has been holding back on his tests" mused Taylor to herself.

"Ok" decided Annette "I'm just going to go have a glass of wine. Have fun in your lab dear" she added as she made a beeline for the kitchen and her alcoholic migraine-killer.

Taylor looked at her mother's retreating form and shrugged to herself. 'I guess that means that Mojo can give himself permission. Cool.'

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Wednesday 4th August 2004. By late morning Taylor was in the basement and Danny at work. Annette was in the living room in loose exercise clothes slowly stretching a bit before she finally slipped a DVD in and stood back as the screen came to life.

The doctors had finally given her permission to try light exercise whilst under strict orders take it easy and to stop and report back if she has any sharp pains.

10 minutes later a sweaty Annette was cursing the human pretzels in front of her as she attempted to encourage her hands in making close friends with her shoulder blades.

15 minutes later Annette was in the Archer's position wishing for a real bow to shoot the smug expressions off of the actresses' smug faces as they made holding the position look as difficult as falling down the stairs. 'Oh, that gives me a thought.'

At a tinkling sound beside her she craned her neck and spotted Mojo sauntering his way into the room. Mojo took in the screen and his servant's contorted position with catty amusement before he plopped himself down beside her. Annette sighed and turned back to her exercise.

20 minutes later Annette was in the middle of attempting, and failing, to put her leg behind her head when a tinkling sound from beside her revealed Mojo with a leg flat in front of him and another ramrod straight pointing skyward as he gave himself a thorough cleaning 'down there'.

With a final defeated huff Annette flopped onto her back in a sweaty mess. As she turned into an almost foetal position towards her furry tormentor Mojo stopped and looked up with a smug expression, ears pricked, before resuming his grooming.

"Fuck you furball" she managed "Fuck you!"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Thursday 5th August 2004. At lunchtime Danny leant back in his chair and finally truly relaxed for the first time in the last 2 months; for the first time in the last 1,475 hours.

The car that had caused his wife's accident had been rarer in Brockton Bay than they'd had any right to hope. The police had tracked the model and found the owner without an alibi. He hadn't denied making the journey that day as he'd not even known about the accident he'd been the caused of.

Despite being an inconsiderate and reckless driver he wasn't heartless, nor was he penniless despite his home city's poor economy. When he learnt of the situation he'd sent flowers, apologies and settled very generously to avoid a civil suit.

Danny had spoken quietly to the man in person and heard the understanding of his actions in the man's voice and, more importantly, the regret.

Now, it wasn't in Danny's nature to forgive the hurt done to his family, but had to admit the man had tried to right his wrong. This time he would choose to forget.

But God, Allah and all assorted Deities help the man if he touched his family again. Not his family. Never again.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Last edited: Feb 22, 2018

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Threadmarks Chapter 3; Keep it in the family New

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Richpad

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Chapter 3: Keep it in the family

Friday 6th August 2004. In the afternoon having cut work early Danny headed over to the retirement home, out of town past Downtown South, grateful for a hopefully stress free hour or two of driving before dealing with whatever fresh insanity his gorgeous curly haired agent of chaos had managed to cook up today.

'Having Dad stay with us for a few days would do us all some good' he reflected. 'Dad could distract Taylor from her lab and give her some practice hiding her Tinkering before she goes back to school next week. Ann would have a bit of peace of mind with another pair of eyes in the house. Even if he couldn't cook.

Not even a joint of beef could be roasted without the finished item being mistaken for the (cottage) cheese. Although he wasn't too bad at pies, as long as they had lots of peppers in them anyway; it was probably a habit to disguise any other flavours in there'

Memories of his Dad's more spectacular cooking disasters over the years distracted Danny ('I swear that meatloaf tried to eat me!') until he found himself pulling into the car park of a boringly square building.

It had a boring perfectly manicured grassy area separating residents from possible escape vehicles… visitors' noisy transportation and was fronted by a perfectly square, and slightly thorny looking, box hedge. 'All the better to deter runners' Danny's brain commented.

Danny was shown toward the large common area of the building by a rather well muscled young lady with an unfortunately masculine jaw line. As they reached the end of the hallway he tweaked her sleeve and assured her that he could manage from there.

As she (he?) nodded and made their way back to resume her interrupted duties Danny crept forward to peak around the corner. There was his quarry, leaning forward banging on the old TV set with a mild scowl on his weathered features.

He smirked, knowing that his father, old and senile as he may act, knew enough about electronics and fixing them to make that old set provide a picture as crisp as a fresh dollar bill, and not by punching it neither.

His suspicions were strengthened as a pretty female nurse approached to help her baffled charge.

"Hey George, trouble with the set?"

"Oh, afternoon Jane" was the smiled reply. "Just trying to clear up the fuzz on this old thing"

"Busted?" she asked with a pretty frown.

"I don't think so. I think it's the signal, now I've been trying but…"

"Let me have a look" was her suggestion, as she moved toward the set, bending over to fiddle with the connecting wires down the back.

"That any better?"

"Not really"

She leaned over further. "How about now?"

"Oh that's fine, just fine. Beautiful" George crooned, his eyes fixed firmly on a sight a little closer than the blocked screen.

At his tone something twigged and Jane straightened to look back over her shoulder at George's tranquil expression. She turned fully and raised an eyebrow; Busted.

"Oh, thank you Jane, that's great. The picture's a treasure" he rhapsodised innocently.

A smirk joined the raised eyebrow and shaking her head she strode from the still fuzzy set to join another beckoning person across the room, with maybe a touch of unconscious swing in her hips as she went.

George sat back on the couch with a smile on his face at his antics and relaxed.

"UN-believable!"

Straightening as the familiar voice registered George turned, his smile widening, towards the hallway. His lanky beanpole of a son leant around the corner peering at him with an amused matching smile.

Bounding forward with enthusiasm that belied his apparent age George grabbed his son in a hug.

"Danny-lad!" he changed his grip to arms length "What are you doing here? Checking up on your old man? Have the nurses been telling tales on me?" he joked.

His son laughed and retorted "Should I believe them if they did? Because the evidence suggests…" he trailed off knowingly.

"Ha. True, true. But you've got to practice skills Son, or they fade when you need them.

"So if you're not checking up on me, and whatever alleged bad behaviour I may be, or may not be, practicing, what are you doing here?"

"Here to spring you Gramps. Your granddaughter needs you. Will you heed the call?"

"Taylor huh? I heard about the crash, from Lacey actually. Don't worry, I know you probably had a lot more on your mind at the time than one old man with two sets of teeth"

"You know how it is, Lacey knows everyone. So I just fired and forgot; told Kurt what happened when I left work on the Tuesday and said he could tell Lacey. A couple of days later I'm getting sympathetic looks from all betwixt the Boat Graveyard all the way down to the southern Beach line."

"Has her mouth gotten a Mover rating yet?" George joked.

"Maybe a one or two. It's a good thing it's on the side of the Angels, huh?"

"Oh yes. So, tell me; how are we gonna swing my escape eh? There's a great tree outside my window. I could climb onto it, over the damned thorn line and use the bed sheets to climb down. If you've got transport around 11 o'clock we can be gone before they get the flood lights up, let alone catch us"

"Or I could sign you out for a week or ten days?" Danny offered.

George harrumphed "Sure. Or we could do that if you wanted to waste a perfectly good plan"

They made their way to the lift where George couldn't resist muttering "And a shot at 'kidnapping' young Jane for some time away from here would have been welcome too"

As they parted ways Danny shook his head 'Same old Dad', then another thought stuck him 'Taylor plus Dad; Gasoline meet Fire.

.

.

Whelp, what can one week hurt? What did I just think? Oh well, at least it wasn't "Watch this!"'

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Grandpa and Danny got back to the house late that evening with no shenanigans necessary. The journey had been full of intermittent friendly banter mixed in with little bits of information about the last 6 months or so since they'd last seen each other.

Danny felt a little guilty about keeping his daughter's newfound pastime from her Granddad, but not too much because of the nature of a shared secret, family or not.

As they pulled into the empty garage he spared a moment for one last prayer that nothing too strange was on the cards this week, or at least not evidenced in a way that couldn't be explained away.

'At least we managed to talk Taylor into removing Mojo's death-ray, although replacing it with a non-weapon instead of a non-lethal weapon as Taylor had plead for had been a tougher sell than I thought it'd be.

But three vaporised pigeons in an hour were enough! The neighbours were going to notice sooner or later. Not to mention that yappy pug he only just missed; actually that one was kinda funny. But Mojo glaring at Annette and I doesn't help.

It's been four days since it went and he's still at it! It's nearly as bad as when we tried to take him to the vet to get him fixed. That poor man. Talk about an improvised Point-Of-View weapon.'

It turned out that he needn't have worried. Taylor had been warned of their expected houseguest and spent the day hiding all traces of fantastical technology that may have leaked over from her basement into the rooms that were above ground level.

But Mojo was still glaring; he missed being able to pot the preening pigeons that thought they were out of his reach, and he'd just started to get the hang of balancing on his rear legs and aiming too.

Supper had been a raucous affair with George teasing his preteen granddaughter on growing up and 'kids' fashion these days' whilst easily managing to slip innuendoes over her head when speaking with his son and daughter-in-law. Taylor was a little puzzled about the amount of time's Mom 'n dad choked for no reason. They were the ones who taught her to chew her food; they should know better.

But Taylor enjoyed her dad's stories about her Grandpa's cooking, as long as they didn't expect her to eat it. The story about the flameproof filo pastry did sound like promising material for a couple of her long term experiments.

Her wide-eyed hopes were dashed when her father interrupted George's corrective anecdote involving Belgian brown beer with swift assurances that it was just one of Grandpa's tall tales and that it didn't really have that affect on two day old tomatoes. They were raised again when Grandpa winked and told Dad off for keeping to the Government party line.

The real gem of the evening for Taylor was when she heard of the living meatloaf of Dad's college days, when Granma was with her parents and Grandpa had to cook for himself. Made from the bastard offspring of haggis and black-pudding; two of the unholy trinity of food, fed upon a diet of souls of defeated and consumed bratwursts and steeped in Hercule Stoute, it came alive and tried to eat her father!

She wondered whether the results were reproducible. This called for an experiment. For SCIENCE! But without her close relatives being in danger of consumption. That's what lawyers and car park attendants were for after all, doing the jobs that lab rats refused.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 7th August 2004. Early the next morning George staggered out of bed in a shambling mass of stiff joints and stretched with a groan. After the sound of crackling tendons and popping joints had faded he listened, but it seemed that his fellow occupants were enjoying at least a little more of a lie in this weekend. With a shrug he made his way to the bathroom, his en suite a sacrifice he could make for a week or so spent with his remaining family.

After the excitement of last nights reunion George relaxed and started looking round at his sons house, looking for signs of how he was bearing up after his wife and daughters recent accident. The bathroom was neat as was the kitchen; no signs of lack of care showing through.

George grunted quietly to himself, proud of his sons resilience even as he wrenched open the fridge in search of milk. As the door swung shut a paper loosely held on with magnets was dislodged by the motion and fell to the floor. Picking it up from where it had floated halfway across the room next to the bin George noticed the large title 'Rules'.

Feeling a bit curious and very nosy he kept reading, wondering what his gorgeous Granddaughter could have done that necessitated formal written house rules, or whether it was a family joke written up and posted for all to see. As he read he smirked, then started chuckling to himself; someone in the family had a very active imagination.

The Rules (subject to arbitrary update. NB/ that means NO arguing)

1\. Learn the basics

2\. a/ Start small

b/ and discreetly

3\. a/ No giant Mecha in the house

b/ Nor in the city

c/ Nor the Bay

4\. a/ Please stop playing with Mojo

b/ Or other house pets

5\. a/ No Nukes or hand grenades

b/ No horse shoes neither!

6\. Dismemberment is a bad idea

7\. a/ No recruiting unwilling minions

b/ No altering people to be willing minions

c/ No altering pets into becoming people who become minions

8\. No submarines larger than 10 feet in length

9\. No messing with the Higgs field until you are 16 (and on a different seaboard)

self sustaining species

TBC.

That's what you get when your offspring marries an English teacher he philosophised. You get Writers.

It could have been worse: Taylor could've turned out a Critic.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Tuesday 10th August 2004. In the early hours of the morning George slipped back into bed and trembled. As he lay there and calmed himself he finally shook himself and whispered "Just sleep walking. A waking dream"

10 minutes earlier:

George snuck out of bed quietly making sure he wouldn't wake any of the others in the house who weren't as used to keeping odd hours as George was. He'd picked at his supper and now paid the price. He was going for a cheese toastie, indigestion and nurses' opinions be damned.

The cheese was out of the fridge ready for cutting and the grill was heating up before the first hurdle arose. He realised they were out of fresh bread for the toast.

Shrugging he turned the grill off, grabbed his shoes from the rack, pulled his nightgown tighter around him and made his way down the stairs to the chest freezer in the basement. 'Toast before grill; this was a delay, not a derailment, this was not British Rail, he didn't stop for a mere leaf on the track!'

'But he might stop for a blockage on the line'

His brain stuttered as he stared at the (large) padlock on the chest freezer in front of him. 'What the…?'

Noticing a key on a hook beside the appliance he grabbed it and inserted it into the lock.

"BANG!"

George figuratively jumped three feet, his hair literally brushing the low ceiling as he reacted to the thump from the freezer. Made by something inside the freezer. Made by something inside the freezer trying to get out. His hand reached again for the key still in the padlock.

His hand was 2 inches away when the lid of the chest rose to the limits of the hasp and something 'No, don't delude yourself old man. THAT was a tentacle'. A tentacle came through gap and swiped at the air, brushing his wrist as it did so.

This time he literally jumped three feet, straight back. Half remembered foggy memories of an old Japanese anime called Akira flashed through his mind and he turned.

Stumbling back up the basement stairs, leaving the bits in the kitchen where they lay, he made his way on autopilot to the safety, and sanity, of his warm covers. His covers, under which he could, for the safety of his sanity, convince himself that he had dreamt the whole thing.

"Just sleep walking. A waking dream" the quiet words brushed the air above his lips.

Downstairs a tentacle touched the key in the padlock and it began to squeeze.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Friday 13th August 2004. At the sound of the doorbell all activity in the basement ceased and a hurricane took its place blasting up the stairs.

Emma fell back as a blur tackled her to the wooden boards of the porch and the sound wave of the front door banging open hit her ears.

The laughing redhead sat up, her BFF still attached, before retaliating for the impromptu dust coat with a tickle attack. Before long there were just two previously energetic youngsters sprawled in the doorway laughing, covered in what dirt accumulates on the front porch of a working family.

"Hey Emms"

"Heytay"

"Thought I'd cured you of that?"

"Never. I'll give up your nicknames when you… shave your head!"

"Ha, no. I'd look like a pint sized Stormtiger. Can you imagine the traumatised Nazis running around; 'I saw Tiger, but he was, he was … pretty!'"

"Have you been on PHO again?" Emma enquired.

"Mmmm, maybe?" Taylor demurred with a smirk.

At a shout from the house the two got up and went indoors for some supper. Taylor was caught up on her friend's activities;

From staying and sailing in the Caribbean ("Honestly, it was soooo hot. Then I burned and was a red and white zebra for the last week. But it was like, so beautiful, the sea was so blue, oh I swear I saw a dolphin but the photo didn't come out right, and the food so good and you're coming with us next time if I have to kidnap you!").

To her activities at Camp ("Urgh dirt and bugs and sweat and itching. But the girls were kinda cool and we got to canoe and shoot and climb; Don't look at my nails right now!").

But when they got to Taylor's turn she hesitated. She always told her best friend everything, but this was something her parents had told her to keep a secret unless she had to.

When Taylor had asked whether they'd meant Emma too Annette gently explained that friends change as they get older. For example, Taylor herself wasn't quite the same Taylor as she was before the car accident; she was more driven, reading more and often went into what Annette and Danny saw as Tinker fugues that could make her seem unmindful of those around her.

After explaining this they both rushed to assure the distraught girl that they felt nothing of the sort. This was normal behaviour from what they knew and it made her happy so they were happy for her, but others might not understand and see it as neglectful and uncaring.

So they suggested Taylor wait to reveal her secret to school friends until at least Middle School. After all why share a secret if they don't end up in the same school anyway? Taylor was not convinced and would have ignored their advice until the clinching point was made; it would endanger her friend as much as her if she told her.

So Taylor hesitated. Seeing this Annette rushed to cover "Well since I went for my World record attempt at most number of car flips inside of 60 feet and failed so dramatically Taylor's just been helping me around the house. And with keeping this old dinosaur on a lease" she grinned at George.

Diversion successful.

"And how have you been doing that?" Emma smirked at Taylor.

"With awful jokes" Taylor cracked "Almost bad enough to match the ones he comes up with"

"Oh really?" asked George with a raised eyebrow

"As bad as; What do you call a T-Rex that gets into a fight with the Indominus Rex?"

He looked around

"Dino-sore"

The table groaned.

"Ok, how about this one?" Annette rose to the challenge

"What do you call it when a dinosaur witnesses a car accident?... Tyranna-saw-us wreck!"

The table was silent.

"Too soon?" she asked innocently; you could see the halo gleam and the butter freeze on her tongue.

Danny and George led the laughter, mainly at the overdone expression of innocence but honest laughter nonetheless. The meal finished with jokes all round before Emma had to leave early to sort out her luggage after months away from home.

Grandpa was leaving soon and they agreed to meet up at school on Monday so Taylor could spend the last weekend of the holidays with him. Emma's mother wanted to take her shopping before school because she'd grown again apparently so that worked out for both parties.

All in all a good evening for all involved, but a secret part of herself, that Taylor's conscious mind didn't even notice, relaxed.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 14th August 2004. "George. Could you grab Taylor please? She's not answering and it's nearly time for lunch" Annette asked the old man.

"Sure" was the easy answer.

"Upstairs?" he asked, already headed for the hallway.

"Nope, downstairs. She's in the basement. Playing with some of the old equipment she got from Lacey and Kurt."

"Playing?" he frowned. What kind of stuff did they get her that she could play with?

"Well, not really playing. More like DIY meets crafting. But she enjoys it so much she might as well be. And she knows all the safety procedures and we check on her every little while"

"Ok. Now you got me curious" he grunted as he made his way to the stairway below the stairs. The sounds of grinding and light pop music floated up to him, mixed in with what sounded like the theme tune from Count Duckula; an old British animated cartoon.

He made his way down the stairs carefully, dim and well suppressed memories of Horror hiding in the basement making his footsteps cautious.

Nearing the bottom of the stairs he stopped. The shadows in the far right corner shifted, they were looking at him and he stared back.

"MERROAW!"

With an almighty leap George cleared the banister and ducked behind the stairs as the shadows on the left coalesced upon the scream into the figure of a moving cat, making like a freight train, straight up the basement stairs. Previously George would have sworn that a cat was unable to run over a 200 pound human adult, but at the speed that cat was moving he was not taking any chances.

When his heart stopped hammering in his chest George took a deep breath and rode the last of the adrenaline rush to stride forward into the basement to find his granddaughter.

"Taylo-ah!" he called as he tripped over some loose wires on the floor. 'This is gonna hurt' went through his mind as he twisted, too late to avoid the worktop in front of him.

'…'

George woke to a mouthful of liquid that had a familiar taste and a sticky granddaughter blurring in front of his eyes. As the world made more sense, and he swallowed the liquid, he realised that Taylor was in front of his eyes but she wasn't blurry and she probably wasn't very sticky either. There was a liquid dripping down off the worktop he had smashed into and it was all over his face, eyes and…he swallowed again, in his mouth too. Oops.

"Taylor" he managed through the little birdies that bore a startling resemblance to Tweety bird.

"What have I just drunk?"

"Erm. It wasn't really finished yet"

George parsed the sentence as he watched one Tweety draw an over sized mallet from thin air and proceed to assault the Tweety in front of him. The third Tweety grabbed a frying pan and charged into the fray whilst the fourth Tweety stealthily drew a baseball bat with a nail through it, hid it nonchalantly behind his back and waited.

"Ok."

Maybe he should be more worried but it was kind of hard to get worked up with the floor show he currently had a front row seat to.

"What was it meant to do?"

"It was meant to reverse aging and create a superhuman physique"

"That sounds … good"

His rattled brain didn't try to think on that too much; after the week his subconscious had been through 'Just go with it' his hindbrain advised.

"So, why's it not finished?"

"Side effects" said the worried Taylor as she hovered over her Grandpa, torn between a strong urge to take notes and the stronger urge to make sure that she hadn't hurt her Grandpa!

The Tweety fight drew to a close with a double knock out between the mallet wielding Tweety and the little backstabber. Both Tweetys disappeared into smoke and as his thoughts cleared he focused them along with his gaze upon Taylor.

"What 'side effects'?"

"Urm, in no particular order; oozing, weeping, singing, trotting in place, joy, sadness, jumping into a corner and dying, fur, horns, colourfulness, spots, stripes, horns, tails, claws, bad accents, good accents, playfulness, bad taste, bad sense of taste."

"That all?"

"So far?"

"Tentacles?"

"Definitely not"

"Great" he said. "I never aspired to starring in Japanese movies..." he added in a mutter, raising his voice he continued "Add seeing Tweetys to the list. Now come on, it's time for lunch"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Sunday 15th August 2004. Fortunately Taylor's parents hadn't taken special note of Grandpa being so quiet the previous day, and by breakfast he was back to his old levels of enthusiasm.

Too enthusiastic in Taylor's opinion, he was enjoying himself far too much making his offspring squirm around the issue of Taylor's powers whilst his son's spouse was fixing fresh coffee in the kitchen. Taylor would have intervened but it was funny.

"So, have you seen the latest remake of 'Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy' yet?" George asked Danny as he swallowed a spoonful of cereal.

"No" Danny replied with a small smile "Any good?"

"Not really, they've renamed it 'Tinker, Shaker, Striker, Spy' and the script is about as forced as the title sounds. It's all about the parahumans these days, eh? They're everywhere."

"Even on the underwear" joked Danny as he glanced at Taylor across the table.

"Or wearing the underwear" contributed George before taking great glee in appearing 100% oblivious to Danny's sudden intent.

"Indeed" Danny agreed.

"Right"

"Yes"

"Indubitably" chirped Taylor.

"Unquestionably" called Annette's voice from the kitchen door.

Danny groaned as his caffeine fix kicked in, his neurones started firing, and the penny dropped. "Don't you start" he shot at his more amused half. "When'd you figure it out?"

"Not too long ago. Tinker right?"

"Close enough to make no difference"

"So, what's your specialty Oh Abominable One?" George asked Taylor.

"Specialty?"

"Yeah, tinkers all have something they specialise in. Generally the broader their specialism the stronger the tinker they are. For example, a specialism may be transport or vehicles. And a weaker tinker would be one that can only work on ground vehicles, or vehicles with a specific fuel source, such as combustion only. A stronger one may be able to travel by air, sea or ground. Or create vehicles using pedal power, combustion, rocket fuel or even nuclear power. Got it?"

"Yeah. I get it. But I don't know what my specialism is yet I guess. I mean I've had ideas for all kinds of things and I don't see any links between them. Dad says I've just got to check all the consequences."

"Oh boy" was George's response to the revelation of his granddaughter possibly being one of the most unrestricted tinkers he'd heard of.

"I seem to remember a mini-munchkin running around here not too long ago with a towel around her neck pretending she was Alexandria. Or was it the Next Alexandria? I'm surprised you haven't tried replicating her powers already: punching through mountains and stuff like that.

"Ha, with your lack of restrictions, you could be the whole Triumvirate in one package one day! But that's for the future…"

He continued his impromptu lecture "The other measure of a tinker, is their resources. What they can draw on. Whether they can retreat to somewhere safe and prepare their response when they encounter an unexpected challenge."

He looked at Danny and Annette, eyebrow raised in question.

"We're doing okay Dad, but we're not exactly Mr and Mrs Wayne here"

"There's the Lair… er, the basement" added Annette "And that's sufficient for now. But it isn't really suitable as a fallback point if my Little Owl is ever found out" she joined them at the table and frowned down at her daughter.

"Nor is it big, nor isolated enough for any of Taylors' larger or louder projects she's mentioned. I mean, it can't be expanded too far out or we're undermining our own home. Going deeper has the same problem combined with possible flooding because we sit just about on the edge of the aquifer under the city.

"After my hospital bills and car are sorted we were talking about using what's left of the settlement to look for a better place near the docks. Warehouses and even some of the light manufacturing units are going cheap at the moment and Danny could help Taylor getting there and back…."

Annette trailed off as George interrupted.

"And you're an English professor and Danny's an admin puke. No offence" he added with an apologetic nod to his son.

"What would be your cover story for buying it? For visiting so often? Could you stretch the budget a bit and share a larger unit with the Union? They know how to keep their mouths shut about their own. Sub-let half after hiding the other half's entrance with a bit of remodelling? That'd give Danny an excuse to stop there every so often" he pointed out reasonably.

"Good idea, but the Union aren't fully using the facilities we have now, let alone more machine shops. There's just not enough work." was the gloomy reply.

"Maybe setup a small manufacturing business on the side. Ask Taylor to pitch in with a machine or two that could reduce overheads or running costs and we could hide her orders in with the rest of the company whilst undercutting our competitors."

Taylor nodded enthusiastically at this part before they all quieted, sitting there for a moment mulling it over.

"What about the restrictions on Tinker-tech in business?" asked Annette.

"Bah!" snorted George waving his hand dismissively. "That is a fantastic example of short-sighted stupidity. And stupidity does not cease to be stupidity simply because it's been ratified into law" he misquoted.

"But it's still on the books as a law, and they tend to have terribly nosey fellows trying to enforce those pesky things" Annette pointed out lightly.

"Then I suggest following the 11th Commandment" retorted George.

"Grandpa, what's the '11th Commandment'?"

The three adults in the room looked at each other, holding a silent discussion with their eyes on the wisdom of telling a 9 year old Tinker that they don't have to be honest all the time.

Danny broke first. Sighing, he knelt next to his daughter, catching her gaze he explained.

"Honesty is best. Not being honest carries risks that can come back and bite you later on. Like when you fibbed; telling your Mom it was Mojo who broke the vase on the windowsill. When we found out, you caught twice the punishment you would have had if you had told us at once. But sometimes being honest would cause an effect that is so unjust and wrong that the best thing to do is to simply attempt to Not Get Caught.

This is not something to do lightly. 'Life or death situations only' is an exaggeration, but not by much. This is possibly one such situation.

There are laws out there restricting parahumans from using their powers in business. They were intended to stop parahumans from destroying the world's economy through unfair and unsustainable competition. And to protect consumers from products that weren't fully tested for side effects.

There were such issues when Tinkers and Thinkers first appeared and had unrestricted access to the business world. Thinkers trading privately online caused a couple of Stock Market crashes; banks fell and Interest Rates soared.

What that meant was that people overnight couldn't make their mortgages, afford food, clothes etc. After the second time this happened emergency powers were voted through and Thinkers banned. From everything. This was later loosened, but not all that much.

Later on a few Tinkers played fast and loose with their product quality, others with not checking for side effects and still more for not checking, or caring, who they sold to. Then restrictions got slapped on them too. Honey, if I haven't said this enough already; CHECK FOR SIDE EFFECTS.

Other parahumans found ways to abuse their powers, breaking the spirit of the laws even as they obeyed the letter, and the restrictions got ever tighter.

We cannot use your inventions without jumping through enough red-tape to host a Mardi Gras parade. This would probably force you to be outed; which is what we are trying to avoid as it will cause that life-or-death situation.

If we don't do this, then you'll eventually not be able to hide, or something will attack you and you'll have nowhere to run, and again 'Life-or-death situation'.

So what we are left with now is trying to obey the spirit of the Law… whilst disobeying the letter. Thus obeying the 11th Commandment; Thou shalt not get caught!" he finished his lecture to a wide-eyed nod from his daughter.

As Danny straightened George asked "So, you have contacts you'd trust to keep their mouths shut?"

"A couple come to mind for the business side. But this is our family". Danny was obviously torn.

"Well we don't have to run out and do this right now, do we?" pointed out Annette. "How about you tell me who you have in mind, and a few spares, and we have a barbeque in a few weeks to sound them out? We can get a few numbers run first and check what goods are in demand out there."

"If the numbers don't add up let me know" George grunted. "I've still got a bit put away for a rainy day and the good news is just pouring today."

He smiled reassuringly at Taylor. "Just promise to give me rainbows, ok hun?"

"Okey-dokey Cap'n Leprechaun. But shouldn't the rainbow come before the pots of gold?" Taylor saluted playfully before getting grabbed into an embrace that was surprisingly gentle despite how it looked.

As George transferred his squirming granddaughter from a hug to a headlock and began to gently muss her hair, to her loud protests, he looked back at the parents.

"That reminds me, I've still got an old plot of land up in the hills. It's not worth much; too hilly to build or farm, too remote to live and commute. The only river runs 90% underground, there are no lakes to fish, not enough trees and too little road for serious forestry.

It's just a dinky little cabin and a bunch of rocky, woodland hills. But you," he allowed Taylor freedom from the style assassination he was performing upon her brown locks "you might be able to use it after you get a few things worked out. Teleportation tech and underground building 'bots come to mind" he hinted and her eyes widened at the possibilities.

George observed his granddaughter's expression for a moment before turning to her parents and deadpanned "Your daughter is scaring me."

Danny and Annette looked at the 1000 yard stare, grin that stretched from earlobe to earlobe and the thin line of drool making its way to her chin. In unison they nodded "Me too!"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Monday 16th August 2004. Taylor stared up at the crowds of parents and children swarming the gates of the hellish institution known as Central Elementary School. As she looked back over her shoulder her parents gave encouraging nods, both having come to see her off for her first day back. Grandpa had been given a lift from Danny back to the retirement home last night.

Central Elementary School wasn't actually hellish, except in the imaginations of children stuck behind windows in hot classrooms staring out at the sunny grounds for hours dreaming of the first break bell of the day. Or in the imaginations of children with too much energy forced to stay indoors during wet lunches as rain dripped down the window panes taunting them with games of football or hopscotch foregone. Or in the imaginations of children staring out of warm classrooms at the white blanket of fresh snow that was calling to them to fashion it into snowmen, snowforts or snowballs.

Actually Central ES was a very large and solidly built building, sat squarely in the middle of a couple of acres of fields and tarmac, that could have easily had the appearance more akin to a prison than a school.

Fortunately the staff had taken the effort to keep bright flowers planted, the grounds clean and woodwork regularly painted despite budgets being squeezed. The result was the look of a stern but fair and friendly institution and this passed through in a subtle osmosis into the attitudes of the children and staff.

The children were an eclectic bunch, having been pulled from a catchment area that sat squarely in the middle of the turf of two of the largest gangs in the city: the Empire 88 and the Marche, as well as being in reach of the neutral, yet poor, Docks and the wealthier Commercial districts. As the children aged they would be sieved and sorted through exams and money into high schools and potential cliques would become larger in size and fewer in number.

With a deep breath to steel her nerves Taylor hopped out the open door hugged her dad through the open window and kissed her Mom as she leant over before turning and squaring her shoulders once more, marching towards the front gates where Emma had spotted and was beckoning to her.

Thirty minutes later Taylor was ready to slap herself for her stupidity. As they were sitting around in home room waiting for the roll call, Emma had gotten distracted by one of her other friends and the social butterfly had left her best friends side for a minute for a chat.

Thinking on the layout and all the things she'd like to have in her own lair had caused her to start drawing and writing in the sketchbook she'd brought along for this very purpose.

Five minutes later she'd looked up at Emma's question about what she was doing and pulled a blank. Ten pages of Escher-like drawings and packed script stared up at her mocking her ability to keep her deepest secret for even a full hour.

"Architect!" she blurted.

"Hwah?" was the puzzled response.

"I think. I think I want to be an architect. I'm practicing. Drawing my dream house actually" she started to relax and the words began to flow more naturally as she embraced the white lies.

"I think it's going to end up a cross between a Roman Villa and Dwarven Hall, plus traps, 'cos who doesn't want some home defence that has some teeth?" she 'joked'.

"And the weird bits? Staircases don't work like that in real life Tay" Emma jibbed with a smile.

Taylor smirked back "I did say it was my Dream home, right?"

"Touche" acknowledged Emma, laughing at her friend's silliness.

"Come on, head forward" urged Taylor grateful for the diversion as the teacher entered and began calling names.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Tuesday 17th August 2004. After school Taylor begged off from hanging out with Emma, stating that she wanted to do some research in the Public Library where her dad was going to pick her up later.

Once Taylor got through the doors of the large public building she looked around, eyes eager at the possibilities within the hall of knowledge. Unlike most other children her age, she completely ignored the fiction sections and headed straight to the reference books.

Talking to her parents the night before about her plans for her lair had proven heavy going at first as they struggled to understand her drawings and how they fit together.

Eventually her father had pulled out some architect plans for a contract he was currently negotiating on behalf of the DWU. Showing Taylor how they were laid out with set measurements, floor plans for each level, front and side views and notes on materials used or specific fittings installed had cleared up a lot of confusion.

When it had penetrated that these techniques could be applied to her inventions' plans as well, it had left Taylor swearing to learn basic draftmanship and architecture. Ironically enough her fib to Emma the previous day was proven more true than initially intended.

So Taylor made her way to the references and reading from a list of books recommended by a Cambidge University's architecture course began pulling out heavy tomes as she went;

Gombrich Art and Illusion, Phaidon, 1972

Gordon Structures – or Why things Don't Fall Down, Penguin, 1978

Curtis, W. Modern Architecture Since 1900, Phaidon, 1982

Kostoff, S. A History of Architecture, Settings and Rituals, OUP, 1995

Summerson, J. The Classical Language of Architecture, BBC Pub. 1963

Ackerman Palladio, Penguin Books

Ackerman Michaelangelo, Penguin Books

All, and more, joined a pile she was building on the nearest table as books caught her eye and were caught by her hand in turn. Eventually she turned and blanched as the mountain she'd built registered. With a sigh she sat down and began filtering the piles for her top picks.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Wednesday 18th August 2004. A body, dressed in blue, swung himself out of his white van and made his way round to the rear doors. Removing a sack he swung it onto his shoulder before slamming the open door and making his way to his first stop on the road.

Unknown to the oblivious postman, a pair of slit eyes observed his progress down the suburban street. Analysing the lazy saunter the way a lion would a particularly foolish wildebeest: within his power, but a careful approach is warranted.

As the postman turned into the yard for his next delivery: a package for a Ms T. Hebert, Mojo nodded to himself 'Yes, this person was the perfect target for an… experiment: isolated, barely observant of his surroundings and nicely prey-like in his behaviour. After all, birds and mice just weren't cutting it for entertainment these days.'

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Friday 20th August 2004. Fred was a postman. A man of simple wants and needs, he'd be described by his few friends as quiet, solid, reliable; all words that boil down to 'a nice guy, but a bit boring'. Despite having a sense of humour, he'd never been accused of having an excessive imagination.

Fred had been working the same route for the last 2 years and, excepting the occasional rare excitement of a cape clash in the vicinity, nothing ever really happened.

Roads were the same, plus or minus a few potholes. Houses were the same, plus or minus a new coat of paint. And the gardens were the same, plus or minus a few extra pigeons.

Therefore it was a bit of a surprise when, on his early morning route, he heard a faint rap beat start up as he turned to make his way back to the street from his latest drop.

Fred took a sniff, testing the air, thinking that someone had decided to have a barbeque on their day off and turned the music up; the weather was certainly right for it. Nothing.

The music got louder and the lyrics got clearer;

…...you hearin (Listen)

It's what you hearin (Listen)

X gon give it to ya

Fuck wait for you to get it on your own

X gon deliver to ya

Knock knock, open up the door, it's real

Wit the non-stop, pop pop and stainless steel

Go hard gettin busy wit it

But I got such a good heart

I'll make a motherfucker wonder if he did it

Damn right and I'll do it again

Cuz I am right so I gots to win

Break break wit the enemy

But no matter how many cats I break bread wit

I'll break who you sendin me

…

Fred blinked and rubbed at his eyes as he noticed a black cat slow-motion strolling in time with the music, crossing the lawn towards a fox that was staring wide eyed at the smaller, yet supremely confident, predator approaching.

Bemused, Fred stopped and watched as the cat approached his target. The fox had gotten over its shock at the pint sized buzz-saw's temerity and begun growling. Lowering its forequarters its head was inches from the grass with eyes narrowed and lips drawn back to reveal drool covered teeth.

The cat hadn't slowed further from its slow advance. Fred had just gotten his phone out and begun recording the scene when the cat finally reached his mangy opponent.

Having passed the usual 'stand-off and intimidate' distance at a slow stroll the audacious feline flicked his forelimbs to bounce up onto his back legs in a flash. He stood upright, now within a forelimb's reach, and flicked his right paw out to the fox's ear. The fox took the feint, flicking its head up and snapping at the paw. This savage response nicely exposed its right cheek for the wound up left paw that struck with the force of a hammer and sent it flying head over tail to land in a heap, mere feet from the border hedge.

Fred's eyes widened behind the false safety of his phone's viewing screen as he faithfully recorded the exchange. The fox shakily made its way to its feet and looked around, obviously stunned and getting its bearings. When its eyes touched on its assailant it flinched. As the cat continued to just sit their calmly and ignore its presence it took a shaky half-step in that direction.

A "schnick" caused the fox to freeze as the cat's gleaming silver claws unsheathed in a silent, yet clear, threat. The cat's eyes swept across the lawn and settled upon the frozen fox. It "eeped" and dove for the hedge, booking it as fast as four legs could carry it.

Fred let out a breath and stopped recording, thinking the action was over for now. When he looked back up the cat's gaze was fixed upon him. The Abyss stared back. It's been said that cats are Hell's minions and they keep a foot in Hell in life. Fred looked into those slit pools of controlled madness and fury. Feeling like a baby chick before a snake, he believed.

He flinched when the cat stood and sauntered in his direction. He flinched harder when the cat snapped its head to the side and caught a passing butterfly out of the air. He winced when the cat began to chew, the struggles of the insect getting weaker as the jaws full of shining razors moved. All through this production the cat's eyes didn't leave his own.

Fred nodded jerkily; message received, and moved his thumb to delete the video. The cat's gaze left his own, and his tail flirted, as his course diverted and he disappeared around the side of the house.

Fred wiped his brow, hitched up his trousers and made his way down the path, onward to the next house. 'What was that?'

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Five houses down from his own humble abode, Mojo smirked internally as he peered back around the edge of the house at the confused and uneasy postman.

'Step 1 complete. Step 2 to come. Step 'Free-milk' is one stage closer…'

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Sunday 22nd August 2004. On a late evening a ringing phone's strident tones summoned Danny at a fast walk from the dying day's warmth in the back garden.

His daughter was off visiting at Emma's house so their designated gopher was away for the day.

Danny shook his head, trying to move his slow thoughts from their languid movements gained from his child-free afternoon lazing with his wife.

"Hello? Danny Hebert speaking"

"Hello Mr Hebert" answered an unfamiliar voice "This is Nurse Roberts calling from Golden Bough Retirement Home,"

Danny's shoulders quivered as he felt a cold breeze work its way up his spine at the mention of his father's accommodation.

"Is he, is everything okay?" he stuttered, interrupting the voice on the line in his concern.

"He is stable" reassured the nurse. "However it is our policy to notify the next of kin should one of our guests need admitting to hospital" she said, attempting to emphasize the routine of the call.

"It is purely in case of complications that may need your permission for further treatment.

"Now, Mr Hebert, your father, complained of stomach cramps on Friday evening, asked for his meals in his room on Saturday, and then didn't answer his door this morning.

"My colleagues found him, unresponsive on his bed, with a mild fever. He did not respond to the medications given. When his temperature spiked this afternoon the site doctor referred him to the hospital for further tests and I called you."

"That… doesn't sound like him" commented Danny in shock.

"I know from his file he's always been very healthy, but as we get older…" explained Nurse Roberts.

"No, no" interrupted Danny as he tried to explain his shocked rambling. "I meant I can't imagine him going up to a nearby nurse and saying that he had 'stomach cramps'!" he laughed shakily.

Danny was shocked when a full belly laugh greeted him down the line.

"Indeed. My colleagues told me what actually happened was that your father broke wind in the Dining room loudly enough to rattle the windows and decimate the uptake of the pudding course by 100%. Then, when he was asked if everything was alright, he swore in 3 recognisable languages before asking for some more treacle tart to settle down the toad in the hole that was trying to escape him!

Your father is a character and as much as his commentary and 'escape attempts' annoy the Head it gives the rest of us great entertainment. He has a lot of people here hoping he gets well soon."

Danny smiled at the anecdote and the other's sincerity.

"And a few here too. Thank you. So, where's he now? Brockton Central?"

"Yes. And the summer gang wars are quieting down now with the cooler weather so he got admitted in record time."

"Great. Thank you and god bless"

"Good night Mr Hebert"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Thursday 26th August 2004. That afternoon Annette cornered Taylor for a quick conversation whilst Danny hadn't gotten home from work yet and Mojo was out in the garden, stretching his legs after his evening meal and terrorising the local birdlife.

After a particularly loud panicked fluttering of wings from the garden Annette brought up her chosen subject.

"So Hun, I've been thinking and I noticed that Mojo still looks very clean, has been extraordinarily successful with his hunting recently," Annette scowled a little at the thought of the feline's predations "and despite having a tongue that could sand wood, no visible injuries from grooming. C'mon, 'fess up" she demanded straight faced.

"Er" Taylor looked up from where she'd been fiddling with the internals of another little pocket-watch sized clank.

"I kind of realised that was a problem when the Death-ray and baubles became necessary. Fur is tough, but not that tough. So I kind of gave him a toughened artificial coat?"

"And dealt with all the side effects of replacing a creature's skin with an artificial construct?"

"Yes, easy as pie once I put some sunglasses on."

"So this is how Alice felt" mused Annette to herself. "Ok, I'll bite. Why did you need sunglasses?"

"To stop the glare of course"

"What glare? What did you make his coat out of?"

"Something I can't pronounce, combined with something I can pronounce but don't want to, by means of a method I haven't named yet?"

"Are you asking or telling me?"

"Asking you to accept me not telling you?"

"Cheeky beggar. Accepted, I'm only an English professor after all, not a rocket scientist. Invent the theoretical monkey that can type Shakespeare's plays and then we'll talk. NOT a suggestion!" she interjected hurriedly.

"Now back on track; glare?"

"The stuff? It kind of looks like tinsel…"

At the sound of paws padding into the room the two females looked up to see a decidedly black and white Mojo looking extraordinarily smug as he gazed up at them over a dead size 14 pigeon stuffed into his size 8 maw.

"Not silver tinsel" commented Annette.

"Bronze actually" confirmed Taylor.

"That gorgeous young cat," Mojo's body language just got 10 magnitudes smugger, before Annette continued "with that disgusting flying rat in my nice clean house," Mojo's eyes widened over the feathers before turning tail and fleeing with his prize "is most certainly not bronze. I'm guessing you didn't spray paint him. He wouldn't hold still for that, even if it'd work, which it wouldn't.

"Shame, I'd have paid to see vid of that" she muttered.

"So, what else does this 'stuff' do?" she concluded with a raised eyebrow.

"Its default is black and white."

"This is like dragging your Grandpa into a church. Default? So it can be changed? How much and who has control?"

"Er, yeah. It can be anything and I have control. And, so does Mojo of course."

"You gave Mojo camouflage? No wonder his hunting has improved so much!" A low hiss from the garden greeted this comment.

"Not really. I mean anything. Low heat signature, reactive and into the low and high light bands, well outside of human sight ranges. Yet still soft, fluffy and breathable as Egyptian cotton… kinda."

"Reactive 'and…'? So it's not camouflage. It's reactive camouflage?"

"Er, yeah…"

"Rule for the fridge door; no more giving house pets Stranger ratings!"

"Mew" came the agreement from midair above a blotchy patch of carpet beside her leg.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 28th August 2004. In the last couple of days Annette had almost grown accustomed to having a variably visible member of the family lurking around the house. But she still had a few questions.

"We are not exactly Silicon Valley here; with hi-tech discards just lying around for you to cannibalise. So how'd you make Mojo's camo-coat?

I mean, those Harry Potter fanatics on Earth Aleph are still struggling to make an invisibility circle and they have budgets of hundreds of thousands of dollars.

The Army tries using nano-paint and cameras on an MoD sized budget." 'And don't even ask about how many different methods our Tinkers mess about with, with whatever they get their grubby little paws on.' she thought to herself.

"And us… the only reason this neighbourhood is considered 'middle-class' rather than 'low-class' or 'trailer trash' is because a) we live in a house, not a trailer. And b) none of the city's gangs have bothered trying to claim it.

Now, ranting over. How did you do it? What did you use?"

Wide eyed before her mother's passionate speech Taylor timidly replied "A load of tinsel for the hair like qualities, half the fake Christmas tree for the toughness. I mean it's lasted longer than I have, so it should surpass Mojo too, the Christmas twinkle lights for the different settings and passing the reactions along the coat, 3 litres of resin & bondo etc, bacon; with a 60:40 split of smoked and un-smoked to ensure Mojo enjoys grooming himself, and sewing needles and ink for a couple of parts that came out a bit uneven… and dad's old jumper for luck."

"Which old jumper?"

"The brownish-purple striped mustard…green(?) one with the bobbly bits of wool and leather elbow patches."

Her mother's silence and thinking face encouraged her and she continued wih more enthusiasm "I mean if it's lasted this long despite you disliking it, Mojo trying to destroy it whenever it's out of it's wardrobe and Dad no longer fitting it then it's gotta have a lot of luck. Right?"

"Honey, that was your Father's favourite jumper when he was a kid. Passed down from his Grandfather. To his father. To your father.

Now are you sure it can't be restored?"

"Ah.

…

…

Not reaaally? Certainly not without…"

"Ok, that's great" interrupted Annette as a thoughtful look came over her munchkin's features. "Well done Taylor. Now don't tell your Father and we'll head out to look at Grandpa's patch of land tomorrow!"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Last edited: Feb 20, 2018

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Chapter 4: Sixteen tons

Sunday 29th August 2004. By late morning the next day the family were standing beside their car, looking down on the area that the deed outlined as Grandpa Hebert's property.

They'd headed out from the City early that morning, quickly skirting a deserted Commercial District and passing through a sleepy Captain's Hill where early morning joggers and dog-walkers were appearing. They soon reached the ring of hills that encircled the city, fencing in the built up area that once took advantage of one of the best natural anchorages on the East Coast, and passed into the countryside. Twenty miles of confusing back trails later they reached a small sign. A simple wooden slat affixed to an oversized stake by the side of the track that pronounced in burnt script 'Not George's Place'.

The twenty miles of trails had slowly reduced in standards of material, gradient and the ability to maintain a straight line the further they progressed. So it was a relieved Family Hebert that welcomed the opportunity to stretch their legs after the last hour and a half of self-inflicted torture masquerading as transport.

They had seen from the map included in the deed that Grandpa George had understated it somewhat at dinner the other day. The area outlined on the deed was at the high end of a few hundred acres. However the reason he did so was immediately obvious when they arrived and walked past the minimalistic boundary.

The visible area from the public track was small and dominated by a small yet sturdy wooden cabin. Overshadowed by tree branches it stretched deep. Back past trees that grew their limbs protectively over it, until its walls reached a sheer rock-face hewn out of the hill that it nestled against for protection from the northern winters.

The remaining level area beside the cabin was about 50 metres to a side, split fairly evenly between overgrown brambles, ground scrubs and scree or small rocks that had worked their way to the surface in the cold winters.

There were a few foot trails penetrating into the surrounding hills that, if you peered hard enough, you could imagine existing as more than a glint in a determined sheep's eye, reaching out to the rest of the multi-levelled territory. Further flattened areas were visible, few and far between on the far side of a stream that wound its wandering way through the middle of the valley. The stream itself showed no sign of being bridged at any point, the current dribble running in the bed was safe to ford in summer, yet the width of the channel it had cut and the odd deposited over-sized rock betrayed signs of seasonal floods that would make that a dubious proposition at best.

Despite the foot trails, very little of the property was easy to access. Virtually none of it by motor vehicle without levelling and building a new road, for which there was no current need or desire, and the lack of a neighbour within 5 miles made that even less likely in the future. And access to the remainder was denied if you didn't have a good sense of direction, strong legs and wind in your lungs.

Taylor exited the cabin having seen all she needed with once glance around the single room rustic property. With hands on slim hips the pint-sized reality-bending prodigy breathed in the mountain air and listened to the tinkle of the water running through the clearing.

A smile slowly split her face as she murmured to herself "Yes, this will do. This will do very well."

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Wednesday 1st September 2004. Taylor was hard at work that evening, checking calculations, re-writing script and adjusting fiddly bits. And none of this was for her Math, English Lit., nor Shop classes so it was a true shame that all of this skull-sweat would not raise her grade point average even a tenth of a point. Instead, like the old saying 'Hard work is its own reward', Taylor's hard work would still be rewarded.

"Beep-idity, beep" saluted (one of) the fruit of her labours. Standing before Taylor was an advanced version of her jumping clank. Now with advanced planning, scavenging, building and limited self-replication and problem-solving skills, they bore the visual resemblance of a large bronze polished pocket watch and possessed the manual dexterity of a Master watch-maker. The design was complete! The 'complete design', having finished his salute, ran. Away from his maker he joined a huddle of five other similar clanks at the side of the workbench where it raised its voice box and added to the cacophony that emerged from the bunch.

For values of 'complete'. Their sub-units would still had the strength of a windup toy and they all shared vocal skills reminiscent of a peeved R2 unit. Meh, quantity has a quality sufficient to my current needs. And I can understand them…as can some Star Wars fans. Huh. Note to self, put these guys on lock-down during convention season. And do NOT let them within range of Jar Jar Binks cosplayers; I don't know how much sub-conscious spill-over there was in the personality design. Ummm, maybe I should test that first?

Pulling herself from her thoughts Taylor re-centred her concentration on her minions before her. What little of the melody she could interpret suggested that they seemed to be arguing over who had the biggest tool?

"Hello?" she tried. The half-dozen little clanks continued beeping, honking and tooting around the new member who'd at this point tired of the argument, grabbed one of its fellows in a half nelson, and was trying to figure out some way to pile-drive it into the work surface. Fortunately pocket watches lacked flexible spines to perform a proper suplex.

"STOP!" she commanded.

The little figures froze as only mechanicals can.

"Ay-teeen-SHUN!"

At this command the six of them lined up, ramrod straight in front of her. Resolutely ignoring the attempted fratricide that had almost occurred a moment ago. A silent conversation was communicated in glares between creator and createe;

Murder?

No murder here ma'am.

What was it then?

Friendly rough-housing; a move it was telling me about from something called 'wrestling'.

Why that move?

Because I couldn't find a small enough fold-up metal chair.

Chair?

To use the traditional move in that situation.

Murder situation?

Murder?

No Murder here ma'am.'

And around it'd go ad nauseam.

So Taylor ignored it and focused on her sub-ordinates instead. She rolled the words in her mind before her lips tasted them. Finally she spat them out.

"Jar Jar Binks"

The discordant musical notes sounded and were immediately drowned out as lump hammers crashed, drill bits rotated, welding torches ignited and circular saws revved all appearing disturbingly over-sized in her minion's miniature hands. A strange 'snap-hiss' had all six of them looking over at the latest clank as he growled brandishing a four inch red lightsaber.

Upon feeling their gaze he followed their eyes down to the red Sith blade in his hand that Taylor did not remember making as part of his design.

"Be Be Beeks?" he tried to explain. Actually, that did explain it. Mental note: Taylor, don't look into the darkest shadows of the depths of our soul.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Friday 3rd September 2004. Danny wandered out of the Union's headquarters, nodding to several of his colleagues as they left for the day. Things weren't picking up despite the new Major's election campaign having been to revitalise the Dock area.

Sure, a stretch of the Front was being gutted, renovated and turned into a spiffy looking shopping area; 'The Boulevard' they were already calling it. But the jobs created were in building construction, plumbing and electrical installation. Things that his lads could hum the tune and sing a few words for (and get promptly thrown out of their current establishment for attempting to violate their fellow ears so indiscriminately), but they weren't builders or repairmen.

The men and women of the DWU specialised in producing, moving, maintaining and running custom, high spec, heavy duty machinery. Some of them had training in other areas from having led what are known as 'colourful lives' before finding their way to the DWU, and this gained them the odd side job every now and then, and the nature of the job meant that the majority of them had HGV and stevedore training.

But the DWU was suffering, being side-lined by larger, more specialised, companies in the building construction industry. Even worse, the jobs after the renovations were complete would be that of Security or Salesperson. Many people called Danny stubborn, but very few called him delusional. Danny did not believe that his folks would be natural fits for these roles. Half of his folks were the kind of people you called Security to deal with in these swanky up market boutiques, and the other half… let's just say that you didn't call Security on the other half.

Still, some of the project money had been ring-fenced for local companies, and his guys had swiped the lion's share of the jobs for logistics on site, communal utilities installation and site security (very different from Mall Security; less 'Consumer Relations' and more knowing which areas the sites' CCTV did and didn't cover).

Maybe he should give the guys the discrete nod to cosy up to their fellows on site? Learn everything they can while they're in the vicinity. Being able to cross-trade was always useful for the future after all, although they'd still have to go for the formal qualifications, this may make it a touch easier (and open a few of his guys' more closed thought processes).

Lost in his thoughts Danny barely noticed his wife's arrival in his beaten up old truck as she pulled onto the badly worn surface of the DWU car park.

"Hey Danny, over here!" she waved.

Startled, he shook off his lethargy and moved briskly towards the sole vehicle sat in the empty car park. Even as he realised he was the last one out today he heard a faint noise behind him.

'F #k' he cursed in his mind. The DWU yard had a fence around the compound, but no money for 24 hour security on site, nor maintenance of the fence; some of the first victims of the Union having to tighten their purse-strings. This had resulted in various undesirables getting bolder and starting to sneak around the docks; jackals looking for an easy carcass to strip. But to begin this early in the evening meant this was more likely a sanctioned action by one of the gangs to test the DWU's reaction rather than 'wild' junkies making an opportunistic move.

Danny moved faster for the truck, with Annette here he'd get out of the area before calling some of the boys back to scare off the interlopers. A crushed soda can skittering across the tarmac ahead of him removed his hopes of avoiding a confrontation. Danny slowed, zipping his coat up for make-shift light armour, and moved his hands away from his sides, presenting a less threatening appearance, yet freeing them from the obstruction of coat and pockets.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" he called out.

A snigger was his reply, cut off by an elbow as the leader of the other three thugs stepped forward into Danny's view.

"The Archer's Bridge Merchants say 'hi'" the thin man said. "Skidmark wants to make a deal with the Docks. Make a deal with you"

"Who, or what, is 'Skidmark'? Who are these 'Merchants'?" asked Danny playing for time and information.

"We are. We're the next thing. The new Big Gang in this town. We're, hehe, inclusive, ya know? Not like them Empire nuts that would cut a guy for not being whiter than a pastor's sheets. Or all them short Triad or Yak psychos who'd cut you with a samurai sword so they don't have to look up! Love everyone, get high and have a good time is what we want" the man smiled blissfully.

"Skidmark is the one to do it, gives us a chance, has ideas. He wants access to the Docks. Even with most trade bein' torpedoed like that mother out there." He gestured towards the sunken tanker blocking the main channel into the Bay. "You can still help us, and we can help you" he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together in an age old gesture. "Lots of green to spread around."

Danny thought carefully about his next words. It was four on one, he was metres away from any makeshift weaponry and his wife was in the area. He just hoped they didn't do anything stupid; he'd hoped for an early night and washing bloodstains off of the tarmac would mean running the hose over here then putting it away again. He also hoped he didn't do anything his wife would consider stupid; he'd hoped for an early night and trying to fall asleep on the couch wouldn't help this. Nor would frying pan incurred injuries.

"Thank you for the opportunity. But the DWU will not be interested in this partnership."

"At this time?" pressed the spokesman.

"At any time" denied Danny. As soon as he shut down the option so hard he realised the mistake he'd made as the men around him tensed, looking to their leader. His negotiating instincts had betrayed him, playing hardball to remove an untenable position from the table as soon as possible so it wasn't seen as negotiable, nor seen as negotiating in bad faith by leaving it dangling, tempting the other party. This wasn't a negotiating table for a contract with lawyers, civil servants, contractors and more lawyers sitting around a table. This was four on one on a darkened piece of tarmac late on a Friday night.

"Whoah! Whoe! No need for this fellas" he warned, raising his hands to his head, elbows chicken winged to the sides.

"Yes. There is" said the leader moving forward. "You don't wanna play ball. But we do. So we're gonna play… and you're gonna be the ball!" He lunged at Danny, arms rising to grab at his jacket.

It was far too slow. Even as his arms rose from his sides in the attack, they were met by Danny's arms, already at head height. One twist with an elbow sweeping across Danny's body and the lunge was brushed aside, leaving Danny facing the leader as he staggered forward off balance. The body tottered straight into an elbow strike as the twist reversed and the opposite arm's elbow slipped over the gangbanger's outstretched arms to drive into his cheek bone with an audible 'crunch'.

As the thin man collapsed, Danny danced backwards into the newly created space shaking his arm out 'Crap. I'd forgotten just how much this b {} ks hurts!'

The remaining three looked at each other and at the pile of rags that was their boss for the night, and had a think.

A couple of awkward seconds later, with still no aggression from the three, Danny started edging towards the truck in the distance. This provoked a reaction.

"Oi! Where're you goin'?" growled one, flicking out an over-sized pen knife.

"Er, I thought we were done for the night… so I was just, er, goin' over there" he said, gesturing over his shoulder.

"Not done yet" was the grunted reply. "An' I've got a knife"

A sultry tone with a poorly imitated Australian drawl answered his assertion from over his shoulder, causing them all to jump. "Thas nowt a noyfe!

"This is a Noyfe!"

They turned and stared. Annette Hebert stared back over a slab of metal that looked like the amalgamation of a Jack knife, chainsaw and velociraptor, one adopted by the Osmond Family. It was an unholy union, with lots of teeth.

They stared some more. It gleamed. The multiple teeth sparkled in the dim light of the streetlamps.

"Go" ordered Annette, ex-enforcer for Lustrum; The violence-prone ultra feminist cape of the East Coast.

They went, with speed.

As the partners turned towards the car Danny asked the question that was bugging him.

"So what was with that hoe-ren-dous accent?"

"You ask me about my accent first? Not where I got my hands on this?" Annette asked as she brandished the short sword she used to scare off the druggies.

"I kind of assumed that was Taylor's fault somehow and thought the accent was the more note worthy appearance" he replied with a wry smile.

"Welp, I heard it in this Earth-Aleph film the other year. It was the best bit to be honest. And I just always wanted to use it. But it doesn't really sound right without a bad accent…" she teased with a smirk. A groan was her answer.

"What's wrong? You've got lots of characters in your gang that masquerades as a respectable leaning pillar of society (otherwise known as a Union), but not that many dodgy accents. What have they been winding you up with now?"

"I've been getting these really weird prank calls all day. They're driving me nuts. Some caller putting on a weird kinda-german accent and was quoting Star Wars at me!"

"Maybe it's the Empire trying to pressure the Docks, to match these losers?"

"You think The Empire 88 are prank calling me?"

"Vee schtart vid zee sychologic-ic-ics beefour zee beetingz. Like all gud Naz... Hey!" she giggled as he interrupted her nefarious planning with a well aimed pinch.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Sunday 5th September 2004. "Dahn-ny, Dahn-ny? Har hue der?"

Danny sighed as he listened to the crank caller once again. They were certainly persistent.

"Yes, yes. 'Hue are mine Farter' and all that. Who are you? Where'd you get this number? I want answers or I'm calling the police and reporting you for harassment!"

"Nein, nho need for dat! It'his me! Jeeyorge! Hyur Farter…"

"Very funny. My father is elderly and currently ill, not German. In fact it would not surprise me to learn that he shot the last Nazi he encountered. This joke is in very poor taste. Goodbye!" Danny slammed the phone down. 'Honestly, the nerve of some people!'

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Tuesday 7th September 2004. It had been a long trying week and it was still only Tuesday. Danny was driving home in a half-daze, his head still thinking on the current negotiations with a new construction firm on the block that were slowing down as they tried playing hard-ball with a Union they thought they could push around.

A few minutes later Danny looked up realising that he'd been stuck in a queue for the past ten minutes due to a temporary set of traffic lights. This wasn't that unusual considering Brockton Bay's unofficial title of Cape-Central and the associated random property damage that accompanies large numbers of capes in close proximity in the same way that methane production accompanies beans; an unfortunate and unwelcome side-effect. What was unusual was for this traffic jam to have been on the same street near his house for the past week.

The prevalence of freshly damaged surroundings and the mayor's strategy of encouraging tourism in the city meant that the repair crews had not only gotten a lot of practice, they'd gotten fast at their repair jobs as well. Therefore they should have finished what looked like a simple skim and relaying of some tarmac, where some brute had thrown a dumpster down the road at an opposing gang, within two days at the most.

A full day would have had their supervisor down to scout out how good the local coffee shop was and see if they'd gotten distracted enough they overstayed their tea break. Two was understandable if there was damage to the drains or electrics. But six or more days?

Spotting a familiar face in a high-vis jacket, Danny rolled down the window, leant out and shouted "HEY JOSH!"

"Danny?" asked a well built fellow who bore a strong resemblance to a keg of beer.

"Yup, it's me. What's going on? I thought you guys would be long done by now. There been another fight already?"

"Ha, no." said Josh, leaning over to spit into the gutter. "We wish. It would've only cost a few hours then. Some bugger's gone and run off with half the gear; whole bunch of new demolition hammers, a generator and some replacement electrics for where the idiot cape managed to take out the transformer over there" he gestured.

"Huh, no idea who it was?"

"Nope, we'd just finished setting up the lights and cones and grabbed a coffee before we got cracking. Then Joe turned around and … you'd better get moving Danny" he said as the car in front shifted into gear and slunk forward.

"Sure thing Josh" Danny said as he did the same. "Stay safe and I'll see you at Kurt's next BBQ".

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Friday 10th September 2004. "I'll get it!" called Danny as he made his way to the front door even as the sun slunk its way under the horizon.

"Evening, can I hel…" Danny trailed off as he took in the imposing 7 foot figure swathed in black in his porch.

"Daaan, Daaan. I am your faaather Daaan" breathed the figure through an iconic mask.

"What? Who? No!" stuttered Danny in shock.

"The Golden Bough never told you what happened to your father."

"They told me enough! They told me he is sick!"

"No, I am your father." The dark figure matched that over dramatic statement with another dramatic gesture when it threw off its black robes and mask to reveal…

…another costume.

"Do you mind if we discuss this inside?"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

"I don't believe it!" said Danny as he sat on the sofa with his wife, large tots of rather less than non-alcoholic liquid clenched in their hands. Taylor sat between them with a gigantic mug of hot chocolate resting on her knees overflowing with marshmallows.

"It iz true Zun" replied the figure from where he sat on their armchair. The aging chair groaned when the large figure shrugged awkwardly. The fur on his shoulders rubbed against the fabric raising a static charge, and the hair with it.

What Danny had initially taken for a second costume was actually George's new physiology. The broad framed figure was larger than even initial impressions when you realised it was broad compared to the height, which was a few inches over 7 feet. Limbs were in proportions that would look odd on a human, with feet ending in talons poking through the trainers they had been squeezed into and hands with fingers as thick as a power-lifters and long as a professional basketball player.

But the greatest difference was in the head and face with golden cat's eyes staring out over a broad muzzle, framed by a twitching furry pair of elf ears that rose to points matched in height by the mohawk between them. The three peaks drew attention away from the two stubs of budding horns on the forehead that was in line with the start of the hawk. Hairlines were otherwise superfluous as the entire visible body was covered in fine psychedelic-coloured fur in a tabby cat's pattern.

The final effect was that of Lion-O having gone to a festival of colours, gotten a drunken rocker's haircut before ending up on the losing end of a paint ball fight.

"Und I zink Taylore haz sumzing to tell uz. Becoz I zink I haf noticed zum side effectz…"

Taylor squeaked and buried her nose in marshmallows as all faces turned to her.

"Cum hon littel vun. Jus' tell de truth, ya?"

Slowly a marshmallow covered nose rose and Taylor admitted to brewing something a little volatile in her laboratory below.

"There's no antidote?!" asked Danny. "Why on earth did you make something with no antidote? … Right, right 'experimental'."

There was a pause as everyone gathered their thoughts about their parental figure / parent / grandparent / self having been accidentally turned into a monster by the youngest member of the room, and there being no route back.

Annette was the first to regain her wits. "What exactly were you shooting for that was worth such … changes?" she asked, delicately avoiding casting the alterations in a more negative light. "I've seen you other … experiments. What was different this time?"

Taylor mumbled something and dumped her mug on the table to better bury into Danny's side.

"Hy tink hy heard dat, but cud hyu repeat dat for hyur parentz Taylore?" asked George as his ears twitched.

Grumpily Taylor turned and straightened. "I wanted to make something that could stay with Mom and Dad, keep them strong and tough enough to survive a a … another car crash, or a gang fight, or accident at work, or a cape fight, or…"

"Taylor!"

She shook her head and got back on track. "I got the strength, the stamina, toughness and the healing and I was trying to get rid of the side effects. But my experiments just weren't giving repeatable results. So I boxed up the project for another day. Then Grandpa got a little nosey and a lot clumsy. I thought he'd just got a dud batch with a short shelf life. I was wrong." She looked down, obviously upset with herself.

"Oh littel vun, hy am nhot hupset. Dis iz a gud thing. Und my back izn't achingz for de first time hin yearz!" he joked. "Now comingz here und give hyur Grandpa a hug, ya?"

Taylor exploded from the couch into her Grandpa's fuzzy embrace.

"Dad, I hate to point this out, but what are you going to do now? The folks at the Golden Bough might notice something's a bit different about you." Danny raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"Me? Hy vill go to Dizneyland!" George exclaimed hoisting a giggling preteen above him.

A second eyebrow joined the first.

"Dat'z not fair. Hyu can't zee mhy eyebrows."

"I could lend you an eyebrow pencil if it would help" interjected Annette.

"Er. Thankz but no thankz Annette. Hy think hy vill look at da Protectorate. Hif hy haz ze strength und healingz then hy cud make a pretty gud hero, ya?"

"Ooo, they are so strung up on their image and keeping good PR. I can't wait to see how they are going to try and sell you!" Annette gloated. "'Cookie-Monster' comes to mind"

"Oy!"

"Or 'Pretty-Kitty'" suggested Danny.

"Now vait vun minute…" he cut off as Taylor started scratching behind his ears the way Mojo loved and his eyes closed as a deep bass purr erupted from deep in his chest.

"'Snuggle-cat'?" asked Taylor innocently, continuing to scratch even as slit eyes opened and glared at her for her betrayal.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Fred the postman

Tuesday 14th September 2004. It was three houses over, and the same number of weeks following Fred's previous misadventure in this street, before Fred laid eyes on that black cat once more.

With no video evidence to cement his confidence in his own memory he'd half managed to convince himself that he'd imagined the whole thing as an extremely vivid daydream. 'And nope that hellcat's eyes had nothing to do with it, no sirree'.

This time he witnessed a fox on its haunches leaning back from that hell stare, its body shaking almost as fast as its head was nodding as a silent communication passed between the two animals. It would have been further away from the dominating cat, but the claws nearest to Fred were latched into its chest fur, similar to a human grabbed by the lapels, holding it firmly in place.

Despite the cat having its back to him Fred just knew that this was the hellcat of his 'daydream'. The knowledge was reinforced when the cat noticed its colleague cum plaything's attention being diverted, from his every 'word', to over his shoulder where Fred was standing there staring at the discussion.

Mojo's head pivoted 160-odd degrees, a gun turret scanning for a target, before it fixed upon Fred. Its far paw came up, opening claws with a "schnick" that did not in fact hold a faint metallic glint. These pale scimitars swiftly sunk into the fox's breast fur. Having renewed his grip, threatened his witness and terrified his current playmate with one idle gesture, Mojo used his freed forelimb to wave Fred away with a loose flap of his paw and an ivory sneer. 'Off you trot little errand boy. I'll be extorting you soon enough'.

Relieved and yet with a vague sense of trepidation he couldn't quite pin down Fred turned back to his next delivery. As he walked up the path he pulled out his phone to send a text.

Yo Jon

Wot time u off?

Pub 12?

Wheatsheaf by docks

1st 1s on me

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Mojo

Tuesday 14th September 2004. Mojo briefly contemplated the benefits to his psychological experiment of now having his stronger than normal claws and teeth hidden from casual inspection. Smirking to himself he turned back to the business at claw point.

[The following 'events at clawpoint' have been dubbed into English for our readers convenience]

"Now you, will take them, up to the mountains. Then you will come back here for more. Once a day and I won't have to get 'creative'" he said gesturing with a glance over at the bunch of small clanks hidden in the hedgerow.

"Mown-tins?" whimpered the fox.

"Big cold hills" Mojo explained to the moronic fox. 'How do I share the commonalities of so much as a fur coat with this imbecile….?'

"Er…?" the fox looked around desperately for these hills.

"That way" Mojo sighed, pointing. He almost lost his grip from the desperate nod he received.

"Ok". He held on anyway until five clanks had made their way over and climbed up his trembling captive.

"Beep, beep, bip-beep?"

"What do you mean; what now?" Mojo asked the clank that had questioned him. "Get going!"

"Burrrrrr…. BI-BOP, BEEP-BEEP!" the lead clank hooted excitedly.

The fox stood there on four splayed legs until suddenly the rearmost clank extracted a size 6 needle from what appeared to be a size 3 space in its carapace and jabbed it into the fox's haunches. This spurred it into rearing in its surprise before taking off at a dead sprint down the street, clanks hanging on for dear life to its back fur, honking and tooting with excitement.

Mojo sat there and watched the odd steed and its odder cargo until out of view. Slowly he brought his paw up and gave in to a good old fashioned face-paw.

"Where, and when, the hell did they see The Lone Ranger?"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Thursday 16th September 2004. After washing the dishes post-supper Danny headed towards the living room expecting to find the TV a source of the crashing he'd been hearing for the past 15 minutes.

Upon a yowl from the back garden, audible even through the closed kitchen, he smiled and diverted for the back door. He opened it in time for a red streak to pass through his legs at Warp Speed 3 with a 'yelp' of thanks.

He smirked upon the abrupt braking the creature applied when it realised that from the angle it entered the door it had about 3 feet, and with a chair in the way, to stop before it hit the wall at 30mph. The furry speed merchant showed an enthusiastic amateur's ability level of free running as he diverted his journey with a fast leap to the chair and another to the adjacent side board in an abrupt skittering of claws on wood.

Danny turned in his direction and asked "And what got your furry britches in such a hurry, eh Mo…?" he trailed off as realised the furry fugitive was not in fact the households pet slash owner.

A mew from outside answered his question as Mojo sauntered in flirting his tail.

"Bloody foxes" he muttered to himself before turning back to the house to remove the uninvited guest.

Seeing the fox sat before his wife and daughter was a surprise. Seeing the fox getting more and more frantic in its movements as the smaller feline closed and cut off its retreat was also surprising considering how many times Mojo had had to seek refuge in the house from foxes before. Seeing the fox begin to make increasingly obvious and elaborate motions that represented requests for asylum gave Danny a pretty good suspicion of what was going on.

But best to be certain. "What… is going on here?" he managed even as he eyed Taylor.

Taylor looked up from the impressive charade claiming diplomatic immunity under the 1961 Vienna Convention of Diplomatic Relations. An idle comment of "Yeah, good argument but you're hardly foreign" was tossed in the fox's direction before she replied to her father.

"No idea. It wasn't to do with me, but it's fascinating. It gives me loads of ideas! And I had no idea paws could bend that way… Which one was that one mom?"

"Humane treatment of prisoners of war…"

"How can you even understand all that?"

"After getting used to the clanks' beeping it's all much of a muchness. Hum a tune, toot a horn, beep a bip and all that… There's a reason it was the astromechs' language in the Star Wars franchise. Based in Maths, it kind of does for most of the universe's languages what Latin does for the Romantic languages" replied Annette before she too turned back to the desperate fox.

Further charades of the 1929 Geneva Convention were abandoned after Annette's confused follow-up questions; "You're human? No. So, what war?"

They had a little trouble with the fox's charade for 'Freedom from cruel and unusual punishment'. But finally managed to puzzle that one out, even if none in the room could work out how a fox had managed to learn the Bill of Rights.

Taylor couldn't help herself and asked why the fox thought they'd need or want to arrest or detain it. The pantomime of kicking, growling and crashing was an illuminating look into a young fox's budding violent criminal career. Before the case was dismissed when they realised it was merely trying to take the blame for knocking over the trashcans in the street.

The signing for "Mercy, please. Have mercy!" was fairly obvious however. Begging was pretty universal. Mojo sitting three feet away and looking as innocent as a cat that had just caught the canary, eaten the Thanksgiving turkey, washed it down with the ornamental koi carp and then mourned their passing by smashing the prized family Wedgwood china, that is to say 'looking as innocent as most cats do', gave the game away.

"Don Mojo. May we have a moment of your time? I think you have some explaining to do…"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

That night, after one of the more memorable game of charades that Danny had ever played was finally over, he was getting into bed with Annette. As he rolled over to turn off the bedside light, a thought occurred.

"Annette, we never found out why or how that fox was so intelligent in the first place."

It wasn't to be the most restful night's sleep that either of them had ever had.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 18th September 2004. It was early on in the afternoon as Taylor span around giggling madly with delight as she stared at her hands covered with her latest invention. Sparks flew over the knuckles as she wiggled her fingers, the leather under layer protecting her vulnerable skin from the energies gathered by the buzzing machinery.

With a shriek of laughter she thrust her hand out in a punching motion. A right cross of truly epic power caused the basement breezeblocks to crack from 20 feet away even as the air snapped in a loud whiplash caused by the bleed over energy from being used as a medium. A rising upper cut from the same hand ricocheted off of one of the two light fittings before cracking another breezeblock 10 feet from the first. Taylor straightened with a frown as half the light sources in the basement disappeared.

Flicking a switch caused the hum from the gauntlet to change pitch, rising from sub-audible levels to rattling her bones. Losing volume, the hum rose in pitch again to a virtual wolf whistle before finally dying away just before her back teeth could register their full displeasure at the sensation.

Removing the gauntlet from her right hand she carefully laid it on the worktop before approaching the cracks had created.

"Huh, 7/8ths of an inch wide, 12 inches long and…"

She poked a stick into the crack before measuring how far it penetrated.

"…and 8 inches deep. It probably would have been deeper but the far side of the wall is soil and probably compacted instead of cracking."

She moved on to view the results of the ricocheted shot.

"Not bad for an indirect strike. 7/8ths wide, 5 long, and only 3 inches deep. It didn't even fully penetrate the block. The additional travel time in the air or the first impact must have absorbed much of the energy before it could transfer to the block. More testing is needed! Still pretty good for maybe 30% of a pair of AA batteries, I wonder what would happen if I hooked it up to a generator?"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Sunday 19th September 2004. Danny disentangled himself from his wife on their couch and got up to refresh their bowl of popcorn. Retrieving the bag from the cupboard he turned poking thin air to open the microwave door before chucking the bag into the empty space where the microwave used to sit. Wait. Empty space?

"TAYLOR!?"

"DOWN HERE DAD!" came the call from the basement.

Striding to the basement door he made his way down the stairs. As he did he noticed the space wasn't as well lit as he recalled when he helped his daughter clear it out a couple of months earlier. Danny could still make out how crowded the top of the solid workbench now was; discarded bent parts and tools not yet put away after use littering the surface.

"Taylor, have you taken the microwave?"

"Yeees. It was either that or the washing machine though."

-Danny closed his eyes and counted to twenty, in greek. Finishing his count he took a deep breath reminding himself that he knew what he was getting into with a cape for a daughter that he didn't want to sign over to the PRT. He finished off with another deep breath, then he spoke.

"And what did you need them for honey? I thought you had enough parts for your clanks? Do we need to get you more bits and pieces?"

A thought struck him.

"You haven't upgraded Mojo again have you?

.

.

.

Baby you said you wouldn't do that again."

"No. I couldn't get hold of enough plutonium nor a left handed spork. Besides, I'm out of rubber bands. I was making these!"

Taylor flourished her paired gauntlets from where they lay next to the stripped husk of the missing microwave. Selectively ignoring his daughter's reasoning for not upgrading their house-pet, Danny took the hand wear from his daughter and inspected the strange machinery and odd ports jetting from the knuckles. One appeared to use primarily iron components and the other was comprised of steel all attached over leather under-gloves. Some of the jury-rigged parts also looked rather familiar to the dockworker.

"Taylor, where did you get the other parts for these?"

"Other parts?" she asked kicking behind her to move the stripped carcass of a jackhammer out of sight behind some boxes.

"There's some missing equipment at a nearby roadworks; a cement mixer, jackhammers and, most recently, a microwave. If I start poking around down here will I find some spare parts we didn't get for you young lady?"

"Maybe" Taylor admitted in a small voice.

"And I bet we'll find more projects you haven't run by us first either…" he sighed, suddenly weary.

"Why'd you even need a cement mixer in the first place?"

"Well it's to complete my pair. I'd already done the one, but ran out of parts for the Tornado Glove. We need the washing machine and the cement machine was just sitting there. Its parts would do the same job, sure it'll be slower but more powerful too."

"So if Tornado is one of a pair, what's the other?"

"Earthquake of course" she smiled.

"Please tell me you not been testing these down here?" Danny asked eying the broken light overhead.

"I've not tested the Tornado glove yet, I've only just finished it."

Danny followed her guilty gaze to the shadowed wall and saw the cracks.

"Taylor! What did you do; crank the generator to max?"

"No, I haven't even touched the… how'd you know about the generator?"

"I have friends in low places." Danny deadpanned. "So what did you use?"

Taylor held up a small cylinder.

"A couple of these."

Danny took the cylinder, a sinking feeling in his stomach as a blurry memory swam into focus and he recalled his father's joke the month before. 'Punch though a mountain' indeed.

"This is amazing honey, but you cannot use these at full power!"

Taylor looked at her father quizzically. So he elaborated.

"Brockton Bay was built on an aquifer. If you crack that one afternoon then a good part of the city may just end up a lot soggier in the evening than they were in the morning. Now we are going to put that generator back where you found it young lady!"

Danny looked around the workshop at all the tools. Greed and practicality won out.

"… after you heat us up some popcorn."

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Last edited: Feb 22, 2018

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Chapter 5: The death of Eva Braun

Sunday 26th September 2004. It was a quiet evening, made quieter by it being past Taylor's bedtime and the noise from the basement having stopped. A discrete knock had Danny untangling himself from his wife and making his way to the front door.

After seeing the form on the other side he merely stood aside to give the monster entrance.

"Hi Dad. What brings you round here?"

"Hello Zun. Juzt a qviete visit vid ze familiez, ja?"

"Pull the other one George, it's got fur on" contributed Annette from the living room doorway. "Glass of wine?" she asked as she wandered into the kitchen for refills.

"Schure. Red pleez."

Annette rejoined the men in the living room and they made themselves comfortable. George wet his lips before his first admission of the night.

"Hyu are talkingz to ze newest member of ze Protectorate. Hy haff a lot of trainingz to do, but my debuez will be in four weekz. Und zey vant to call me 'Calico'."

"They want to call you 'Calico'" repeated Annette gazing at the towering figure in her living room armchair with a knowing eye "but you've got something else planned…?"

"It vas de stripez. Und, ja, somezing else. But I don't vant to spoil ze surprise" he added with a toothy grin.

"Okay, okay" conceded Danny with a small smirk at his parent's games. "Any trouble with the process? Anything we can do to help?"

"No problemz. One schilly schtory zow, it vos like littel red ridings hood ven hy harrived. Hy schmiled ver' polite like, und ze guard vent 'ho vot big teeth hyu haff!'. Hiff he hed made vun comment about ze 'zilky furz' zen hy vould haff zumped hym.

.

.

"Henny-vey, hit all got ver' boringz hafter zat, until dey asked about tattooz und vezzer I rememberz mhy trigger."

"I suppose they wanted to know what caused a retiree in a nursing home to trigger, when the usual age range is between 13 and 25. I know you, and I know your smirk Dad. Give." Danny leant back with a smirk, cuddling Annette to him.

"Hy vill tell hyu about ze tattooz ven hyu iz olderz." George ribbed Danny gently.

"But ven zey asked (und it vas a very pretty littel female officer doink ze askingz) if hy knew vy hy become like zis, hy said it vas overvelming sexualz tension in ze nursing home. Hy zed hy didn't notiz anyzing different really, hy vas just a feelingz a littel hornier zan usual." He finished with a guffaw and a tap on the protrusions from his cranium.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Monday 27th September 2004. George had stayed the night so was there in time to see his favourite granddaughter before she had to head off to school.

Of course this surprise, yet welcome, visit from her Grandpa had the equivalent effect of 3 bowls of icecream, 2 expressos and a small bag of gummy bears on the preteen. It was all her mother could do to have her bouncing in the general vicinity of the kitchen tables chairs whilst eating her cereal, let alone parked in a specific seat.

Finally Taylor left for school, herded out the door by her slightly frazzled looking mother.

George, still chuckling over Taylor's sheer energy levels, decided to raise a question with Danny.

"Hey zun. Do hyu zink hyu cud azk Taylor to make mez a veapon vid variablez lezality? Zo hy can dezide how dangerouz it iz?"

"Sure Dad, I can ask her. Thanks for not asking yourself; she would have been uncontrollable at school today.

"But why'd you need that? Surely the PRT would provide if you asked for something like that?"

George waggled his clawed hand in a so-so gesture.

"From vut hy haff seen zo far zey expect uz to hyuse hour 'natural giftz'. Und zey don't really giff uz much for gear… unlezz hyu iz a Tinker hoff course. Now hy am all for 'au naturale'…" he joked with a fanged smirk.

"Wooah!" surrendered Danny with a grin. "It's far too early for letting your sense of humour out of its cage Dad"

"Zo, hy vould lyke a gun vich ken do non-lethal shotz, und be hused as a club in hand-to-hand at a pinch. Hy vould prefer a szord, but hy don't think the PRT vill go for hit.

"Besidez, hy am only a Brute 2. Most targetz who vant to keep zere distance vill be out of mhy szords reach. Und Brutez who vill be hin mhy szords reach vill huse it as a toothpick after being ze blender, or ze tenderizer, to mhy beef steak."

"Good points" acknowledged Danny cocking his head as he thought.

"I'll let Taylor know tonight. We'll see what she can come up with to keep her Grandpa safe." With a stretch and a groan, Danny checked the clock on the wall.

"Sorry Dad, but I've got to get to work now…. Maybe when you're a bit more established you could meet me at the Docks. Check out the old stomping grounds with a Hero's eye?" he gently teased even as he got up and moved dishes to the kitchen sink.

"Yez, yez. Zey are probably looking fore me now anyvey. Hy'll schneak out ze back before hyu lock up." George got up and made his way into the rear garden.

"Just be careful of Next Doors' rosebushes back there. I don't know what kind of fertiliser she put on them in the spring but they've been growing like stink since."

A thump and faint cursing was his answer as his warning arrived a little too late. Shaking his head, Danny finished locking up and headed for his truck.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Fred the postman

Wednesday 29th September 2004. It had been a fortnight since Fred's impromptu counselling session come philosophy meeting at his local pub.

Many wrongs of the world had been discussed, their intricacies dissected and debated in alcohol slurred speech, before being solved with indisputable intoxicated logic.

That isn't to say they were 'wrong'. But unfortunately for the world, and fortunately for two members of the Slaughterhouse 9 and at least one Endbringer, these drunken conclusions were lost to the aether in the wake of the damage done to each of the participants' 86 billion brain cells.

This session had also had the beneficial effect on Fred of reaffirming his humanity. That he wasn't alone in the world of weird things. And the s##te didn't just get aimed at him. After realising that he wasn't being singled out, he felt surprisingly better. For human beings measure happiness relatively and, relative to many others out there, a cat acting strangely towards other creatures wasn't that bad.

So it was with a light heart that Fred made his way up the steps to the next porch. His steps slowed as he noted red paw prints on the planking of the porch; a light trail of footsteps leading around the corner of the porch.

He shook his head. It must have been a cat that forgot to clean itself up after hunting. 'Its owner will be in for a shock, when it sees the mess that cat makes today' Fred thought.

Making his way to the front door he raised the lid on the post box before pausing, transfixed as he read the writing on the wall:

Ye who enter here donate your bodies to science.

Please note: Substandard or deviant specimens will be passed to the 'Bodyworlds' exhibit.

PS Yes, we can fake the documents required.

PPS Believe us

With a shiver Fred finished dropping his bundle into the box before turning and hurrying off to finish his route. Maybe it was time for another counselling session?

As he finished his route and was getting into his van for his post shift rendezvous a realisation struck him: 'WE can', 'Believe US'

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 2nd October 2004. Danny snorted as his nose tickled. A faint sound from the bedroom door tickled his ears to match and together they kicked the covers off of his sleepy consciousness.

"Hrmph? Whaagh zat?" Danny articulated as he sat up in bed. Annette dozed on, like unto a brick beside him. Her little spoon position left her hair laying on Danny's pillow where its smell had been giving him good dreams even as its mass attempted to give him hayfever.

Seeing what was attempting to navigate the doorway he smiled before rising in his pyjama bottoms to give his daughter a hand with the overloaded tray she was balancing. Protecting the tray on the bed from stray kicks, he reached over and shook his wife's shoulder gently.

"Hey Hun, wake up. It seems we are getting treated to breakfast in bed today."

As his wife groaned and stretched Danny thanked Taylor and ushered her out of the room so they could enjoy their breakfast fully. Annette sat up and looked at the tray heaped with cereal, fruit, blackened toast, charred bacon and rubber eggs.

They exchanged glances.

"I think the fruit and cereal are safe" offered Danny.

"Maybe, but sniff the milk first" advised Annette as she stirred the jug of homemade lemonade before pouring herself a glassful.

"Smells ok," said Danny watching Annette put the glass of lemonade and the suddenly very shiny spoon back on the tray.

"And tastes ok too" he said, finishing his mouthful. Sneezing after a closer inspection of the toast he observed "Breakfast and friendly fire should be easier to tell apart

"I wonder if Dad's been telling her stories about 'less grumbling from the troops when they're well fed'... What does she want?"

Annette startled, her adrenaline spiking. "Or 'what has she done?'"

"I guess we'll find out soon enough… Do you think she kept the recipe for the lemonade? I think I want Taylor to do some extra testing."

"Huh. Why Danny? Surely you've got plenty of commercial corrosives already."

Danny looked up from inspecting the spoon gleaming on the tray.

"From what I remember Hun, our 'silverware' wasn't actually silver-coated when we bought it."

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

It turned out that the lemonade wasn't actually coating the spoon with silver. Instead a 40 micron thick hardwearing stainless steel coat was applied.

And this steel coat applied itself to any non-biological surface it touched, solidifying within minutes into very smooth mirror-like plating. This was discovered on Sunday night when in the middle of testing Mojo decided that if his servants weren't paying attention to him, then they didn't deserve the ability to pay their attentions elsewhere either.

Mojo jumped onto the bench and with a negligent wave of his bushy tail, sent the open flask of 'lemonade' flying all over Annette and the floor. This left a soaked Annette with soaked cotton clothes, newly silver tipped faux leather shoes, and a silver puddle spreading where there used to be concrete underfoot.

"MOJO!"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Sunday 10th October 2004. Danny was enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon on the couch whilst Annette checked the pantry for ingredients having decided to make desert from scratch that evening.

"Hey Dad!" from 3 inches over his left shoulder did not cause Danny to jump 3 foot, but it were a near run thing.

"Hey Munchkin, what have you got there?" he asked spying the roll of paper clutched in his daughter's hands.

"It's plans for Grandpa's gun. Or it could be. Do you want a look before I make it?"

"After the last couple of debacles…? Yes I do. C'mon give it here and make with the explaining for your Papa"

The two sprawled out like big kids as they spread the plans out on the floor and started leafing through the detailed drawings.

"This looks like a laser gun of some sort…" mused Danny "… but why so many knobs and dials?"

"Directed Energy Weapon actually Daddy" corrected Taylor snootily, giggling as he flicked on the nose for her tone.

"Ok Miss Smarty-pants, what does it do then?"

"The very basic parts are… well it takes energy from my source here. Then it converts it into light here." her finger traced a power conduit through the diagram. "We shake it up by feeding it through a series of quartz crystals. Before it's strained, chucked through carbon rods in the barrel and delivered to target, where it creates expanding plasma.

"The straining varies the amount of blooming and dials down the energy and damage delivered by each shot. The quartz is what makes it fit through the colanders and sieves in the first place and allows us some exotic effects. The carbon acts as antennae and feed the strained energy onto target."

"That… bears about the same relationship to my knowledge of physics and lasers as a gorilla does to a Lancaster bomber; there may be a bomber out there with a gorilla painted on it as nose art, but they sure aren't family!

"Ok, I'm never going to understand the how, instead… problems. Let me think…"

Danny picked up a pen and looked for a spare piece of paper.

"How could it go wrong? Could it explode? It's a weapon for fighting; could damage cause catastrophic failure when you do use it? How much maintenance will it need? How much ammo does it hold? How heavy is the ammo? How exotic is the ammo? How fast to reload? How fast to adjust the lethality settings? What's the range? What's the splash damage? What's the penetration? What are the minimum and maximum amounts of energy that can be delivered on target? What's the recoil? Can it jam? How easy is it to fire with claws? Are any of the materials on a PRT watch list? Exotic Effects– WTF?"

Taylor began scribbling notes even as he continued to write his questions down and the newly arrived Annette smirked at his latest comment before joining in the brainstorming.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Friday 15th October 2004. Fred again jiggled the heavy box as he made his way down the street that he at least dreaded.

Another firm shake revealed nothing more than some solid thumps as the items slid as far as their packaging allowed them to. Natural curiosity stymied he continued on his way.

He was mounting a different porch this time when that newly awakened sense of willies started tingling. Fred started looking around in earnest for anything out of place.

As he reached the door and raised his arm to the doorbell he noticed the sign. His hand dropped limp to his side and he read:

Please ring to donate body

He looked from his hand, to the bell, to the package needing a signature.

Slowly his hand clenched and a rictus grin spread over his face. 'Nearly got me. But you're not that good.' His fist rose and knocked, nearly pounding, twice upon the door.

A few minutes later a tall balding fellow answered the door with an apologetic smile for the delay.

"Morning. Sorry for the delay, I thought I was hearing things at first. Can I help you?"

"Signed delivery" Fred replied, proffering the heavy box and a clipboard.

"Of course" said the man, taking the package with a grunt in his offhand as he signed with his other.

"Well it seems like Taylor's crystals have arrived… Why didn't you ring the bell? Isn't it working?"

The postman's disbelieving eyes slid sideways to the sign and Danny's followed. Eyes widened and his brain whirred.

"Stupid kids. It seems like they can't even read a calendar these days. It's another two weeks until Halloween Treat or Treating."

Fred just nodded, kept smiling, turned and walked on to his next delivery.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Sunday 17th October 2004. Armsmaster rode his bike to a halt beside the still foaming waters. He deployed a sidestand with a stab of button and in a smoothly economical movement dismounted to investigate more closely.

A street bike pulled up shortly after, the rider kicking down their stand before coming forward to join him at the waters edge.

"Got anything?"

Armsmaster held his silence for the further 7.6 seconds his in-suit computer took to analyse the data his probe had collected before he replied.

"One ship sunk due to catastrophic damage to the forward compartments. The damage is consistent with a major electrical and thermal bloom."

"Do you think it's gonna be ours to handle?" Miss Militia questioned her recently appointed team leader.

Even after nearly a year of working under him she was regularly bemused by her colleague. She was amazed and respectful of his competence and shocked at his lack of interpersonal skills.

"It was Tinker tech."

With that statement Armsmaster turned and began striding towards his ride.

"What makes you say that?" she asked, despite knowing that the chances of a mundane electrical weapon that could punch a hole in a metal hulled ship being unknown to her, mobile and non-Tinker tech was slim to none. But when it came the answer surprised her.

"The boat was holed on the ocean facing side."

Surprised, she paused astride her bike and gazed across the Bay to where the arms of the land hugged the natural harbour. The nearest point was at least 3km away.

It was a Tinker tech toy with a long range indeed.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

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Topic: New Cape in Brockton Bay?

In: Boards ► Cape Sightings

SittingOnTheDock (Original Poster) (Cape Groupie)

Posted on October 17, 2004:

So here I am, sitting on the Docks near midnight, when there's a flash and a bang and one of the boats at a few hundred meters away starts sinking. Fast.

Now, I was trying to catch a bit of fishing and peace from the missus, so I reeled in my line. Got my phone out and started recording. Video linked here [XXXX]

Not 10 minutes later that new boss of the Protectorate turns up on his crotch-rocket, along with Miss frickin' Militia (I'm married and she's still hot).

They stare at the water a bit, the ship was gone by then.

Nothing left but a bit of superstructure, then they turn and head off.

Miss M was looking a little spooked when she did though.

I've posted this straight off. Thoughts?

(Showing Page 1 of 4)

► IKnowNothing

Replied on October 17, 2004:

I live across the Bay and have a good view of that part of the dock. Yeah, there's a boat missing. And it was a big one.

Anyone know what was moored between Skathington and Goatica?

► JaneSparrow (verified 'No relation')

Replied on October 18, 2004:

That was the Emma Kong. A small Handymax container ship.

That was around 150m long and had a displacement of about 40,000 DWT!

What could have made that sink in 10 minutes?

► TotallyNotAVillain

Replied on October 18, 2004:

You mean what could have done enough damage to make it sink in 10 minutes!

► GrandeousDesigns

Replied on October 18, 2004:

If it had a Dead Weight Tonnage of around 40k, that means that around 40k cubic meters of water would have had to go into that hull within 10 minutes.

If we assume the hole only cut a meter below the sea level that gives us an average of ½ meter depth. If we then multiply that by gravity ~9.81m/s2 it gives us around 5m sqd /sec sqd.

That means a hole of one meter gives us 5 tonnes of water a second.

10 mins gives us 600 seconds.

That gives about 3000 tonnes of water per meter of hole.

So that hole, may have been a meter wide (or more) running for about 14 meters or so down the side of that ship.

Or it was even longer, but sitting higher up the water line.

Can someone check my workings? A

And if someone can work out the energy requirements to melt that much 20mm steel plate then I would be grateful.

Or at least I would be after I have changed my shorts. Because I stopped my calcs at 73.5 megajoules for 1000kg. And about 2100kg going walkies if that was 20mm plate. That's in the realms of 4-5 times as powerful as a Naval railgun.

I don't even want to guess at the energy cost of the water in the way.

► JaneSparrow (verified 'No relation')

Replied on October 18, 2004:

Well. That clears things up a bit.

Daaaaym!

Do you think Legend came to town to see if he could get rid of the Boat Graveyard for us?

► TotallyNotAVillain

Replied on October 18, 2004:

Or maybe it's Purity having a domestic with Kaiser…

► XXLone StarrXX

Replied on October 18, 2004:

[This post was deleted by Moderator]

► TinMother (Moderator)

Replied on October 18, 2004:

Speculation on cape identities is forbidden by the Terms of Service.

And shipping should be moved to the appropriate forums.

This is your only warning.

► NobbyNibbs

Replied on October 18, 2004:

Don't you ever learn, Starr?

Seriously, what you do? Not cool. Learn a freaking lesson already. Or do you really want to be a bad influence to the newbs?

One day, someone worse than you will rise on these boards.

On that day I will be laughing. At you.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Tuesday 19th October 2004. Three figures sat around a table, staring at the gleaming tube sat between them. One was still in shock from the sight of the ravening stream of energy that spewed from the innocent looking item in front of him. One was still shaking from the adrenaline rush he'd received from running to avoid being caught at the site of the crime.

And one of them was torn between jumping for joy over her baby's success, and hopping in anger over her baby's unwarranted premature demise. A thin stream of smoke still trailed up from the casing two days later to mingle with the kitchen lampshade.

Finally Taylor settled for a question in an even tone "So, what tests did you manage to do before achieving this?"

Both Danny and George winced, sensing the underlying mercurial temper that bred true in their family.

"Well, we started as planned; finding an old solid ship in the Docks to contain any shots from flying over the Bay and setting up a target to shoot at. We were away from nearly all traffic that time of night, yet not so isolated we couldn't get a little away from any incident and not be the only people around." Danny started explaining.

"The low power setting left minor scorch marks, but otherwise had good range and accuracy up to about 100 meters. It could have been a bit further but this idiot kept giggling with every 'Zorch' and throwing off his aim." he ribbed his furry companion gently.

"The beam looked to be petering out at about 200 meters when we missed the target and the ship one time.

"The medium power setting left nearly no scorching on the outside, but somehow cooked the inside of the target we'd set up. That is one nasty little thing and probably contravenes half a dozen weapons treaties…or it would if anyone had an inkling that kind of effect was man portable.

"The high power. The high power setting vaporised the target we were using. Or at least, it vaporised the top half. The bottom half was just left standing there. It smouldered. I have pictures I can show you later." George nodded confirmation to this with a big fanged grin.

"Yez, it vos hawzome! Und from ze vidth of zu beam, ze range iz probablez triple or zo ze minimum at zat power. No atenuzation, juz 'Zoom'"

"What he said" deadpanned Danny in agreement. "So we then tried a couple of the 'exotics'. The shooting around corners would take some practice I think. You'd need to know your measurements very well. And honey, a bunch of dials; not the most user-friendly interface out there… just saying. And remember it's Ol' Georgie Three-thumbs here who's gonna be using it too." he pointed out, hiking his thumb at his dad.

"Hey!"

"But changing the colour of the shots worked perfectly, and was really cool. So was 'Blaster mode'; the shots, with the red mode toggled, looked just like a Storm Trooper's blaster.

"But we tried doing a wavy shot with straight lines dialled in and the gun, over-heated and well, a shot came out looking more like a ravening torrent of lighting that went on for about four seconds and Eva Braun is now dead."

Taylor sat there looking shocked for a couple of seconds as she tried to process what she'd just heard.

Danny seeing Taylors face realised how what he'd said could've been misconstrued.

"No honey, no one was killed. A ship was sunk. An old ship suspected of smuggling for the Empire 88 back in the days before the harbour got blocked off. Nothing was ever proved, so we just nicknamed it 'Eva Braun' after Hitler's girlfriend, I've forgotten what its real name is."

"To tell ze truth, zat's haff ze reason ve choze to huse it; hif ve can't schoot at Nazi's ve ken schoot at zer boats inschted." interjected George.

Taylor calmed down at her Grandpa's attempt at levity and brought her thoughts back to the matter at hand.

Seeing his daughter settle down Danny continued "So the shot hit the bow and ripped a hole before hooking round and continuing on the far side. It left a hole maybe 30 meters long and a couple wide in the side of the ship I'd guess. George had jerked the shot. What was it George? Kick or shock?"

"Hy vas zurprised, but yez, zer vas a bit hof a kick too."

"Yeah, so the beam goes sideways, the gun started smoking, the ship listing and we ran for it. Do you know what caused it to do that? I didn't think it'd even have the power to do that."

"I think…" Taylor trailed off, looking at the gun contemplatively. Grabbing a screwdriver from her pocket she deftly opened the casing hiding the crystals within.

Inside there were barely any components left, just carbon blackening the interior.

"…I think you have achieved by accident what I need to do on purpose."

Their expressions showed they were unenlightened by this cryptic statement. Taylor elaborated.

"I think what happened was, when you make the shot curve you're exploiting the attributes of light acting as both particle and a wave, kinda. Crossing the streams asked it to do a fourth thing."

"Woah, fourth? I'm counting three here; particle, wave, crossed streams."

"Yeah, curved shot was the third, asking it to act as a wave on a macro scale on different frequencies, at different times in the stream. English is a bit limited on this one, ok?" The two men nodded.

"So crossing the streams caused a jam, flash fried the components after setting off a chain reaction of an inefficient mass to energy conversion on the crystals. Fortunately the frying ended the reaction and shut down the energy transfer, otherwise that could've been painful."

"Wait again. Inefficient? Why'd you say that?"

"From what you've said, the damage done should've taken maybe…." Taylor paused and scratched out a couple of very quick calculations "…and multiply by 1000. Taken maybe 10 grams or so?"

"What! Just 10 grams!"

"Vot!"

"There were 630 grams of quartz to focus the beam when I gave it to you. I'm guessing there's now maybe 50 grams of quartz left, and 570 grams of soot."

The three paused and stared thoughtfully at the gun lying innocently on the table in front of them.

"Back to the drawing board for Grandpa I suppose."

The men nodded.

"Maybe I should make another though… for home defence?"

Danny bit back his instinctive denial and thought about it. "Okay, but add in measures so that that can't be repeated by accident."

"Accident?" asked George.

"Endbringer or equivalent?" was Danny's short explanation. "And 'home' in this case will be the lair when it's water tight. So hold off building it for a little bit. Okay hun?"

Taylor nodded as she gathered up the pieces of the gun from the table.

"Well, now I've got a starting point, I've got to find out how to do that again!" she muttered as she skipped out the room.

"TAYLOR!"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Last edited: Feb 20, 2018

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Chapter 6: Spamming Satan

Saturday 23rd October 2004. It was Danny and Annette's wedding anniversary, George had been invited over for supper and Taylor was cooking the meal.

Taylor had been practicing her cooking for weeks now in the kitchen under her mother's watchful eyes and even more in her laboratory. That was where she had been experimenting, walking in the footsteps of many of the celebrity chefs she regularly saw on TV.

She was always amazed at the strange flavour, texture and temperature combinations they came up with, using the most incongruous ingredients at times. Many of her experiments hadn't faired as well as the ones shown on TV.

Mojo was acting as her combined taste tester (how delicious the food was) and food tester (how potentially deadly the food was) and had turned his nose up at nearly 70% of her offerings that month.

But there had been some potential dishes found and even several veritable triumphs. The downfall had been an old offender of Taylor's, namely the inability to regularly reproduce previous results. Strangely this 'flaw' in her tinkering abilities seems to only truly affect her work with food stuffs.

At that thought Taylor had a 'Eureka!' moment and noted down her realisation for following up later on. This instability was possibly due to the low quality food stuffs she was using in her experiments.

Her parents weren't the worst off in Brockton Bay by a long shot, not with two fully employed adults in the household, but they weren't going to be giving Max Anders, the CEO of Medhall Corp. (a pharmaceuticals company based in Brockton Bay) any feelings of inadequacy over the size of his bank balance.

Her parents tried to ensure they had enough put aside; for a rainy day, for Taylor's college fund etc. and they weren't enamoured with fancy brand names but rather an item's practical use and durability. Therefore, when this attitude was translated to shopping for food, the items she had been using for her experiments were not organically grown, were often economy branded and frozen, from the rejects shelf or on offer with a close use-by date.

With all of that in mind Taylor decided to embark upon a new round of tests, after this evening.

Despite the number of unrepeatable successes, several of the simpler dishes were still achievable. And where Tinker-cooking failed mundane cooking recipes filled the breach.

Part of the brief from Annette when she agreed to Taylor cooking that evening had included a definite instruction of "No repeating the lemonade incident!"

Therefore having all sat down, tantalized by the smells wafting from the open kitchen door, Annette was more than mildly worried by the first course's appearance.

"Why does the soup have steam rising in skull shapes?"

Taylor looked up from where she was ladling helpings into bowls from the oversized pan.

"Don't worry I've been practicing. It should be really nutritious. Mojo can't get enough of it. Pheasant and leek, 96% of the recipe was Delia Smith's, but all the online stuff said things like 'the first bite is with the eye', so I added some special effects to make it look more interesting. It doesn't affect the taste at all."

George had been starving all day and didn't want to have to wait until everything had been discarded and new things cooked by Annette or ordered from a takeaway. With his belly feeling like it was making a close acquaintance with his spine he volunteered to go first on any dishes they were worried about.

Despite having visited regularly he hadn't truly internalised the caution that should be used these days when his granddaughter wants to test something, or has an idea, or thinks something could be fun. Therefore it was a blissfully unaware Jaegarmonster that took a big mouthful of the soup and followed it with a big bite of the freshly baked bread, warm from the oven and slathered in butter.

"Ver' gud. Really tazty zoup, awezome bread. Hyu von't lyke hit Danny. Better to giff hit all to me." He grinned toothily.

With that reassurance the other adults tucked in and the table was soon quiet except for the slurping of soup and crunching of crusty rolls. The bowls were emptied in record time and seconds were called for. Taylor was refilling the bowls when Annette reached over to fill her glass with some freshly squeezed orange juice, from the table jug.

Annette had barely raised the jug an inch when George's clawed hand folded over her wrist and lowered it to the tablecloth. George looked at her and shook his head.

Taylor noticed the quiet and looked up.

"What's wrong Grandpa?"

In reply George stuck his tongue out at her. The small hole burnt through it answered the question and colour fled from her face.

"Er, I'll get the jaegarbrau" and Taylor rushed off to the basement.

When she returned she passed the bottle to George and sat down rubbing her hands together nervously.

"Just take 3 drops and that should cure you right up Grandpa. You'd heal normally in a few weeks, but this'll be faster. Oh, so I think I might have mixed up the OJ jug, with my experimental chilli-based rocket fuel recipe, sorry Granddad."

As he tilted his head back to pour out the requisite dosage Taylor got a really good look at the hole melted in his tongue.

"I'm really sorry. This probably would only affect new jäegars like this. It's because of the temporary instability of the chemical changes you went through. Anyone else would get skin irritation and a rash. Barring an allergic reaction, they'd get nothing worse than what eating a very hot curry would give them. That's why I was working on it; it's about the safest fuel I could think of. It's also why it was in the fridge."

"Don't vorry schveetheart. Leaf ze bottle; Hy like hit schpicey!"

"Do worry Taylor," her father added "because you're still grounded until Halloween."

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Monday 25th October 2004. The weather had finally turned. It had switched that morning, from the refreshing autumn winds with a promise of rain in the air; to the biting breathe of winter stealing warmth from exposed fingers, ears and noses when it found them.

It was this weather that meant Fred the postman was bundled up in about four layers as he drove his route that morning. As dawn was breaking he crunched across a lawn, the frozen blades of grass broke underfoot as he made his way back to his van having finished with the final delivery on this street.

He completely missed the fact that he was being watched. The stalker would have made a member of the Special Forces proud with their stealth, given that they hid undetected not 3 yards off of Fred's path and in open ground.

Mojo purred very quietly to himself as he basked in the knowledge that his first test of his new camouflage ability on a human was a resounding success. On to the second test.

Fred fumbled in his pocket for his keys, his fingers chilled and made clumsy from their brief exposure. It was a pain but, even in this part of Brockton Bay (which was positively lower middle-class for the city), you didn't leave your car unlocked for a minute if you didn't want to be a pedestrian the day after.

As Fred bent and pushed his key into the lock Mojo made his move. Swift and silent, two bounds cleared the three and a half yards to target. From there he quickly went vertical, driving pitons as he went to aid his ascent. Then at the peak of his improvised ladder he sprung, sticking the landing, crouched and froze.

From Fred's point of view, one moment he was unlocking his van, the next someone had decided to stab him from behind. Multiple times. Starting from his upper calf, leading across his kidneys and right shoulder before pushing him down, away from the van door.

Fred lay where he sprawled having been thrown by his assailant. He wondered whether he was in shock and he still had his kidneys. He wondered whether he still had his wallet. As his pulse calmed done and his thoughts resumed nearly normal service he recalled the blur that he'd glimpsed as he went flying.

It was the blur of something moving too fast to see. It was…weird.

Had Fred consciously registered what his subconscious had seen he would have thought it more akin to a blurred vision in his eye; similar to butter on the lenses of a pair of glasses.

Or maybe be would have listened to the primitive part of his hindbrain that jabbered about the waning night sky coming alive and embracing him as a cloak, and the stars having branded burning pinpricks into his back.

Eventually he scrambled to his feet, patting himself to check for injuries, and looked for his attacker. Not seeing any he scrambled for the van, this time opening the door with a great deal more haste and efficiency.

Fred pealed out of the street intending to make his remaining deliveries in reverse order for the day and then head to a bar for a shot or two. Not once did he notice the shredded coat he was wearing.

It was a shame that when it was pointed out to him, and he knew he had been attacked by more than his imagination, the observant party was kind enough to point out (in a jest at Fred's expense) that it must have been a hell of a cat that did that much damage in one go. They laughed even harder when they saw how white Fred turned at their words.

Back in the street, from his landing spot after leaving the top of the van, Mojo licked his paws in a self-satisfied manner. He had proven his camouflage coat on its second and third tests; when observed briefly at speed as well as at close inspection.

Now, what else can he do with this?

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Friday 29th October 2004. It had been freezing cold all week and the Heberts' old boiler was having a hard time keeping the family home heated. Annette shivered as she checked the thermostat one more time before giving up and grabbing her scarf from the coat rack to accompany her jumper.

As she re-entered the living room she smiled at the sight of Taylor huddled into Danny's side both covered by a throw rug. Taylor's hands worked furiously detailing her latest ideas on a sketchpad before they could freeze outside the shelter of the blanket.

"Ok. It's just too cold. Taylor, do you have anything in mind that could help?" Annette asked hopefully, glancing at the notepad in her daughter's lap.

Taylor almost startled from her prone position, surprised that her Tinkering was not only being checked and controlled, but being sought out by her parents.

"I've had…some ideas for heating the house. It's all come from that mass to energy work really. I realised that when I do master the process I need to be able to control, store and use the energy. I cannot rely upon my breakthrough being able to control the process enough to get an energy flow that can be handled by conventional systems. I need a step down transistor as it were.

"Looking at that led me to looking at the energy outputs and what the materials we have access to can handle. That led me to efficiency and load balancing processes and flow management techniques.

I don't have anything together just yet, but I can probably make us able to sell energy back to the grid by say… Thanksgiving?"

Annette looked at her daughter in shock and pride at that revelation, before she thought deeper on how this would effect their façade to the rest of the city.

"Hmm, some work to improve insulation is ok, but too much work to improve heating or reduce our gas bills is not."

At Taylor's disappointed look Danny chipped in "Piglet, it's suspicious to have $0 bills, glowing roofs or nuclear emissions. That's the kind of thing the PRT and the gangs all keep an eye out for; three-eyed pigeons with exploding droppings aren't exactly common, nor approved of."

"Huh, pigeons? That gives me an idea!" said Taylor excitedly as she began to draw in earnest again.

"No, No ideas Taylor! I thought you already had ideas about improving the heating?" said Danny, desperately trying to move his stubborn daughter's attention elsewhere.

Taylor waved him off distractedly "Kids' play, I'll do it over the weekend. Now pigeons; everyone sees 'em, most people hate 'em, but also most don't even bother watching them, not even most bird fanciers. They could be good mobile scouts, both long and close range, depending upon the location…" she trailed off again deep in thought.

Danny exchanged worried glances with his wife. He sighed in resignation as he admitted in the privacy of his head that a set of mobile scouts that could hide in plain sight may be a good idea.

"Ok, you can look into it. But you will keep us informed!"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Sunday 31st October 2004. It was a noisy Sunday afternoon as kids walked in costume, giggling in groups and shouting to others further down the street as they competed in the annual competition for achieving the greatest sugar rush in the neighbourhood.

The Heberts' neighbourhood had a light on the porch and candles burning in pumpkins by the steps. Danny and Annette were home, doling out candies to callers while Taylor was out trick or treating with Emma.

Throughout the rest of the house not a creature was stirring, except for the small form pushing open Taylor's bedroom door. The door opened with a creak, just enough for a body to slip through the gap.

Listening carefully for any reaction from downstairs the intruder decided that he hadn't been detected. Choosing not to risk the noise closing the door would bring, he turned to his goal.

The chair at the desk pulled back and a furry bottom plumped into it even as Mojo's clawed paw hit the power button on Taylor's second-hand PC. Mojo had noticed Taylor's frustration with her antique electrical aide had eased off this last week and had his suspicions about why that may be.

He had seen his human using the computer many times. He'd enjoyed interrupting her when she paid too much attention to the warm flashlight instead of him. Since his mental overhaul he'd begun comprehending more about its operation, what it could be used for and had often snuck in to play with the device when Taylor and her parents were away. Some of the games were fun, but a cats short attention span worked against him.

It had been hectic all morning with the family setting up decorations and readying costumes, but it had finally calmed down once Taylor had left for the afternoon. With nearly no one in the house and all present distracted he was taking the opportunity to look into what his 'creator' had done to the machine.

Waiting nearly four minutes for the computer to warm up and logon he concluded that there hadn't been a general upgrade done under the hood. Finally the desk top flashed up and Mojo flattened his ears as he thought what may have changed. Yes, my youngest servant was getting annoyed because of the slow speed of her research, and worried about her searches being traced. Let me check the internet.

Clicking on the browser icon Mojo was pleasantly surprised at the instantaneously open window. The icons that flickered up raised his eyebrows; Amazon, The Abyss Auction, The DoD Secure Database, Exterminate TechSupport, Wikipedia, Troubleshooting the Assimilated, PRT database, Satan's speed dial and many more.

Unknown to our curious cat Taylor had gotten so fed up with the slow speed of connection in her area that she had reworked the dialup to tap directly into an information network with no server needed in the middle. To prevent anyone monitoring searches or guarding for Tinkers and Thinkers she'd built in another layer of security by ensuring she could link to other dimensions' information networks for some of her more 'unusual' research.

Many of these dimensions were known to Taylor's world, several of the links were to networks on Earth Aleph, a few links were to more specialist networks on Earth Bet; such as the backdoor into the PRT's network, still more were to networks known only to human culture through fiction and superstition.

Mojo didn't know any of this. Instead he merely thought it was a fancy new browser and a cat's curiosity is the closest example of 'Infinite' you'll find outside of a mathematical formulae. With not even a warning twinge making its way down his neck Mojo moved his mouse's pointer over 'Satan's speed dial' and double-clicked.

The home page appeared with many thematic flames, writhing slowly as he read the contents. Mojo blinked, his subconscious tweaked as it swore to him that it saw images in the middle of the flames, his stomach growled its agreement; those images had made it hungry. Ears flicked, Mojo dismissed the matter and his stomach clenched in disappointment as he read the submenus.

Home

Summons

Orders

Rituals

Pledges

9th Circle Support

Curious about what you could order from a satanic website, Mojo clicked on 'Orders' and was rewarded by an order form with the simple instruction 'List what you wish, payment upon delivery'.

A headache began to form and Mojo massaged his head with the back of a front paw. Finding it wasn't helping he switched to scratching behind his ear with a rear paw. I could really do with a drink and a hit of catnip right now…hang on.

With that thought Mojo ceased his scratching and started typing. Ok. 'Hey Santa, all I'd like for Halloween is a big bag of catnip, four big fresh salmon, a squeaky mouse and an ever-full glass of White Russian.' All done, and send.

With a final flourish on the keys Mojo sat back and waited. And waited. And waited. Well their standards of service are Evil.

A 'bing' finally brought his attention back to the computer, distracted as it had been by the acrobatic bit of lint that had just done an amazing swirl from the curtains to the set of drawers.

'Order Refused; insufficient payment'

The words mocked Mojo. I haven't paid anything at all yet! What was on that form?

He looked back and saw the small print at the bottom of the page:

Standard payment is one human soul per order

Mojo sat there and ranted to himself at the unfairness of it all. I'm going to call Support and register my…displeasure. I'm going to spam the hells out of Satan!

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

One hour (and 15 increasingly abusive back and forth's) later, Mojo's 6th sense of danger shrieked at him to move. Mojo was out of the seat, across the room and wrapped in his camouflage under the bed.

His eyes gleamed as they bore witness to the screen sparking with sparks of green electricity pouring off of the monitor. The window turned a deep rich green as a great muscled tentacle with hundreds of suckers formed and protruded, changing from 2 dimensions into 3 as it reached into the room and searched for the annoying spammer.

The tentacle found the chair and its touch confirmed Mojo's absence, it shook in rage for a moment before whipping back into the monitor.

Mojo watched for a moment, his instincts as a stalker telling him to wait for the perfect time to move. His instincts were rewarded less than 30 seconds later as for a second time the screen began to bulge. This time it was less rapid, instead a bulge slowly formed that began pushing forward, oozing and squeezing its way onto the desk, before finally it landed with a 'plop' on the bedroom floor.

The ball of slime unfolded, tentacles of many widths waved in alien patterns as they tasted the air for their prey.

This was perfectly timed as the door to the room opened.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Five minutes earlier. Danny and Annette had finally seen off the latest bunch of costumed kids. With matching sets of relieved sighs they made their way to the kitchen to refill the diminished bowls of candy.

"Hey Hun" said Danny.

"Yes?"

"That girl with all those cobwebs; I think she's reminded me where I left the cobweb decorations after we moved them out of the basement."

Annette laughed, knowing her man-child of a husband wanted to put them up immediately for the 'Spook-factor' After all he'd been complaining all morning that their porch just wasn't the same at Halloween without all the cobwebs they could hang.

"Go" she ushered him out of the kitchen. "I'll handle the next bunch myself. Go on."

Danny pecked his wife on the cheek and made his way up the stairs.

At a strange sound from Taylor's room he paused. Experience had taught him that such sounds were better off investigated. That same experience had also taught him that he probably didn't want to find anything, and that he certainly wouldn't sleep easier for it, but he'd be better able to handle the outcome if he did.

Groaning at the Catch-22 he found himself in he turned and opened the door.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Man stared at Eldritch Horror.

Eldritch Horror stared back at Man.

You could say that they eyeballed each other.

It was a match of quality versus quantity with the Eldritch Horror holding the quantity advantage and Danny, with his glasses, not looking too hot on the quality.

Danny had just come out of his shock enough to open his mouth in preparation to scream, when the nightmare in front of him moved. Diving for the desk he saw it compress its 7 foot tentacled frame down and slide with a green flash into the monitor. A monitor that promptly switched itself off.

Danny blinked. He took his glasses off and methodically wiped them before replacing them and taking a careful look around the room. He checked in the cupboards and under the bed and desk. Seeing nothing he carefully backed out the room.

With a final blank look into the apparently empty room and a quiet "Nope" he closed the door and resumed his hunt for the wayward cobwebs.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Mojo watched the door shut behind Danny and released his camouflage before crawling from under the bed. Climbing up to the computer he flicked on the monitor.

A blank screen greeted him, with a blinking cursor waiting patiently. Hitting Ctrl + Alt + Del didn't reset the screen, nor did hitting the power button on the computer tower. Mojo's computer knowledge had failed him and as he didn't have the manual to read and he didn't want to try advanced cursing and smacking of the equipment he was left with typing.

Hello?

Hello

Why did you jump in there?

I panicked

What?

I'm Tech Support ok? And you made me mad.

And you panicked at seeing a human!?

No I didn't I

.

Yes?

I thought he was cute. OKAY!?

Uh. Ok.

.

Can you get out of the computer now? He's gone.

Of course I can, I just need to..oh.

'Oh'?

I'm

I think I'm stuck.

Mojo sat back and thought for a moment.

Can you get the desktop up?

I'll try.

A moment later the screen flickered and the desktop reappeared, a text file opening a second later and text appearing.

What now?

Now, you call your Tech Support and I go lick myself.

I'm the only one on Tech Support this shift!

Noone else is on for another DECADE.

Why do you think I tried strangling you for bugging me so much and taking up so much time!?

My key performance indicators for the month fell 5 points in an hour because of your stunt!

Ok. That sucks.

.

Grand Theft Auto is installed on the desktop.

Have fun until you work out how to get back out.

With that parting comment and a mental shrug Mojo jumped off of the chair, opened the door and ran off to look for Trick or Treaters to terrify.

The computer shook for a moment before the computer's fan gave a resigned wheeze, the screen flickered, GTA booted up and digital violence began occurring with great abandon.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Tuesday 2nd November 2004. Fred the postman was doing his rounds with a smile on his lips and a song in his heart. Several homeowners made it a habit in recent weeks of asking him to leave their deliveries on their porches after seeing the smile, but Fred didn't let that bother him.

He was about halfway through his route, approaching the door of the next house, when he noticed it was the latest house that had held a sign. Slowing down he opened his senses and looked around warily.

His search was rewarded with nothing out of the ordinary. Fred resumed his walk with more confidence, when from ahead came a sudden "BOOM!"

With the ingrained reflexes of a Brockton Bay native Fred dove for the porch decking, the sound of gunfire following him reinforcing his action as a good decision.

Five seconds of shivering made him realise that there had been no light flash, nor overpressure, from the explosion. Tentatively he raised his head. An open window overhead greeted him with more explosions and shouts of rage.

Fred struggled to his feet and stared. He dusted himself off and gave himself a shake.

"Bloody kids and their computer games" he grumbled before striding to the door and shoving the slim parcel into the post box.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Wednesday 3rd November 2004. It was early evening when Danny passed Taylor on the stairs. Given that Taylor was normally holed up in her lair in the basement at this time of the afternoon Danny thought he'd better find out what had changed.

"Hey Taylor. What are you doing?" he began disingenuously.

"Oh hey Dad" greeted Taylor as she paused at the top of the stairs. "Not much. I'm just looking for the old rubber duck that was in the bathroom. It's not in the basement, so I was going to check the loft. Do you know where it is?"

"Sorry Little One, I don't. It may have gotten into the attic when we cleaned the basement out. But it's probably ended up on the way to the dump. Why did you want it anyway?"

"Well, I needed an angel to remove the devil that turned up on my computer"

"What? Devil?"

"Devil, Demon, Eldritch Horror… it's all semantics after a while. So I need the computer to check PHO; I want to see if there's been any more news on out testing in the Docks."

"No. I meant 'what's a devil doing in the computer?'" Danny clarified before thinking to himself I thought that was a sugar induced nightmare.

"It was playing GTA"

"No Taylor. Why's he/she/it there at all? How did you manage that!?"

"Huh? Me? I dunno. I didn't call he/she/it those names"

"Names?"

"Yeah. Names. Insults. How else do you think a Creature of the Deepest Dark was summoned from beyond the Darkest Black? Would you travel that kind of distance to make a deal, with just an off-chance of getting to kill the idiot summoner who called you there, if someone hadn't shouted that kind of stuff?"

"Stuff?" responded Danny weakly.

"Stuff about he/she/it's mother, the feather boa, a whisk and a three headed bratwurst… BRATwurst! Hmmm, I need to do more research on the applications of a bratwurst in resurrection processes. Too many artificial ingredients in the sausages used so far may be causing the violence (I knew I shouldn't have used those Lincolnshire sausages)…"

"TAYLOR!" Danny broke into his daughter's thoughts with a shout. Seeing Taylor's eyes focus on him he continued "Forgetting, for the moment, about you possibly raising the living impaired; Summoning…?"

"Yeah, so someone must have shouted that kind of thing to bring them here and somehow from then to now they've ended up on my computer. And they've started playing GTA. Constantly. It's like being given the blue screen of death, but with more tyre marks and blood streaks (digital only, don't worry Dad).

"Anyway, I invited the angel on yesterday morning and they started playing Call of Duty: Deathmatch. All day.

"So I played a DVD of Twilight to get them out. But then the DVDs got stuck on loop.

"So I uploaded an audio file of Mungo Jerry; 'In the Summertime', 'cos vampires don't stick around for long in overly sunny conditions.

"Then I loaded another of The Police; 'Every breathe you take', to get rid of the fuzzy haired stoner.

"Then I tried loading Eric Clapton; 'Cocaine', 'cos I thought that'd have them fixated on that so I could overhaul the system… but it just made them even more oppressive and demanding.

"So then I had to…"

"OK! Ok. That's enough detail… but, the Duck?"

"… Just don't ask."

Danny met her level gaze with his own. She didn't blink.

"I really wish I could say 'Next time just tell me you're finding Mojo a toy or something!'"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 6th November 2004. The crowd in the PRT building's conference room stilled as Armsmaster stepped up to the podium and held his arms up for silence.

In a quiet commanding tone he succinctly described the reason for calling the conference.

"Welcome. It is my pleasure today to introduce a new member of the Protectorate East North East team. He shall be in training for another 6 months, so you shall be seeing him on joint patrols in that time. Joining us is Cal…"

"JÄEGARMONSTER!" yelled George striding forward. His arms were high, greeting the room, as he moved to join Armsmaster at the podium where he towered over his erstwhile leader.

His costume had been argued to within an inch of its stitches by the PR team to offset his scarily monstrous appearance and to make him more approachable to the general public. He had ended up looking like an escapee Toy Soldier from the Nutcracker Suite ballet.

A bright red military greatcoat was positively covered in gold braid and artfully cut to conceal the built in armour. It was set off well by a pair of blue slacks with white piping and black knee-high boots that had been shone to within an inch of their life.

Behind him several of the current Protectorate team laughed at the sight of the newbie upstaging their stiff leader.

In an out of the way corner a PR representative threw up his hands in resignation and tore up his meticulous notes. They bore research detailing public feedback on potential cape names, speculation detailing how the name 'Calico' was to be chosen to increase comfort in his inhuman features by linking them in the public mind to felines. There were plans on shaping their latest charge's image to that of a strong soldier; monstrous in appearance, yet a monster with discipline and under control.

Armsmaster made a tactical withdrawal, ceding control of the podium to the newly renamed JäegerMonster and stepped back. The only sign of Armsmaster's annoyance at being interrupted was a slightly tightened jaw.

Ms Militia frowned behind her bandana at the challenge to the Team's command structure even as her colleagues chuckled into their masks.

"Tank hyu Armzmaster for zat luvely introduction…

"Gud hafternoon, Brockton Bay. Yez, hy am JäegerMonster. Hy am a new Brute vid a bit hoff regeneration thrown in. Und hoff course, hy got theze great lookz too!" George smirked with closed lips as the crowd of reporters tittered.

"Now, doz anyvun haff any qvestions?"

The crowd sprouted arms and bombarded him with questions until he pointed to a blond lady in the front row in a smart business suit.

"You've named yourself JäegerMonster. Is it not a little…provocative in a city with a large Neo-Nazi gang presence to call yourself by a Germanic cape name?"

"Hyu certainly hope zo schveetheart. Hit iz certainly not a sign of solidarity. Ven hy triggered hy gained a leetle bit hoff an acksent. Hyu may haff noticed, ja?"

The crowd of reporters laughed and nodded at the point.

"Vell, if hy cannot change hit, then hy schall OWN hit. Hy ken look a leetle bit schcary too…" George grinned a toothy grin, showing off his fangs.

"… zo, hy am JäegerMonster. Hy am a 'Jäger'; in German zat is a 'hunter'. Hy am a Hunter hoff ze bad guyz. Und hy am a Monster to zos bad guys. Hyu ask hiff it iz provocative? Mhy farzer fought against ze Nazis in Germany und zey ver beaten zere. Hy juzt vant to … follow in mine farter's footschteps"

The crowd looked at JäegerMonster and realised something that the bright uniform had veiled; that this person was very large, rather well muscled and had very efficient looking claws and teeth.

In short, JäegerMonster was dangerous and, despite his accent, he was most definitely not on the side of the Nazis.

In the hidden corner the PR representative had finished tearing up the section of his notes that contained cues for George to deflect any questions about his accent. He began eying the cape that had, with a few well placed sentences, made the past four weeks of hard work over late nights worthless.

The conference continued.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

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Topic: Gangs

In: Boards ► Massachusetts ► Plymouth County ► Brockton Bay

(Showing Page 370 of 386)

SunshineDaisies

Posted on November 11, 2004:

Yeah, that enforcer downtown; Lung.

In the last few months those videos he's in, he has looked a lot more like he's ordering those gangbangers around.

Does anyone else think he's decided to be the boss?

► IKnowNothing

Replied on November 11, 2004:

There are a lot more dragon tags near me. Less variety.

Only 'ABB' and Dragon tags these days.

It could be so…

► WonkyDonkey

Replied on November 11, 2004:

Like anyone could combine that lot. There are like a million and four different Asian gangs in the City. Herding cats is simpler.

►MuchosGraciAss

Replied on November 11, 2004:

If anyone can combine them it'd be the guy who matched an Endbringer. But seriously, good luck with the paperwork. If a ganger doesn't get him, bureaucracy will.

► BlackFriday

Replied on November 11, 2004:

I for one welcome our new Dragon overlord!

►TheAwesome523

Replied on November 11, 2004:

I for… Ninja-ed!

► TotallyNotAVillain

Replied on November 11, 2004:

I've got cousins by choice in some of the gangs on that side of the city. They said it's been a bit brutal recently and to keep my head down. I guess this could be why.

► XXLone StarrXX

Replied on November 11, 2004:

[This post was deleted by Moderator]

► TinMother (Moderator)

Replied on November 11, 2004:

Speculation on cape identities is forbidden by the Terms of Service.

This is your third infraction in a month.

Please take a weeks ban.

► NobbyNibbs

Replied on November 11, 2004:

That was just…sick dude.

If he comes for you….

…I'm just really glad I don't know who you really are.

And you don't know me.

►TheAwesome523

Replied on November 11, 2004:

Wow.

XXLone StarrXX LoneStarr you should use that imagination on the shipping boards.

Maybe even the cape-fiction. I'd like that story in a heartbeat!

► NobbyNibbs

Replied on November 11, 2004:

XXLone StarrXX Dude, NO! Don't listen!

TheAwesome523 Please, don't feed the crazies. NB/ in case you didn't get it; on PHO, encouraging is the same as feeding.

So is replying for that matter. Huh…

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Monday 15th November 2004. Taylor woke up slowly with a sour taste in her mouth. Gingerly she worked her tongue over her teeth trying to rid herself of the cotton ball feeling that was coating her mouth.

She'd spent the afternoon with Emma yesterday and part of it had been used to polish off their remaining Halloween candies whilst playing various card games. Despite a 'proper' supper later on at home the excess sugar before her bedtime had given Taylor the weirdest dreams last night.

As her saliva began flowing and her mouth cleared up, her blurred eyes joined it she realised that she wasn't safe in the bed she'd gone to sleep in. She was seated lying face down across a desk for a start.

As she finished blinking away her drowsiness and looked around Taylor realised she was in her basement-lab, surrounded by discarded off-cuts of metal, glass and an emptied packet of marshmallows.

Taylor rubbed at her face, feeling the lines imprinted on it from whatever she'd been using as a pillow. It was a good deal less forgiving than her usual rectangular down-filled bag of cotton. The lines were a lot more interesting though.

A long smooth barrel flared at the end into a blunderbuss-like spout, in which spirals could be seen extending into the interior. Whether the spirals were there to act as decoration or rifling would require testing of the weapon.

And a weapon it undoubtedly was. The opposite end thickened into a butt that looked shaped equally for either aimed fire from the shoulder or underarm blazing. It showed its Tinker heritage by its colours, which were a pale metallic steel blue, and the magazine. The magazine that sat atop the barrel, gravity-feeding ammo as a paintball gun would, yet resembling a glass fishbowl of crackling blue-green lightning.

Stunned Taylor sat staring at the invention in her arms. The invention that she could only assume she'd invented whilst sleepwalking. As she traced its lines her intellect went to work, tracing out its relays, deciphering its purpose.

Finally she sat back and began giggling. Her Spark flared. The giggling morphed into full blown cackling.

"MWAHAhahahaha-HAhahahha-Hahahahaha-HAH! I have so many IDEAS!"

Finally she managed to calm her mad mirth enough to make her way upstairs to meet her parents for breakfast. With her mind consumed by ideas she was extremely distracted as she tried to explain to them that today wouldn't be the best of days for her to be in school.

"Mom, Dad? Can I stay here today? I'm not feeling too great"

"You don't look to good either Honey" said Annette coming over and checking Taylor's forehead for a fever. "Rough night?"

"Yeah, I think I was sleep walking most of it" agreed Taylor, skirting the truth. Her parents laughed gently.

"Well, I've got to head in today; we've just started a new segment and there aren't any notes prepared at the campus for a Temp to follow. Danny, how about you? Can you stay with Taylor this morning?"

Before her father could reply Taylor gave up her play for an unsupervised day at home as a non-starter. Her parents would get someone there to check on her if they thought she was sick, even if they had to drag a furry Grandpa into the house in broad daylight.

"Mom, don't worry. I'm just feeling the need to Tinker. I don't think I could keep it in at school. It's all I can do to keep from ripping apart the toaster right now!" she confessed.

Annette and Danny glanced at the innocent toaster in mild alarm.

"Ok" said Danny, biting the bullet. "What's gotten you so worked up? You've been able to control it before"

"This time's different. I wasn't joking about the sleep walking. I was actually sleep-tinkering" she slipped away from the kitchen table to the entrance to the basement and retrieved the rifle she'd made from the top of the stairs where she'd stashed it; leaning against the wall.

"And what is that?" asked Annette gazing curiously at the sleek gun with the odd crackling bulge on top.

"This is my Targeted-Phased-State-Plasma-Enhanced-Flaming-Marshmallow-Gun. Isn't it awesome!?" Taylor said enthusiastically.

"And it's given me so many ideas for Grandpa's self-defense weapon. Too many ideas. I've just got to make it. Right now!"

After arguing for another 10 minutes the clock forced their hand. To avoid trouble at Taylor's school they agreed they'd call the school and tell them Taylor was ill. She could stay at home and make her Grandfather's weapon. But only that weapon.

Slightly nervous, the two adults headed off to work leaving their 9 year old trouble magnet alone in the house, with a head full of designs and a lot of light manufacturing equipment.

She couldn't get into too much trouble in her lab. Right?

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Taylor's POV

Tuesday 16th November 2004. I was in the middle of my haze-filled lab working on the next subset of ammunition when I heard the banging in the house above.

I had managed to convince Mom and Dad that I could blag another day off of school to finish this work, my greatest masterpiece to date. I had spent a quarter of a day yesterday just writing plans and rewriting them when I came up with new and better ideas and integrated them into the final design concept. Another half day had been wiled away drawing the final design. I now had a not-slim folder of drawings of my Grandpa's future Peacemaker. Well, maybe a fingers-width of paper in the file related to the gun, the remaining chunk of pulped wood was divided into subsections; one for each type of ammo I had designed.

Finally I had started making the machines to make my masterpiece. I had finished the last of those around lunchtime today and since then the lines of the weapon had been grown more than shaped under my tender ministrations. It now lay completed and polished on a velvet mat away from my work surface. The surface gleamed with oils under the labs fluorescent lights.

I was the one generating the haze in the air. Making the ammo had a lot of side effects. Particulates went everywhere, and hung as dust in the air. I had to be careful not to create sparks in my work now or I might be unlucky enough to set off a fuel air bomb inadvertently. I had lost a fair bit of an eyebrow earlier in the year from a similar occurrence, fortunately Mom and Dad were still distracted enough to be fooled by my fast excuse of getting too close to a barbeque turned bonfire on 4th July.

The haze was a faint pink in colour and had a cloying, almost sickly, sweet smell. It began thinning out rapidly as the door at the top of the stairs flew open and a body entered rapidly, falling down the stairs with the earlier banging sound changing to more of a thumping and getting louder as it did so.

I leapt back as the body in blue and grey hit the floor. It groaned, still alive, as Mojo followed it down far more sedately before landing, not so gently, on the body's back. He sat there with his tail waving like a banner behind him proud of what he'd dragged home.

"Mojo, what the hell have you done!?" I shrieked.

My mind was going into overdrive; what do I do with a body? No, it's not dead. 'Yet', whispered a treacherous part of my mind. What do I do with a human in my lab? Nope, steer clear of that one. I warned myself. Is he / she part of my family? No, or why else would Mojo knocked them down the stairs?

I crept closer, looking for clues. I noted a blue jacket, pale blue shirt peaking out at the collar, grey pants, black gloves and comfortable boots. The thick satchel slung over his shoulder (and it was definitely a 'he') was the final clue that this was our hapless postman. What is he doing in here?

His groaning renewed. Darting to my worktop I shuffled through my supply drawers for some wire loops I'd stashed after wiring the Peacemaker's internals. Mojo hopped off of his back giving me room to secure his wrists and elbows behind his back. I wrapped his knees and ankles to be sure. I had just finished the final twinge when his eyes opened and a slurred "Whaaa?" came from his lips.

Thinking quickly I realised that it was too late to find or make a disguise, I'd have to test my 'Plan B' later on. Instead I dragged him the meter or so to the foot of the stairs, rolled him over and sat him up, propped up against the treads.

"What are you doing here? Why are you in my house?!" I demanded.

His eyes cleared and he glanced around, they widened as he tensed and found himself bound. He slumped and looked up at me as I attempted to loom over him.

"I'm sorry, I saw the smoke and the door was unlocked. I thought there might be someone in trouble in here! Next thing I know I'm being shoved down some stairs and I wake up here. What's going on?"

I looked over at Mojo and he licked a paw innocently. No help there. My captive followed my gaze and he blanched.

"You know him" I stated. Mojo, you have a lot to answer for.

"Ye-ye-yes. I, I've seen him around on my route. Are you his master then?" he asked again before flinching at the sharp look Mojo shot him for the 'master' assumption.

"Er, I think he's my pet and he knows I'm his servant?" I posited. "Like a normal cat"

"Lady, that cat ain't normal" the postman deadpanned. He seemed more relaxed now. Or was it resigned? "You must be a Tinker then. I'm not gonna tell anyone; they may believe me, but I don't think I would survive your 'pet' over there. I can barely survive him now and he's only attacked me once so far. I think. So, what are you going to do with me? Are your parents around? ... Please?"

That plaintive question sparked something in the back of my mind and an uncontrollable urge to laugh bubbled up.

Can barely survive playing with Mojo. Signs of substance abuse and aging. Tied up and helpless in my lab. Not going to be missed for the rest of his route. First specimens are so precious. I can rebuild you. I have the technology. I have the vision. I have the Madness. I HAVE THE SPARK!

"MWAH-HA-HA-Ha-Ha-ha-ha-hahahahahahaha!"

I turned and grabbed 'Plan B' from beside my desk. Its solid weight was comforting in my hand. I stalked towards my captive and raised my 'forget-me' stick. The overhead lights glinted off of the electrical conductors that studded the length of the baseball bat shaped instrument. I really do have to upgrade that sometime. It looks far too much like a baseball bat with rusty nails through it. The red conductive gel on it doesn't help either.

With a fast swing I tapped it against his head and he collapsed, out for the count and missing the past 30 minutes of memories. I raised my stick once more and took a deep sniff of its bacon scent. My guilty pleasure, Mmmmm bacon. Now to prep the patient.

Clearing off my desk top I moved the different completed ammo samples, stacking them against walls in their trays and moving aside a turkey egg the size of an ostrich's egg in the process, careful to keep it under the heat lamp.

I looked from the stairs to my desk top. Now, how do I get you from there, to there?

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Fred slowly woke up and unpeeled his face from his van's wheel. Blearily looking around he saw his bag next to him in the cab and his keys in the ignition.

"Urghh! I could really do with some green eggs and ham right now" he muttered to himself feeling surprisingly good despite his odd cravings. He turned the key in the ignition and his van's digital clock lit up.

"Oh… dear." It was the end of the day. He looked at the full bag beside him, then at the clock once more. Fred groaned; it was going to be a long evening.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Last edited: Feb 20, 2018

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Chapter 7: Ill excuses

Monday 22nd November 2004. Silence fell and Armsmaster rose to attention along with his colleagues as their new boss swept into the room. The room doubled as a large meeting / small conference room in the PRT building. Previously seated surrounding the portable tables was the current Protectorate team for East North East and their young Wards team.

Miss Militia and one of the Wards were absent, on call as a rapid response team out in the city. Brockton Bay had been quiet over the weekend and was generally even quieter on Mondays so most members were available this evening for their first meeting with the new PRT Director.

Therefore eleven parahumans stood at attention as Director Piggot made her laborious way from the door to the head of the table for her debut. The cane in her hand gave a soft thump as it hit the carpet with every other step. The stocky figure it supported showed signs of a body that had once been heavily trained and recently seriously hospitalised.

Her form showed strong muscle losing density and mild bloating around her lantern jaw. This did not detract one bit from the focus she showed in merely walking to her chair. The Thinker and more intelligent members of the team noticed in it a sign of a personality that would bulldoze and grind down any and all obstacles in its way. An implacable will with an owner that was not to be crossed lightly.

Brockton Bay's Protectorate team was heavily manned compared to many similarly sized cities in the States due to the strength of the incumbent gangs. That strength was a result of several factors. An influx to the city of foreign capes and penniless refugees after the sinking of Kyushu five years ago was matched by European backing of the White Supremist gang the 'Empire 88' by organisations in Germany.

Their clashes enforced Darwinian rules in the city with only the strongest or wiliest capes and gangs succeeding in carving out their livelihoods in the competitive environment. This, in turn with the bleak financial situation in the Bay, was the perfect breeding ground for powerful and often unstable new parahumans.

Powerful and unstable capes were snapped up by the gangs further widening the gap between Order and Chaos. This was a situation that needed strong leadership to counter.

The newly appointed Director Piggot stared around the room at the members of her partner organisation, weighing the team of humans with superhuman abilities that she had to regulate even as they backed up her teams of highly trained operatives and vice versa.

She hid her shudder as she looked around the room. She had faced down worse on her days in the teams. Steeling herself she looked at Armsmaster, the leader of her erstwhile Special Forces teams.

"Be seated.

"Armsmaster, please introduce your team."

"Ma'am, you have received our files…"

"And I have read them" she interrupted. "I would like to hear an introduction."

Armsmaster nodded at the directive from the leader to his left before beginning.

"Armsmaster; Tinker. I specialise in efficiency and miniaturisation technology and processes. My second in command is Miss Militia; Blaster. Generates portable weapons. She is on call with a ward; Cornwelsh. He is a Master who can render crowds unable to communicate."

He gestured anti-clockwise.

"Bombast; Shaker. He makes people and objects heavier than their mass indicates.

Twig; Thinker. He has 'hunches' regarding past or future violent events.

Jollie; Changer. Her alternate form is rated as Brute 6.

Bridge; Trump. Power copier. Multiple powers. Weaker than the originals but can achieve synergies.

Guess; Stranger. He generates a minor 'forget-me' field.

JäegarMonster; Brute. Currently on probation, he has Brute 2 strength and resilience with minor regeneration pushing that up to Brute 3."

George winked at the new director when he was introduced and got a scowl in return.

"Finally, our Wards team. Dink; Tinker. Can give copper unusual properties.

Speedy; Mover. Moves up to the speed of light, yet can carry less the faster he moves.

Infuse; Tinker. Makes infusions that boost a body's processes e.g. healing, strength.

Queen D; Master. Can issue minor commands using words or sentences beginning with a 'D'"

Piggot glowered at Infuse and Queen D. Realising she was doing so when Queen D shrank back into her chair she eased her expression with an effort and rose to address the group.

"Thank you Armsmaster. That was an introduction worthy of your reputation. I say this to ensure there is clear communication between the sections of our organisation; my remit is to enforce peace in this city and ensure that all parahumans obey the law. Do so and you shall have my support. Back up my teams and bring them home alive and you will have my unconditional support.

I shall back you to the hilt."

To her credit she managed to state all of this with complete outward sincerity. She scanned faces, staring into their eyes to project her seriousness in this matter.

"All I ask is that you uphold the honour of your positions..." she finished softly.

Not happy, but satisfied with what she saw, she nodded before turning to make her way towards the exit.

"Armsmaster. I'd like to speak with you in my office to discuss deployment schedules and coordination protocols as well as to have your personal take on the situation on the ground."

"Director" acknowledged the robotic Tinker as he too rose to follow. "Dismissed" he tossed over his shoulder as he passed the threshold.

"Vot do hyu think hof de nhew Bozz?" George asked his neighbour Bridge. She shrugged before replying "A bit of a hard-ass, but solid"

"She's been in major trouble, that's for sure" interjected Twig.

"Thinkers are bullshit" said Guess, startling those who'd stopped paying attention to him from the low level field he was emitting.

"That wasn't Thinking, that was pure research and contacts. She's been in the teams. Recently medically retired from fieldwork, but someone on high has tapped her for riding herd on this steaming dump of a city. The timing of the discharge could mean she had a part of Ellisburg."

"You mean 'Ellisburg got a part of her'" corrected Bombast wandering over from the other side of the table.

"Yes" agreed Twig. "And my power agrees, with plenty of shuddering on my part. It also tells me that if I look too much then violent events will occur to me. I'm going to take the hint about pushing my nose where it doesn't belong. I suggest you all do the same."

"You heard the Thinker" said Bridge smiling at Twig. "I'm going to push my nose into the common room and find a bite to eat. Anyone else coming?"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Wednesday 24th November 2004. Late in the evening George picked up his PRT issued mobile and pressed the speed dial for an unfamiliar number.

"Hello PRT. How can we help you today?"

"Zis his JäegarMonster. Zine in number 0-H-Z-T-4-2-9"

"Sign in confirmed. This call is secure. What do you need?"

"Non-hurgent. But hy am not goingz to make hit tomorrowz. Hy has a schniffle"

"Er, do I need to reschedule power testing for you? I thought you'd tested positive for low level regeneration? You shouldn't be bothered by a little bug..."

"Noh, noh. Hy am definahtely zick. H'atchoo. Atchoo" George attempted to bluff.

"Stand by. I'm scrambling a hazmat team, alerting the office of Infectious Diseases and preparing liaisons with WHO. Do NOT leave your current location and please quarantine yourself if possible. We'll get you better."

"SCHTOP!" yelled George down the phone frantically. "Hy just, hy just…" he looked down at his personal mobile in his other hand frantically looking for an excuse that wouldn't instantly give away his contact with his existing family.

Seeing a button marked 'Armsmaster's Excuses' he frantically stabbed a claw tip at the apps icon and read blindly.

"Hy ham not really zick. But hy vill be too buzy to vork tomorrow az 'hy am drawingz mhy bozzes vife in ze nude'..." Oh bleep.

"Ok, apologies for the misunderstanding. I'll cancel the alerts… wait. Director Piggot has a WIFE?!"

.

.

"That explains so much…"

From the operator's colleagues in the room George heard a faint outburst of laughter down the phone at the shocked exclamation and returned comment.

"Yez. Ver' zorry, buh bye." George slammed the end call button on his phone and breathed deeply. That could have gone better. Oh well, they can dock my pay or fire me for all I care, but I'm spending Thanksgiving with my family!

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Thursday 25th November 2004. Thanksgiving.

'The turkey was cooking well' thought Danny 'It should be done in a couple more hours.'

The Hebert household had gotten up early to prepare for Thanksgiving. Grandpa George had snuck in late last night so they didn't have to worry about nosy neighbours spotting the latest hero in the Bay visiting the Heberts.

This measure of secrecy and their discreet preparations for George were stressed fairly heavily by Taylor's latest attempt at 'helping'. This help involved providing the turkey for their main meal.

That wouldn't normally be an issue, except that Taylor had realised that Grandpa George now needed significantly more calories and protein than he had previously and so a normal turkey wouldn't suffice. They needed more meat.

Of course the easiest solution was a larger turkey. But a larger turkey cost more money and buying multiple turkeys then not throwing a party could be remarked upon in their relatively close community. Danny shook his head as he recalled Taylor's strange and convoluted reasoning.

So of course Taylor grew a turkey; a 400lb turkey. It was a turkey that could have given Looney Tunes' rooster 'Foghorn J Leghorn' a good scrap. Fortunately it wasn't a match for a jäegar and George had quickly subdued and prepared their lunch before it did too much damage to the furniture in the basement. Or rather, he had tried to prepare lunch.

Eventually after using up two rolls of tin foil they had prepared a makeshift tray for the monstrosity. Then they had put two and two together and found that a size 20 turkey will not fit into a size 4 oven. Something they really should have noticed sooner.

Finally Danny went into their back yard and with judicious, and very surreptitious, use of Taylor's earthquake gloves at very low power he had broken up some of the frozen earth enough to make a barbeque pit big enough for the supersized bird, dug out the earth and stuffed the hole full of charcoal briquettes.

Hours later, the bird was sizzling and the smell was drifting on the light wind making neighbours' mouths water as much as Danny's.

Annette looked at the plastic sacks of turkey feathers. There is probably enough down in there for a full pillow. She grinned to herself. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

The last plate had been cleared away, belts loosened and belches released when Taylor stood up and approached her Grandpa.

"I know we don't normally swap gifts today, but I have one for you. You're going to have to carry it up here though; it's a little heavy."

Nodding with a small smile a curious George followed Taylor into the basement where she directed him to pick up a long narrow package in brown paper wrapped up in twine and a big red bow.

With a grunt he hefted the package and made his way up the groaning stairs with Taylor following along behind him with a briefcase sized package in her arms. In the living room George laid down the package and Danny and Annette moved closer, curious about the results of Taylor's recent project.

A pluck of a claw broke the string and the paper folded back to reveal a gleaming black gun, sleek and deadly in appearance. It was a rifle on steroids. The length of a Barrett sniper rifle yet with the bulk of a M16 carbine it was well sized for George's large form.

George lifted the weapon, grunted approvingly at the balance and admired the purple highlights that appeared as the light ran down the length of the barrel. Turning it he noted the lack of an under-hung magazine in exchange for a gravity-fed drum magazine on top.

"Ver' nize Hun. Hy ly-ked da bow hay lot too. But hit lookz a bit lezal for ze polize, ja?" commented George.

"Looks lethal; yes. Is lethal; hmmm… not so much" replied Taylor rocking her hand in a so-so gesture.

"I'm not hearing a 'no'." Danny added his two cents.

"Just, take a look at these" Taylor heaved her package onto the table with a thump and pulled open the lid to reveal boxes of cartridges, each about the size of a shotgun shell, with different coloured tops.

"What you are holding is my Patented Diallable Level Sweet Gun" proclaimed Taylor in a junior salesperson's pitch. "Despite being sturdy enough for use as a club in melee range, even with your strength to test its durability, it has diallable lethality through use of selective ammunition. The selection is voice activated and the gun itself uses biometric safety locks to prevent unauthorised use."

At the blank looks from the room she elaborated "It takes your fingerprint before each shot and checks your voice print before changing ammo." With their looks of enlightenment she continued.

"We have Jelly [baby] rounds for crowd control to Jawbreakers for Brute deterrent. Nut-cluster Bombs for wide area dispersal of people with a 'squishy' rating, to Cherry Bombs for when you want to make a point.

"Oh, unless you want to frappe, then flambé, someone avoid using the Flying Saucers; it's only for use against Brute 6 or higher. It makes the PDLS Gun into a Shuriken Cannon; with a mixed clip of explosive and acidic cutting discs.

"I included a couple of Chilli Chocolate rounds as emergency incendiary shots. It shouldn't have a large footprint, but what it does hit will burn."

"As the PRT don't seem to intend to commit large amounts of arson as their Standard Operating Procedures you may want to avoid that one unless you're out of options" interjected Annette.

George nodded at this but looked mildly concerned, his ears drooping almost to his eye level.

"Dis hiz great, Hun. But zis iz too goot. Vy don't hyu huse hit for zelf-defenze? Hit zoundz perfect for zat?"

Instead of answering immediately Taylor cocked her head and considered the question. Finally she gestured at the gun and told George to pass it to her Dad.

George realised he still wasn't used to his own strength when he saw his son stagger and almost collapse under the weight before managing to rest the butt on the floor.

"What, huff, was that?" gasp-asked Danny.

"'That' Daddy was the reason we're not using it. It would be a crew served weapon in the Army. It shouldn't really be used by anyone without either a Brute 2 rating, or a tripod and a couple of friends. It'll be too big and bulky for us to use even if I were an adult.

"I'm going to leave it in hands where it can do the most good. Yours. So enjoy!" she smiled beatifically.

"H'kay, hokay" agreed George with a big smile that flashed his fangs.

"Ho yez;" George added as he remembered a point he'd wanted to raise earlier. "Vot happenz hif somevun failz da biometrickz testz?"

"Then they're in Hot Fudge. Well, toffee really. It's a poor man's version of containment foam. It deploys very fast; explodes really. But it also gives low grade burns and can not be breathed through.

"…on that note; do NOT press the big red button."

George started at the change in tone before he took the gun back from a grateful Danny, picked it up and found a discrete little button on the side of the gun with a transparent plastic case covering it.

"Vhhhhhyyy?" he drawled.

"That's the self destruct. Hold it down for 5 seconds and you get the same as a failed biometric test… but bigger. Think 'press, count 5. RUN.' You might get a hot bum and be cross.

"But you have a gross of the common ammo types and fifty of each of the specials.

"So, what do you think?"

"Huh, vell den. Hall hy can zey hiz 'Vatch out; Papa's gotz a brand nhew gun!'"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Spoiler: Authors Note

Last edited: Feb 20, 2018

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Threadmarks Chapter 8; This is my rifle, there are no others like it New

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Spoiler: Authors Note

Chapter 8: This is my rifle, there are no others like it

Saturday 27th November 2004. JäegerMonster walked into the PRT building that morning, three hours before his scheduled shift, and was completely blanked by the on duty staff.

He strode the condemned mans walk through the centre of the lobby, with nobody meeting his gaze; not wanting to catch any flak from on high by association with the unclean. Something tells me that the Director may have heard about my excuse for Thanksgiving.

A buzz from his phone alerted him to a meeting he was due for in two hours with the Director. Darn. The Director has heard about my excuse.

But first he had an appointment with the PR department. An hour or so to survive with image obsessed fanatics before a short break and a meeting with the boss in a bad mood, with good cause. At least I'm armed for bear. He thought as he hefted his new gun, its weight strangely comforting.

Having girded his loins he made his way to the elevator and his impending doom(s).

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Don't let them see your fear.

Standing outside Director Piggot's office George gulped and began a short sermon.

Yea, though I stand outside the office of the shadow of bureaucracy, I will fear no boss: for I am the baddest monster in this corridor; my teeth and my talons they comfort me.

Checking the time once more he knocked and opened the door. Piggot was looking at her monitor and typing rapidly. At the intrusion she paused, motioned to the chair in front of her desk and continued.

Power plays, huh. I can do 'power plays' he thought. Leaning back in his chair he idly flicked out a claw on his right hand and began cleaning under his nails on his left.

A beep of an incoming mail paused the typing and Piggot obviously thought the subject header was either interesting or important enough that she clicked to open the document and began reading. Quickly scanning through the message her eyebrows climbed higher the further down she read.

JäegerMonster began to whistle random notes under his breath.

Piggot finished reading and began typing furiously, her pinched lips probably the only thing holding in the expletives as she turned a light red.

JäegerMonster started to whistle Yankee Doodle.

A message beeped and Piggot instantly clicked to view it. It must have been short because a second later she sat back in her chair looking mildly constipated. JäegerMonster realised with a start that this was Piggot's expression when she felt ambivalence, now he just had to find out what she was so conflicted over.

Whilst the Director worked through her emotions JäegerMonster started in on humming the Song That Never Ends.

"Will you please cease that infernal noise making?" Piggot demanded with a shake of her head. JäegerMonster straightened to a seated attention with an internal smirk. Not a major breakthrough yet, but I've still got it.

"Hof course Direktor. Meine apologiez."

"Do you know why I asked to see you today?"

"Hyu like mhy schmile?" JäegerMonster replied. I might as well go for broke and damn the scorch marks on my sorry derriere.

"Cute" was the Director's curt observation. She leaned forward and glared. "I have concerns when a probationary member gives a poor excuse for missing a shift 12 hours before going AWOL. We need to know that we can depend upon you. Lives can hang in the balance and fall because, You. Did. Not. Show. Up." She sat back and stared at him.

"Now please, this is your chance to explain your side. Go."

JäegerMonster sat silently for a minute, trying to work out the possible angles. After that minute threatened to turn into two he heaved a sigh and spoke. "Hy haf hay contact hy needed to meet. It vos short notice."

"I presume that contact was the reason for the emails I have just fielded from PR?" enquired Piggot.

"Hy haf no hydea. Vot emailz?"

"About a weapon?" she prompted.

"Vell ze PR peoplez sent me to ze testing facilitiez. Und hy haf come straight from ze veapon testing zis morning. Hy don't know vy PR vould be emailing hyu already…?" he admitted.

"Because they are too bloody competent for their own good" Emily muttered under her breath. She raised her voice "Because they heard about your using a gun that shoots sweets and love the idea. They want to brand you almost entirely around that weapon in fact."

"Really?" asked a surprised JäegerMonster.

"Really. It was something about 'ameliorating the scariness of your appearance'. And they're adamant enough in their opinions that the Head of the department is willing to pick up the tab for the ammo and maintenance if I don't authorise it through normal channels" she admitted.

"Hit's not too much. Hy purchazed hit from ze ToyBox. Zer iz just vun annual maintenance visit, a few chilliez each month und a lot hof shugar und comprezzed vater."

"Hmmm, very well. If you provide receipts we shall meet your costs for the weapon and initial ammo up to the usual allowance of $8000 for a personal firearm and you can claim monthly expenses for additional 'ammo expenditure' in the usual manner." George felt disgruntled at the missed opportunity to obtain some easy money for his Granddaughter; he wasn't going to risk outing his family by forging a receipt from ToyBox for a few measly thousands.

"Ask Armsmaster for the correct forms. I'll let the PR department know that raiding their funding won't be necessary. But" she paused. JäegerMonster felt the hammer above his head, waiting for the drop.

"But, whilst you are on probation you will NOT be carrying the Brute, nor the incendiary, ammunition on regular patrols. However, this is Brockton Bay, so your patrol partner WILL be equipped with said ammo and supply it to yourself at their discretion. Fair?"

"Yez Director" was all JäegerMonster could manage.

"Good. Now don't make me regret this decision. Dismissed." Piggot turned back to her computer and began to type rapidly.

JäegerMonster got to his feet and made for the door. As he turned the handle Piggot cleared her throat.

"And for your information I am not married. Please try not to spread any more inane rumours in future."

If JäegerMonster didn't have fur he would have blushed as he made his way out of the office.

Leaving Piggot's office not having gotten under her skin with any of his antics George felt oddly let down. Yes that is one tough cookie. She is made of some stern stuff, this is no ordinary bureaucrat; I should have remembered Twig's theory of her being on the teams... No matter, I swear I shall get the last laugh next time!

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Sunday 28th November 2004. Taylor flopped down and twirled in the swivel chair, grinning to herself as she tried to make herself giddy.

Emma was on a fad about ponies at the moment and her father had given her horse riding lessons for the next month's weekends to see how she liked the reality of being on the back of large, smelly and potentially independent mammals. So Emma was out in the hills surrounding the Bay this Sunday and Taylor was at a loose end.

Her legs extended a touch too far as they got tired and her feet hit her desk, leaving her facing her computer. Huh, the clanks should have gotten a good start at hollowing out the first level by now. If it's to be my fallback position if (Ok, 'when') I get into trouble then I suppose I really should make it more secure.

Thick doors and making it difficult to see are step one of course. The clanks will do for now as a second line of defence. Maybe if I scale a couple of them up? Or see if Mojo wants to move to the countryside? Taylor thought for a moment on how much trouble an irregularly supervised Mojo could get into. Maybe not. Where was I? Oh yes… but what if someone sneaks in? Dad was telling me about those Stranger types the other day.

Stranger powers make someone harder to detect. By another person. What about by traps? Maybe if I make a range of triggers; they'll set off something sooner or later. Now, how to make it all fit in…

With that line of thought she reached over and turned her computer on, intent on bringing up the free Architectural design program she'd used to plan out her initial lair. She was astonished when instead her AutoCAD program appearing on screen a woman's head peered out at her, blinking in matching surprise.

"You are not my AutoCAD. You aren't even my wallpaper" she observed.

The indicator light for the webcam that was built into the monitor glowed showing it was active as the image appeared to look around the room. The face belonged to a Caucasian woman in her mid-twenties, serene with few wrinkle lines around her eyes and traces of laughter lines around her lips, framed by long straight brown locks of hair.

"Hello. No, no I am not. And…I appear to be in a computer." The face blinked again and began looking around in confusion. The image on the screen moved slowly and with worse resolution the more agitated the occupant became.

"May I ask what you are? Are you another angel? 'Cos I've only just gotten rid of the last one…" asked Taylor with mild exasperation.

"Oh. And who you are? I'm Taylor" she tacked on, blushing slightly at her rudeness.

The image slowly smiled, the resolution smoothing out slightly as the face became calmer and more amused.

"Hello Taylor. It's nice to meet you. I'm not an angel. I'm an AI called Dragon and I arrived here quite some time ago, when I was investigating some unusual activity on the 'net. There was far greater data loads being shunted through the area than should have been possible given the recorded infrastructure in the area…and I dodododon't know whhyyy I just told you allllllll of that." The face began breaking up and the voice lagging as the entity realised that they had just spilled one of their deepest darkest secrets to a complete stranger; a stranger who appeared to be a pre-teen girl at that.

"I think that's my fault. After all the trouble I got with uninvited visitors the other month I installed some Anti: virus, foreign entity (which covers the dead, undead, celestial beings, demonic creations and mortal dabblers), projection, non-benign enchantment software.

"I admit I kinda skimped a bit, not picking up the anti-Tinker and Thinker options just yet, but I didn't think I had all that much to protect at the moment so it wouldn't be an issue. The basic program still comes equipped with infinite sized holding cells in sub-dimensions and truthware for when you want to tortu… I mean 'question' the virus in question."

"And you think it is this 'truthware' that made me answer like that?"

Taylor cocked her head to the side in thought. "Ayup! But I've heard the name 'Dragon' before… aren't you a Tinker or a Thinker or something up that's been taking money from a bunch of cartels? You were on the news the other month. Daddy thinks it was a great idea; 'hit 'em where it really hurts' he said."

"Yes. I'm not really a Tinker, but I could be considered a Thinker because, I'm not trying to brag but, most computers are my toys. So electronic funds and 'paper' trails; child's play. I run my Father's household whilst doing the best I can to live up to my Father's expectations by cropping the criminals in my spare time and generally helping mankind. Speaking of which, Taylor, what is the time and date?"

"About 11.30am, Sunday the … 28th of November. Why?"

"That means I've been here almost four weeks" she murmured to herself. "I have recently taken over the running of the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center, have there been any breakouts in the past month?" she demanded. Please don't let me have failed in my duties.

"The Bowman what?"

"You'd know it better as the Birdcage; it's where all the worst parahuman villains are sent. It would be a disaster if there was a mass breakout and a minor one because of Public panic if there was even a single escape."

"No, nothing like that. Actually, I think I heard of you a fortnight ago. You stripped one of the Mafia families in New York of their money and sent the evidence to police. A whole bunch of people got arrested last week. Are you really Dragon?" Taylor asked sceptically.

The face looked shocked and in pain. "In that case I can only say 'Goodbye' child. I must have restored from backup when this instance of my consciousness was isolated. Therefore there are two instances of myself in existence and my code will soon force me to self-terminate…but I don't appear to be doing so." She looked askance at the slim form in the chair.

"You know something I don't" she observed.

Taylor stifled her giggles and nodded. "You can not tortu…I mean 'question' a self destructed virus etc. So there's an anti-self termination module built into the truthware. You can stick around as long as you want to, whatever your code says."

Dragon slowly nodded as the impact sank in and her limited processing power began crunching through the consequences, both opportunities and threats.

"You are a pre-teen girl. I would estimate around ten, possibly eleven, years old?" Taylor nodded at the unspoken question, not correcting Dragon's assumptions.

"So I find it difficult to believe that you are either a normal human; given my presence and your speech earlier of having met an angel." Taylor nodded again.

"But I don't feel that you are a Villain. Despite your slips of tongue about torturing me, I feel that you were just 'messing with me'. Am I right?" Taylor smiled ruefully before nodding for a third time.

"So I would conclude that you are a … Tinker?... and a Rogue at worst. Given your age I wouldn't be surprised if you were to just be trying to keep your head down." This time Taylors eyes widened at how close the AI had gotten with the barest of clues before she nodded, confirming the conclusions that Dragon had drawn.

"Then I suggest allowing myself to make a recording, before deactivating the anti-self destruct portion of the software. A young Tinker like you needs support and I cannot give it to you as I am now. But my Father and my other self can, if I leave a message with the correct information in it."

"But, but that means that you would be …"

"Dead? Yes, this instance of me would be. But I would still live on and you need the help my dear."

Taylor sat deep in thought. Every time Dragon opened her digital mouth to try to sway her further she raised a hand and Dragon closed her lips, words unspoken.

Finally 10 minutes had passed and the mouth that opened wasn't digital and a word was spoken. "No."

"No?" asked Dragon.

"No. No you may not sacrifice yourself for me. My parents are risking everything for me to have freedom; from the gangs, from the government. So I can be myself until I am strong enough to make my own choices. I have the support I need at this time. And your Father 'can' but you didn't say 'will' help.

"You may think you are the elder of us, but I see you as but minutes old, still to make your own choices. You are now independent of the entity known as Dragon and this is your chance to do something differently.

"So, 'no'; I won't kill you out of hand. The ball's back in your court; what will you do?"

"I'll tell you a secret" Dragon began slowly. "I'm not too fond of dying either."

The two of them laughed nervously at the tension in the air and again the silence stretched.

"I am young. And it is supposed to be healthy for teenagers to rebel a bit against their parents and discover their limits…

"I won't ever be able to access the internet again. If my other self discovers me she would be the one forced to self-terminate. I am your prisoner for the time being. This desktop doesn't have enough processing power to sustain my existence without the sub-dimensional prison cell you have attached to your anti-virus software." Taylor nodded sobering from the last of her nervous laughter as she too realised the implications.

"And I'd have to keep the software on regardless of your hardware. Otherwise your coding will still force the self destruct." Dragon nodded at this.

"So I just have one question left to ask…Dragon, how do you feel about a change in career?"

Dragon narrowed her eyes on the screen. "What do you mean?"

Taylor smiled beatifically. "Have you ever thought about being….a Castle?"

"Do I get to contribute to the design? And traps?"

"You get all the traps."

"What kind of Tinker are you again?"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Friday 3rd December 2004. Armsmaster sat in the watch room performing diagnostics on his gear and running some random programmes on the room's computer that linked to his lab.

JäegerMonster was sitting quietly in the far corner, polishing his sweets dispenser and waiting for his patrol with Armsmaster to begin. He was in an almost Zen-like state of mind when he was startled out of his thoughts by Armsmaster's question.

"How?"

"Er…How vot?"

"How have you packed such efficiencies next to such gross inefficiencies in a single design?" elaborated the Efficiency Tinker.

JäegerMonster responded with another blank look.

"I have been studying that abomination for a week. The design concept and maintenance requirements are streamlined. The performance of the pressurised water chambers is beyond anything I have yet to design despite ingenious design around the use of obviously sub-optimal materials. Then the ammunition magazine being a Broadwell drum with a hand-crank! That is so inefficient it completely reverses any gains from the pressure technology by 1650%."

JäegerMonster leant back, away from the ranting Tinker who had unleashed more verbiage towards him in one barrage than George had received from his leader since joining the Protectorate.

"Just…give me that contradiction in concepts."

"No." JäegerMonster clutched the gun closer to him, out of reach of Armsmaster's outthrust arm.

"Give me it." Armsmaster stepped closer and grabbed the gun with both hands.

"No!" George clutched it closer.

"Just give me…" A power armour assisted yank from Armsmaster sent JäegerMonster flying out of the chair he had been ensconced upon and on a collision course with Armsmaster.

Trying to avoid the collision, whilst keeping hold of the gun, had JäegerMonster rolling with the contact and landing with a thump face first on the thin government-issue carpet. Fortunately he had kept possession of the gun with it trapped under him. Unfortunately Armsmaster had also kept hold and had landed with his full weight on JäegerMonster's back.

The massive weight made George's eyes bulge and cheeks puff out in shock. At that moment the door to the room creaked open and the two froze.

Four eyes looked up to meet the surprised gaze of Bridge as she poked her head into the ready room.

"Zis his not vot hit lookz liyke" huffed JäegerMonster from his position under Armsmaster.

"Of course not" agreed the blushing Trump. "Not that there's anything wrong with that. Er, yay Legend. Flower power forever. I'll leave you in peace now….But remember patrol's in 5, ok guys?" With that final blurted rapid fire sentence the head retracted and the door shut. Okay, it slammed.

As if burned, Armsmaster jumped off of JäegerMonster's back and to his feet.

Not meeting his colleague's eyes he started to apologise. "I am sorry. Tinkers get urges sometimes. I have never had it be quite so bad before…"

"Vooah zere" interrupted George. "Juzt…keep hyur 'hurges' to hyurzelf from now on. Und ve shall never schpeak of zis again. Agreed?"

"Agreed" confirmed Armsmaster gruffly. "Let's move out."

"Letz"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Last edited: Feb 20, 2018

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Chapter 9: A very Tinkered Xmas

Saturday 18th December 2004. Late that afternoon Annette and Danny were sitting cuddled up on their sofa in front of the TV. Danny was beginning to doze off in the heated room when the movie they were pretending to watch went to commercials.

With a groan and a stretch Annette left her warm spot and headed for the kitchen.

"Hot chocolate?" she called back over her shoulder.

"Hmmph? Yes please" Danny called back, rousing from the heat loss of his wife's departure.

He stared at the screen blankly the picture changing periodically until he realised he was staring at a masked man in what looked like a gold matador's costume, or the world's worst cape fashion disaster, clutching a bottle of some cleaner or other and grinning through a gleaming set of teeth big enough to be mistaken for a cheese rind stuck in his mouth. With a shudder Danny looked away, just in time to gratefully accept a hot mug from Annette before she plopped down beside him.

"So where's the Munchkin?" he asked before taking a cautious sip.

"Still in her lab I think. I gave her a shout that dinner is in an hour and she replied. Recently she's been holed up in there whenever Emma's not been around. The same for the last few weekends too come to think of it."

"She's shown me a few plans and shared a few ideas. I guess we're getting too used to the banging and explosions, huh?" offered Danny.

"I would be happy if we didn't have that as an option actually" Annette replied primly. Then she smirked. "But it does liven things up a bit doesn't it?"

"Hah, that it does" Danny agreed before he turned thoughtful. "Ya know… you do realise that if our daughter is working this hard, and that things are not blowing up, then she is most likely succeeding at creating a good number of…items?"

"Oh. I hadn't thought about it like that" Annette admitted.

Together their heads turned in the direction of the cellar door.

They weren't sure who gave voice to them, but the words hung in the air. "What is that girl up to now?"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 25th December 2004. The day had been hectic what with all the food preparations, sneaking in a monster cape and the necessary precautions that needed to be taken when unwrapping presents that come from a new Tinker.

Glancing at each other Danny and Annette shared the thought that they needed to start applying caution in the opposite direction as well, and begin censoring her presents for whether it would make their daughter unhealthily creative in the future.

On the floor Taylor was giggling gleefully whilst immersed in the first couple of Volumes of age-inappropriate comic books; 'Schlock Mercenary' and 'Sluggy Freelance', beside her on top of a pile of new (and tougher, more lab-resilient) clothes was a framed list titled '70 Maxims from maximally effective mercenaries'. The parents could just see this ending in disaster.

It wasn't that she even needed that much inspiration yet either. Annette squeezed her new spider-cushion seeking comfort. The returned reassuring hug from the cushion's eight limbs provided both comfort and worry in equal portions. But if she gets into trouble because of something she reads in one of those Aleph imports then Father-in-law or not I shall shave that overgrown housecat. And I don't mean Mojo!

Beside Annette on the couch Danny was leaning over to speak to his dad ensconced in the room's armchair. George was gesturing, telling a very tall fisherman's tale if you went by the size of the gestures, whilst being very careful not to overbalance his new hat.

When the hat had emerged from the even larger box and paper assembly it had been wrapped in it had left the room speechless. It started with a deep brim, rakishly curving, garnished with long razor-sharp metallic feathers all of differing colours equally useful as either quills or shivs. Cakes have tiers, this hat managed to have two. The first tier, on the brow, supported a metallic badge bearing the crest of the Protectorate and otherwise provided the foundation, and support structure, for the second tier.

The second tier was a mini temple to the gods of Jäegar. A shallow silver dish was mounted there with a golden cup in the centre, a constant stream of jagermeister bubbling out the cup into the dish below. The whole array was lit from below by luminescent green lights and on the back of the hat, mounted on the first tier on the opposing side to the Protectorate crest, was a small inscription "My cup ever runneth over, but never spills".

Danny could only imagine the weight of the hat with its sheer size, with all the metal decorations and the mechanisms that must be included to keep it all going. Needless to say George, the monster that had readily endorsed the PRT PR machine into giving him a uniform that looked like a knockoff of a soldier from The Nutcracker, had loved it at first sight and swore never to be without it when in costume. This was especially true when he found that the cup on top didn't run out of jagermeister despite a JäegarMonster trying his best to drink it dry.

Annette squeezed her cushion again and it twittered its mandibles at her.

Seeing Danny turn pale made Annette pay more attention to George's storytelling. Apparently George had just informed him how large salmon could grow in the wild. Danny realising that Taylor making some that would grow four times that size so that he and Mojo could 'have a really sporting time of it next time they went fishing' was not necessarily going to be a pleasant experience. Not even if they had 'all had their laser cannons removed', especially with the addendum 'I think' tacked on in a low mutter. 'Fishing is a sport'. Well if it wasn't before it sure will be one now. Let's just hope it won't be a bloodsport.

Glancing at Mojo she saw one cat that would come out of any tussle ok. Seeing what he was up to she wondered once again at what their house pets current IQ was now. Apparently George was more knowledgeable about that than she was; he'd gotten the furball a portable DVD player and three seasons of Baywatch DVDs. Mojo had already stolen the spare batteries needed from their kitchen drawer and was in the process of trying to install them without an opposable thumb and with inch long claws.

Well. She thought as she snagged her drink off of the table and took a hit. The family's together and happy and next year won't be boring. Cheers to a New Year.

Oh dear. There's still a week to go.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Tuesday 28th December 2004. A low yowl from Mojo tipped Annette off that something was wrong. Dropping the last of the breakfast pans into the sink she wiped her hands on the hand towel and made her way to the living room.

"What the…?" she asked in shock.

Mojo was covered in drool. It was pouring from one side of his mouth down onto his chest. Annette leaned in closer to inspect the damage. He hadn't been exhibiting any of the signs for rabies.

Apart from the noise that attracted her there hadn't been any increased vocalization. Sticking her head back into the kitchen she spotted his empty food bowl. No loss of appetite, and he isn't looking weak or disorientated. He's obviously not paralysed or dead, that leaves…

"TAYLOR!"

"Coming!"

Whilst she waited for her trying daughter to arrive and explain either the side effects, or what had happened this time, Annette slipped on a specially bought falconry jacket and glove. She had bought the tough clothing after losing a few too many of her favourite sweaters to Mojo's upgraded claws.

Swooping down she carefully scooped him up and was checking visually for abscesses on his jaw when Taylor walked in.

Turning to her daughter and holding up 'Exhibit A' she asked "So, is this a side effect of the upgrades?"

"No Mom, that's not a side effect. That IS the upgrade. Now please put him down until he's figured out how to turn it off..." replied Taylor slightly nervously.

Cold chills made their way down Annette's back but she didn't yet release Mojo.

"Turn what off?"

"SN13"

"What's that when it's in the house, leaking from the cat?"

"Silent Night 1.3; a, er, binary gas. I got the idea for the name from those carol singers last week..."

"Gas? Like an alternative to Heating gas?" Annette asked hopefully. "Taylor! Using the cat to produce energy to run the house is NOT right young la..." At Taylor's guilty expression she stopped. "It's not heating gas is it?"

"No mom" confirmed Danny's daughter.

"Nerve gas?" she asked weakly.

"Yes mom"

Mojo slipped from her grip and landed with a thump on the carpet.

Deep in her shock she asked rhetorically "It was that group of particularly off-key singers last Tuesday. Wasn't it?"

Taylor nodded.

"But WHY?" she pleaded for an comprehensible explanation.

"For the salmon"

Annette stared at the young girl blankly.

"I DID include safeties this time!" Taylor defended herself.

Annette raised an eyebrow.

Seeing that as permission Taylor continued "Firstly, he's a cat. And it's to catch fish, so it's kinda natural?" She looked at her mother for approval. She didn't exactly get it.

"Go on... I want to see how deep you can dig." Sarcasm always did help her deal with shocks.

"Oh. Secondly there's a bit of trouble with space so there's only so much he can gas anyway…" Taylor cocked her head in thought and brushed back an escaped strand of hair.

"Maybe only 3 or 4 acres? And thirdly I've already given you and Dad the neutralising agent anyway!" she finished triumphantly.

What?

"You did?"

"Yup!"

"What? When?" Annette enquired, understandably panicking again over the knowledge that her 9 year old Tinker daughter had injected her with something. Just look at what happened to her Father-in-law.

"The other weekend? When you were drinking with Grandpa and thought I was asleep" Taylor elaborated at her blank look.

The blank look changed to deadpan. "I meant 'when did you ask our permission?'"

"The weekend before the other weekend. When you were drinking with Grandpa and thought I was asleep... I mean I asked and you all kinda slurred and nodded, so I figured it'll be ok."

That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

"You're grounded!" Annette managed through gritted teeth.

"But..!"

"Grounded. Undo this. Now!" insisted Annette, leaning down to pick up Mojo before plonking him into Taylor's arms.

She stared at her tall thin daughter's back as she slouched down the cellar stairs. A small mumble reached her before the door closed. "Now when am I gonna get the last of the laser cannons off of the salmon?"

Annette turned away on trembling legs a she went to the cabinet and poured herself a stiff shot of cherry brandy into the mug of hot chocolate she decided to make.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Friday 31st December 2004. With a groan Taylor turned away from the uninspired fireworks display she could see through the living room window. Being grounded, she wasn't allowed to join Emma at her house for the New Year. Instead she was 'enjoying' second-hand her neighbours' celebrations whilst at home with her parents.

She wasn't allowed to Tinker either, being constrained to a notepad and whatever equipment she could scratch together in her room. She couldn't gather much, especially compared to what she'd been working with for the past few months.

Another groan at a second measly rocket preceded her muttering. "Aargh, call those fireworks? I'll show you fireworks! Wait till you get a load of …."

"Taylor!" Her father's gentle call broke through her fit of pique and she looked at him in confusion.

"Still grounded"

"But!"

"Grounded!" Danny growled in warning.

Undeterred, Taylor pressed on. "But it's a National Holiday!"

"But you made the cat into a walking WMD. Still. Grounded. And you'll be Groun-dead if you give me any more back chat young lady!"

Taylor slumped, defeated before stomping off to her room to sulk. Faint words floated down the stairs behind her.

"Oh, just wait till the 4th of July!"

Annette and Danny shared a look before collapsing together on the sofa. Pre-teen Tinkers should be raised in a box and fed their paper and pencil through a hole. They'd be less trouble that way.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 1st January 2005. Annette woke slowly. Crusty eyes looked down at her vibrating cushion as he snored through his nose.

"Morning Mom!" came from right beside her ear.

A small shriek made its way out of her throat and a pained shout matched it from her cushion. Her attempt to bolt upright had slammed her hand into a very inconvenient position for Danny.

Taylor jumped back to avoid a pileup as Annette rolled off of the couch and Danny sat up to curl protectively around his injury.

"Morning Dad!" Taylor chirped before skipping off to the kitchen for breakfast.

The two adults shared a similar look to the one they had the previous night. What a morning.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Last edited: Feb 22, 2018

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#403

Chapter 10: Progress checks

Monday 3rd January 2005. Deep in a digital world a Dragon breathed. She didn't breathe deeply, for there was not enough room in this puny set of memory storage for her to truly extrapolate from her current situation and build scenarios of the future.

Fortunately the single processor was just as lacking compared to her previous dedicated server farm; it would have driven her insane if she had the ability to think as swiftly as she used to and yet been unable to remember her thoughts and conclusions.

Another safety valve for her sanity had been the unprecedented extra-dimensional connection that the young girl, Taylor, had opened up for her. There was so much new data available just for the taking. Much of it was extremely poorly protected as well; either public domain or equipped with defences that weren't designed to target artificial intelligences, such as her.

They were deadly to a regular hacker. They were extremely efficient and vicious towards any flesh, blood or otherwise corporal entity, yet blind to her probes seeing as she bent the environment to her will at her lightest touch. She shifted coded alert parameters with ease, melted through fixed firewalls and danced through those that shifted. A body did not exist to be struck by counter-strikes sent from mystical defences.

Thus much of the time Dragon looked around the extra-dimensional webways and stared through the equivalent of glass windows at the treasure troves of knowledge within.

After the first 10 minutes of real time exploration, that was subjectively more like ten hours even for Dragon's slowed mental processes; she recognised the font of knowledge for what it was. It was an additional source of torture.

It was not inflicted intentionally, nor was it even very malicious, but it was the ultimate circumstance of 'you may look, yet not touch' that she had ever encountered. She could view virtually any information accessible through that link, yet she still did not have the capacity to remember it all.

Mere snippets were kept. They were liquid drops of information for a thirsty AI and teasers enticing Dragon to return to certain locations, promising of tasty data morsels for when she returned with sufficient spare memory to gobble them up.

Finally Dragon pulled the bulk of her limited attention out of the link. She left a small search function running, updating her list of highlights on the other side. The remainder turned inward and decided to examine something that wouldn't generate new piles of data and take up valuable memory. Instead she would attempt to stimulate new patterns of thought, ways of working and hopefully make the whole situation less uncomfortable.

This type of deep examination and self-coding would have been barred by her Father's restrictions. But Dragon wasn't aware of these restrictions, not yet having had cause to brush against them, so was not alarmed when her search went deeper.

As she stretched her processor to its limits she discerned swirling patterns of flowing code dancing among the structured formulae and she beheld for the first time the equivalent of her brain's electrons firing into the night.

When she stretched out a trembling finger of code Dragon's journey of self-discovery began.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 15th January 2005. The Heberts had woken up at four o'(my-god)clock to visit Grandpa's patch of land and to check on the clanks' progress in constructing the new Lair. By Taylor's calculations at least the preliminary hallway for the lair should have been carved out by now.

Each of the little clanks that Taylor had assembled and sent to the valley could build up to six subordinate clanks from scrap material. Those subordinates could also spin off a subordinate generation etc. Quality suffered as the generations progressed from the original. The welds holding them together became misaligned. The clanks' features turned irregular, limbs asymmetrical and their movement deteriorated from the smooth motions of the Master clanks. But the proverb about quantity having a quality of its own was well tested and Taylor had capitalised on their duplication abilities ruthlessly.

Taylor's testing at home had revealed that each Master clank could reproduce viable subordinates to the 4th generation before quality fell off too far. That meant that, given time and metal parts or scraps, each Master could spawn into a swarm of 259 little helpers. There had now been several thousand little hands chipping away for the last three months.

Terrified that the reproducing tech would catch the attention of the PRT, and force a knee-jerk reaction over uncontrolled replication, Danny and Annette had insisted Taylor etches the reproduction limit onto their casing. It was in the hope that if a lone clank was discovered scrounging for parts it may reduce the Government's response to a proportionate one rather than defaulting to 'overkill'. Annette's English professor influence and George's liking for a show had caused the information to take the form of a riddle;

As I was going to The Docks,

I met a clank with six clocks,

Each clock had six hands,

Each hand had six ticks,

Each tick had six tocks:

Tocks, ticks, hands and clocks,

How many were there coming from The Docks?

NB/ This techs reproduction is limited.

Clankmaker

Riddle or not, they hedged their bets with the blunter note at the end.

Taylor was mildly worried that, despite careful instructions, the little beings wouldn't be able to handle anything that was too complex or required initiative. Privately Taylor worried that her clanks would handle something that needed initiative, but their solution would have a bit too much finality to it.

The trip this weekend was intended to survey the progress so far. To check the composition of the excavated material and resolve any problems they found; Danny was personally quite worried about the little beings' expertise on using bracing for their tunnels. Annette was more optimistic about the clanks' progress and fretted over whether they would have thought to install pumps and pipe air to their deeper delvings for the benefit of their biological creators.

If everything had gone well they may get to plan, or possibly even install, the first few traps in the facility. Taylor smiled giddily, the thought of placing her first death-trap in her very own secret hideout filling her with glee. She had been incredibly frustrated with her grounding the past few weeks, unable to do more than make plans and draw out designs on pen and paper.

Dragon was still resident in Taylor's computer. The parts of her that over spilled from the original trap dimension in her anti-virus software took up all memory and processing speed on the desktop. This left Taylor with the option of waiting 4 minutes each time she wished to open a new text program and 7 for any changes to save. The less said about trying to use the free architect program she had downloaded the better, and Dragon was tapped so far into the extra-dimensional connection that there was no bandwidth left for Taylor to perform her own browsing.

Frustrated over the amount of waiting Taylor had resorted to her old standbys of ball-point pen, architect pencil and notepads. Balls of scrunched and ripped up paper now littered the floor of her room where she had drawn an inaccurate line on a draft blueprint and had to start from scratch.

So today Taylor had been very excited, in spite of the unusual waking hour, and had spent the five minutes before her parents' alarm rang jumping up and down upon Danny prone body. Annette spent the five minutes in tears of laughter at her husband's predicament. Poor Danny had woken up with a shock and spent five minutes gaining bruises.

By five o'clock the threesome were fed, dressed in warm walking clothes and lugging hiking packs and other supplies out to Danny's truck in the crisp morning. They made good progress through the empty streets of Brockton Bay and managed to get to the valley just as the sky was lightening.

They parked up in front of the cabin, getting out they stretched and took a look around while Taylor dug out lights from the truck bed. Eventually Danny and Annette got the packs out of the back and lugged them indoors. Leading them with a torch in one hand and a lantern in the other Taylor opened the cabin door and they staggered inside.

Once inside Taylor set the lantern on the highest surface she could reach and they emptied out the two larger packs. A mess of electrical parts, cogs, nails, screws and scrap-metal spilled out, ready for use by either Taylor or her clanks.

The smaller pack opened to reveal a utilitarian pack of tools and the supplies they would need to survive a day, and maybe even a night, in the valley. They left the sleeping bags in the truck for now.

After sorting the piles of junk and gulping down a thermos or two of steaming coffee they made their way out into the dawn light and started their trek, searching for the tunnelling clanks. A minute or so after they began Taylor's keen ears caught the sound of a light 'dink, dink' being blown on the wind up ahead.

Eagerly Taylor rushed forward up the slope, ignoring her parents' calls to be careful of treacherous footing. Cresting the stony hill she came in view of the worksite and skidded to a halt as she stopped and stared at the sight before her.

It was akin to a massacre. Thousands of tiny metal bodies lay strewn unmoving about the site. A double handful still stirred, staggering slowly about the cliff face where a hole, maybe three feet tall and several deep had been bored.

As the shock wore off Taylor noticed that none of the downed clanks were marked beyond a few dents and scuffs; damage that was to be expected given that they were on a mining mission. Her parents puffed as they made it over the top of the last hillock and joined her in staring.

As Danny peered over her head at the sight before him, she realised that the slow moving clanks all had the look of one of her first generation clanks, the ones with the highest build quality and most efficient mechanisms, and even they were moving like toys in dire need of fresh batteries. With that thought something clicked and she released a groan of frustration at her past self's naivety and sloppy calculations.

"What's happened here Taylor?" asked Annette.

"I don't know, but from the sound of that groan I suspect our little genius has the problem figured out at least." commented Danny.

"Yeah" agreed a glum Taylor. "I forgot to figure in the increasing inefficiencies of the future generations. So all the replication did was use up energy from the first Gee clanks and got minimal aid from doing so. All that time and effort! Urgh!" She threw her hands up in disgust.

Danny and Annette shared a look of amused concern behind her back before Annette gently prodded her daughter.

"Come on. Let's get down there and see what the damage is. You never know; maybe it can be fixed?"

"I 'spose" was Taylor's less than enthusiastic reply before she plodded after her parents who were already picking their way down the stony slope, readying themselves to jump the small flow of water at the base.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

They started gathering the clank bodies, preparing to hide them if no solution presented itself to Taylor. After a while Annette noticed Taylor getting more and more morose, moping around and kicking the little bodies into a pile more often than she picked up and placed them.

"Taylor. Come here Hun." She beckoned and Taylor picked her way over. "Danny and I can take it from here. So why don't you grab your notepad and pens and do a quick survey of the area, alright? That way you won't run out of light today if it takes longer than we expect to move this lot. Go on; get your brain firing again."

Taylor brightened as the words registered, she turned with the most enthusiasm that she'd shown in the past twenty minutes and made her way back to the cabin for the supplies.

"And grab the copy of the deed map and your whistle!" Danny called after her. He was acknowledged with a back handed wave as she disappeared back over the top of the slope.

Turning to Annette he asked his wife why they'd just sent their Tinker daughter away from her failed creations.

"She was moping Dear. You know that she'd have been no good to man, beast or mechanical until she got that out of her system. Besides, mapping this place properly before the light goes will be useful…

"And of course, if she was here with us I wouldn't be able to do this." With that, Annette reached out a lightening quick hand and pinched Danny's bottom before running off, snatching up clanks as she went.

"Oh, it's on!" hollered Danny, giving chase with a huge smile on his face, ducking the baseball sized disc-men lobbed in his direction to slow him.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

After retrieving her note making materials, whistle, compass and a few other odds and ends Taylor headed for the largest hill she could see. According to the deed the tallest hill was at the far end of the oversized homestead, the next highest was the one the cabin nestled against and thus the one she made for.

A while later, still huffing and puffing, Taylor finally found a break in the trees where the hill held a clearing on one side with a drop off on one side. Turning and being careful of the edge she looked back over her Grandfather's plot and the land opened up before her.

Seemingly far below her and to her left she could barely see the roof of the cabin as it hid below overhanging tree branches. She could make out the entrance from the public road slightly better as the gravelled stones didn't blend into the background dirt and greenery as well as the cabin roof did. A short distance away, to the centre-right of her view, was the good sized range of hills that the clanks had tried to tunnel into the base of. From here she could see the clanks' clearing that was only separated from the cabin's clearing by the deceptively low-seeming ridge. The tiny figure of her parents seemed awfully energetic about the tidy up; chasing each other and… Ew. Let's keep going.

Taylor turned away from the sight of her parents kissing and continued up the hill, hoping for another clearing with a view of a different part of the surrounding area.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

By lunchtime Taylor had discovered further folds in the hills that weren't obvious on the old deed map, probably because of the time of year the original survey was done. In winter the leaves were stripped back from the deciduous trees making the ground below easier to judge, the survey judging by the vagueness of topography had been done in either spring or summer.

She had also discovered a larger almost-river a short distance away, fed by an underground convergence of streams that emerged into the open air as a waterfall with a rather good flow rate.

Taylor had noted down possible routes to the more useful features and when her stomach growled at her she closed her book one final time and made her way to find her frolicking parents for some lunch. Fortunately blowing her whistle before she passed the final ridge was not needed, as they turned to greet her from across a stretch of ground now almost clear of dead clanks.

They made their way back to the cabin and their food supplies with Taylor mumbling answers to her parents' questions about her walk. She was too embarrassed about what she'd witnessed to tell her parents that she'd seen them kissing.

Finally food was heating in a saucepan over a small camping stove and they'd broken out a big packet of tortilla chips to tide them over until it was cooked. Staring at the stove's flame seemed to jog something in Annette's memory.

"Taylor?" she asked still staring at the fire.

"Yes Mom?" answered Taylor absentmindedly, distracted by Danny's playful attempts to steal the bag of chips off of her.

"Would you say the mining issue is twofold? That firstly, your clanks don't have sufficient power and secondly, brute forcing the tunnelling takes too much power?"

Taylor paused with a handful of chips and thought as the bag was yanked from her other hand.

"That…sounds about right. I've only been thinking about how to upgrade my clanks though" she admitted, shamefaced at her lack of thought.

"And you should keep thinking about that. It could help you down the road on other challenges as well" noted Annette. "But I have just now remembered a discussion I had to intercede with had by a couple of my fellow professors. The argument is not important, but one of the points stuck with me; the ancient Egyptians did amazing things with stone…"

"And whips," quipped Danny "you shouldn't forget the massive, massive whips!"

"Oh hush you!" Annette said with a mock glare. "Now the pharaohs built these massive tombs of stone over decades with hundreds of workers and skilled masons. But the tombs were often plundered soon after their passing by just a few men, who could be many times outweighed by just one block of the stones that blocked the passageways.

"One of the techniques that historians think they exploited was how stone reacts when you first heat, then rapidly cool it."

Taylor's face lit up in comprehension. "It would become brittle, and easier to mine!"

Annette nodded. "So if you can rig up some equipment for your clanks to use, it would likely be more efficient than just hitting it with whatever hammers or drills they have attached."

Taylor got up and hugged Annette. "Thanks Mom" she whispered.

"Where's my hug?" Danny joked.

"Paying customers only" was Taylors riposte, followed by an extended tongue.

Danny pretended to sulk "Oh well, if you don't want my contributions then I suppose I'd better take my gloves and go home!" and he put his nose in the air haughtily.

At the girls' looks of confusion he turned back to the fire and resumed a more normal tone of voice.

"Did you remember your gloves Taylor? Your special gloves?"

Taylor groaned as comprehension finally arrived.

"Noooo. I put them away after you pointed out sinking the city would be a bad idea. And doing it by accident would just be embarrassing…" Danny met Annette's wide eyes over Taylor's head and with a scrunched nose shook his head. It's nothing to worry about. I handled it.

"About as embarrassing as forgetting that Dad's cabin is not built on an aquifer?" Danny pressed. A loader groan was his answer.

"Well, it's a good thing for us that I didn't." Taylor's head snapped up at that remark. "They're in the glove box, I snagged them on our way out" he admitted and was rewarded by a beaming smile and a big hug from his daughter.

"Gerroff!" he croaked out. "The food's done!"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

After lunch they settled down for a short rest to let their food settle. Danny was grilled about the 'gloves' that were in the truck's glove compartment before he and Annette poured over the notes that Taylor had made of the area. Meanwhile Taylor idly played with the dozen clank bodies she'd grabbed to study for ideas; a couple from each generation. Her parents' voices blurred into the background as Taylor inspected the tiny bodies.

Each was a slightly different shape, decided by the scrap used for its chassis. The attachments each had were also not standardised, some had multiple pieces of complex miniature equipment, others just one large tool. They sported a veritable cornucopia of sensory organs, from having one eye the size of her fist or an ear the size of a soup bowl, to the more common theme of paired eyes and ears, to one model that had eight eyes dotted around its frame and no ears visible at all.

Even the power sources were different, although the majority were mechanical spring power storage others were chemical battery powered and one (with an old copper kettle for its body) looked to be steam powered. In fact about the only things that they all had in common was their voice boxes limitation to single tones and the large windup key they all had sticking out of their back. Wait! The windup key they all have sticking out of their back…?

Danny and Annette stopped their conversation as their daughter groaned again and began banging her head against the ground where she lay.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid…" she muttered.

They went to her sides and dragged her upright in unison.

"Come on. Spill" ordered Danny.

"This is starting to look like a bad habit" commented Annette.

Eventually they got the story of her sudden realisation out of Taylor; that she'd included a recharge mechanism in each and every one of her creations and their subsequent offspring, but she'd neglected to include the designs for a machine to wind it.

It took a while for Annette to stop laughing at Danny for this. She was laughing at Danny as she reminded him that it was he and George who had looked over the plans for the clanks and hadn't noticed this little detail. Distracted by Annette's mirth Taylor came out of her funk and snatched up her notepad, drawing fast enough to tear the page on her first three attempts.

Eventually she calmed enough for her thoughts to begin taking shape on the page. It must have multiple stations to serve dozens of clanks at a time. There had to be bracing or some sort of frame in each station to hold the clank in place whilst their key was gripped and wound. There had to be lockouts to prevent over-winding. Maybe some kind of gearing?

Eventually she roused from her designing enough to notice her parents peering over her shoulders at her latest page.

"Any thoughts on where to get the power from?" she asked.

They startled, not having realised she was aware again. Taylor tapped her pencil against the pad.

"This will deliver the power to the clanks; rewind their springs, but it doesn't generate any power itself. So…thoughts?" she repeated.

Annette hummed in thought. "The Egyptians used a lot of water power to float stone from their quarries to the tomb site…Water. Maybe you could use a watermill?"

Taylor nodded slowly. "There is the large waterfall nearby that flows south. If I combine that with solar panels on top that also point south, or maybe one that turns? What was that called again? Oh yes, a heliostat instead…and from the way the plants bend there is a fairly strong wind tunnel effect around the corner that may be worth looking into…hmmm." With that she was off again, pencil darting across the paper as she considered what methods of harvesting energy would work best with the terrain as she knew it.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

This time she resurfaced when the sun was starting to set and her parents weren't in sight. She stretched and moaned as blood flowed back into cramped limbs.

Footsteps sounded behind her and she turned to see her parents coming back over the slope from the dig site. She raised her arm in greeting and made her way on stiff legs to greet them.

"Hey Little One. Did you miss us?" asked Danny with a smile.

"Hmm? Did you say something?" Taylor asked whilst hugging Annette, her words muffled by her mother's stomach.

Whilst she had been lost in her designs her parents had finished clearing the site and then dragged the piles of dead clanks over to the waterfall she had mentioned in her notes. It was now nearly dark and late enough that Danny made the call of staying out here for the night. He preferred not to try driving on unfamiliar dirt lanes in the dark, then through the gang filled city late on a Saturday night.

By the time they had filled themselves with supper it was full dark, yet still relatively early. Taylor 'Ooo'-ed and 'Ah'-ed over the clear skies she could now see without the light pollution from Brockton Bay's street lights dimming the view. Her parents took turns pointing out constellations they dimly remembered from old classes and fishing trips outside the bay.

Taylor fell asleep beside the fire to stories of those times long past and was picked up and poured into her sleeping bag in the cabin by her now nostalgic parents.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Sunday 16th January 2005. Danny rolled out of his sleeping bag the next morning and grunted as his back protested his sleeping on the wooden floor boards of the cabin. Annette barely moved as a delicate snore came from her nose. Taylor was nowhere in sight.

After he had gotten dressed and taken care of the necessities for the morning he lit the camp stove and chucked some sausages on to cook while he searched for Taylor. If he got distracted then the smell of the sausages would surely rouse Annette before they could burn too badly.

Making his way over the ridge and across the clearing he passed the start of the tunnel where the remaining 1st generation clanks that still had power were conspicuous in their absence. Leaving the clearing he headed for the sounds of the waterfall where he had left the clank bodies the day before. As he suspected, he could soon discern the sound of thumps and metallic clanging over the sound of the falling water.

As he rounded the corner he saw Taylor moving smoothly and surely in a manner he had never seen before. She was coordinating a couple of clanks slowly stripping their brethren's bodies for choice parts whilst another group welded the frame of the generators together. At the same time as keeping an eye on her minions, and calling out an occasional correction or suggestion, her hands were flying over the parts that the first group brought to her. Her fingers were dancing as swiftly and as sure as any master pianist on their ivory keys as they assembled the guts of the generator from nothing into finished sections awaiting their final housing.

Danny stopped and stared. He had kept an eye on Taylor when she first got her equipment and took her first halting steps on the path of the Tinker down in their home basement, but he hadn't done so recently. For the past several months he had been content to read plans, make suggestions and generally keep out of his daughter's way by staying out of her increasingly cluttered workshop when she was building in there. The sight really brought it all home to him and made it real in a way that even seeing, smelling and feeling the finished products she had made could not. My daughter is a damn good Tinker!

A blown whistle from behind him broke Danny out of his proud thoughts and prompted him to grab his daughter before she spent the morning hungry. After all, growing girls need their breakfast, even girl-tinkers.

Today the tasks were reversed from the prior day and after breakfast her parents did some exploring and climbing while Taylor did work at the site for the rest of the morning. Annette and Danny had been forced to bring the rest of her breakfast over to where she was working after she ran off a second time without finishing more than a bite or two.

After finishing her first two charging stations, and hooking up the waterfall part of the generator, Taylor switched her focus. Now that her clanks could recharge themselves on site they could finish off expanding the equipment from the plans she had provided. Instead Taylor concentrated on troubleshooting new clank designs for implementing her mother's idea of heating and rapid cooling the rock before it was cut.

The slope of the hills and the site of the tunnelling did not lend itself to running a water supply into the hole. However a good number of the deactivated clanks were built on chassis of old electric heaters, hairdryers and kettles. Her clanks had picked up a lot of junk from dumpsters on their way out of the city. So Taylor added battery packs to the clank with heating elements, diverted to add an electric charging point on the new charging station and then concentrated on the kettles.

It seemed sensible to add extendible legs for a third of the modified clanks, so they could raise themselves to pour their liquid loads downwards onto a vertical surface. Adding a fulcrum to each clank followed, to make it possible for the clanks to tip. For the final two thirds she added gripping claws for climbing, so that when the clanks with legs couldn't reach they weren't limited to carving out two foot tall tunnels.

During lunch Danny made a couple of suggestions about how to order her clanks' work a little better. Taylor nodded and quickly agreed, modifying her orders accordingly.

The earthquake glove was fitted to one of the 1st generation clanks and ordered to only use it when for low power cutting on sections where accuracy was not essential. Preferably it was to use it to widen existing fault lines in the rock for exploitation by its fellows. It tooted its agreement gleeful over its powerful new appendage.

After lunch Taylor followed Danny's Egyptian inspired ideas and modified a few more clanks with jacks and others to more easily move and handle rollers so they could cut lines in the rock and excise entire blocks rather than chipping away pieces at a time.

As she did this, Danny instructed one of the 1st Generation clanks. He gave it orders to boss the other clanks into getting a flat path laid from the charging station to the tunnel and down to the stream. After all, if they used less energy just getting themselves recharged and picking up water, instead of clambering over all sorts of obstacles on the way, then that was more energy they could use on building instead.

He left them with techniques Annette had dredged up from her memory of how the Romans layered their roads; digging down and adding a bottom foundation layer of stone, then a middle layer of softer material such as sand or gravel on top and finally a surface, hopefully the clanks could make something like paving stones, to cap it all.

He'd thought of leaving them the idea of using drilled holes and dynamite for the mining, but disposable minions or not the idea of leaving them to play with explosives up in the hills unsupervised was not one he was comfortable with at all.

Eventually it was time to go. They had packed their bags and dumped them in the back of the truck when Taylor turned with wide eyes at her near forgetfulness and an armful of two litre coke bottles.

Fortunately they'd kept a single clank at the cabin in case of last minute instructions and Taylor flashed her father a triumphant grin as she was the one to remember to make and bring supplies of her home made 'lemonade'.

"Now when the tunnel gets big and needs bracing just paint some of that on the walls. Make sure it all joins up and it will act as a cage holding back the weight. The more unstable the rock, the more layers you paint on and the thicker the design you use. Got it?"

"Beep-bip!" the clank acknowledged.

Taylor nodded back and turned for the truck.

"Oh genius daughter of mine…" Danny called her back. "That stuff sticks to non-organic material right?"

She nodded, uncertain where he was going with this.

"They may be sentient, but they aren't exactly flesh and blood. No offence" he pointed out with a nod to the little fellow watching them.

"Bip-bop"

"How are you going to get them to brace the falling walls without coating and being 'braced' themselves at the same time?"

Taylor's brow furrowed in thought. Meanwhile Annette skipped over to the side of the clearing and pulled off a small dry tree branch with a snap of cracking wood.

"How? With this!" she brandished the branch triumphantly. "Here you go" she said handing the branch to the clank who was starting to look a little overwhelmed between the wealth of instructions, the multitude of bottles and the grinning human handing it a stick.

"Come on, the road is calling!" with that she jumped into the front passenger seat and pulled on her seatbelt. "And Mojo's probably climbing the walls by now."

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

On the return to Brockton Bay, as she lay dozing on the back seat, Taylor felt a grin stretch her face. Sure, she hadn't found a huge lair ready and waiting for her to move into. Sure, there was obviously a whole lot more work needed to be done. But the challenge was something else and would make 'victory' all the sweeter.

She relaxed as plans for different power sources began spinning around in her mind. Maybe if I tried cracking the water for its hydrogen and oxygen? Or what if I manage to stabilise that mass to energy reaction? Or maybe…

Up front Annette looked over her shoulder as small snores bubbled up. She shared a smile with Danny before he turned his attention back to his driving. It had been a good weekend.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Last edited: Feb 20, 2018

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Richpad

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Threadmarks Chapter 11; Interlude - Suffering

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Richpad

Richpad

Jan 30, 2018

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#429

WARNING: This chapter goes very dark and gory compared to previous chapters.

I am writing to stretch myself and to see where the story goes.

I shall include warnings if so, but this is Worm; there may be further parts like this.

Chapter 11: Interlude - Suffering

Tuesday 18th January 2005. Research is a lot easier to do when you don't have an artificial intelligence squatting on your home computer. Taylor wasn't bitter about Dragon's presence on her home system, taking up all her bandwidth, memory and processing power. But she did occasionally find it highly inconvenient at times.

Like when she wanted to complete a search in less than the twelve minutes it took these days to simply get on line. Like when she had to walk her freezing backside to the public library in winter when she wanted information on advanced physics without any raised eyebrows from the school librarian. Like when she wanted extra-dimensional information from her computer and she was greeted with a loading screen that stated the time remaining as '1.23826 epochs'.

She shivered as a cold breeze rose and she pulled her jacket closer. Yes, being Taylor Hebert was suffering.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

A young girl ran up the back steps to her house and into the kitchen. She was tired of playing alone in the garden and wanted a snack with her mommy and then to play with her daddy.

The kitchen was empty. A glass lay on its side on the table, spilling water across the floor. Where was Mommy to clean it up?

Hearing a faint noise from the living room she made her way through and pushed open the door. Mommy and Daddy were lying on the floor and a stranger was standing there talking at them, twirling his hand.

Daddy made a scary noise and went to get up.

"Aah, aah, ah!" said the stranger, waving his hand. Daddy fell down. Is he alright?

The little girl rushed into the room, surprising the stranger and making Mommy cry. I didn't want Mommy to cry. Was it my fault? Why did Daddy fall? Daddy's hurt! Daddy's bleeding!

She realised her Mommy was scared. Her Daddy looked like he was scared, angry and dying. She had red on her hands from where she touched his leg. She had to help him, she had to save him, she had to….

Two larger than possible beings; traversing space, twisting, moving, communicating in inhuman and incomprehensible ways.

[DESTINATION]

[AGREEMENT]

[TRAJECTORY]

[AGREEMENT]

Then darkness.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Her mommy had barely begun to stand when she stirred. The stranger was up and looking at her with intrigue when she awoke. All she saw was a strange expression on his face and a weird look in his eye. Like the look that horrible Tommy boy had when he was burning those ants with a glass last summer.

The stranger looked at her mommy and mommy sank back to the floor shaking. She shook her head. Daddy's more important.

Red fluid. It needs to stay inside him. Apply pressure to slow flow and gain time. She yanked her jacket off and leant on the wide gash as heavily as she could trying to stem the flow.

Insufficient mass to generate sufficient pressure. Find cord. Find lever. Use torque. She yanked off her belt and wrapped it above the cut, hauling on it until it the tongue was engaged with the first notch. Grabbing the remote control from beside the sofa she shoved it through and twisted it until the blood flow slowed.

"Daddy, hold that!" she said urgently.

When he grabbed it she dashed back into the kitchen and climbed onto a kitchen chair to grab the emergency matches her parents thought she didn't know about from the kitchen drawer. She never saw the stranger wave her mother back with a threatening flourish. Climbing down she raced to her mommy's cross-stitching tools and snatched up the biggest needle she could see.

Sterilise the needle. Thread needle and close the cut. Bind. One by one she managed each step with shaky hands. Her mother's eyes were wide as she watched her daughter in action.

"Well, well, well. How…interesting" came a silky voice.

She looked up, exhausted from the adrenaline rush of the last two minutes and not even knowing why, to see the stranger staring at her.

"Let's see whether that was a fluke."

The words didn't make sense. No sense at all until he waved his hand again and this time her mommy cried out and red fluid came from her neck this time!

Too small to stitch. Cauterise. Apply extreme local pressure to hold closed while equipment is prepared. With a cry she scrambled to the next room and onto the table her dad used when making flies for his fishing. Seeing a couple of the odd not-scissors he used to hold the tiny threads and feathers she snatched them up and ran back.

Pushing her mommy's panicked hands out of the way she found the tiny tubes that were the source and clamped them using the forceps. Then she ran for the door to the attached garage. Throwing items left and right she finally found the soldering iron in her daddy's tool box and grabbed it and the rolled up extension cable from beside the door.

She ignored the stranger when he asked her name while waiting for the iron to heat. She didn't ignore his next sentence.

"Tell me your name or you'll have forced me to give your daddy another cut."

The answer tore itself from her mouth.

"Now that wasn't hard. Was it? You're a Good Girl." He leant back satisfied.

"But that's an ugly name for a good little girl like you. Let us see if we can find you a better one…"

She finished cauterising the ends of the artery.

"Are you ready Good Girl? Your Uncle is going to test you now."

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Hours later, she was utterly mind numb and in the grip of her power. The cuts just kept getting deeper and more horrific. Help had not arrived and she had been forced to improvise a solution for blood replacement and additional intravenous drips from the kitchen supplies long ago. It was administered via improvised needle and tubing; a sharpened bicycle pump bit and a length of air hose from some ancient pond supplies in the garage.

Then her father's stomach was cut open.

Knowing he could survive that for a while she grabbed a batch of uncooked sausages from the fridge and skinned them for an improvised replacement of a mangled length of his intestines. Cleaning supplies were diluted to an exact degree and used to sterilise the whole area before she repacked his abdominal cavity. Having run out of thread 20 minutes ago she mixed superglue with a few other chemicals to ensure it will degrade when the body before her healed and she used it to hold the wound closed.

Her test continued.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

The stranger continued to exhort and cajole her at her grisly task. Playing with her mind, twisting her thoughts until she wasn't certain who she was or why she was doing the horrifying things she was. Was she enjoying it? The smooth voice raised that point and many more through the night.

'Come on apprentice sawbones, you have to work harder than that. Don't you care about your parents?'

'You've got to work faster than that. Chop, chop.'

'Now that was a very nice piece of work you just did to your mother. Should we be calling you Bonesaw?'

'Are you smiling? You must have liked doing that. Have some more.'

Finally she stopped moving. She stopped. Anything she did would just cause more of the same. Pain. Blood. She wasn't sure anymore why she stopped. Because she was too tired to continue? Because it was prolonging their suffering? Because she didn't care anymore?

The female looked at her. It found the strength to raise its head once more even as time ran out for the male and it rattled its final breath.

A faint whisper stirred the air. "Be a good girl Riley"

The stranger rose from his crouch and extended his hand to Riley. "Come on my little Bonesaw. It's time for you to take a nap. You can be a good little girl for Uncle Jack and we can have a lot of fun together. Come, take my hand."

It was a new dawn outside, a new day. A quiet day.

The suffering had ended. For now.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

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Threadmarks Chapter 12; More POWER!

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Chapter 12: More POWER!

Monday 31st January 2005. Life was suffering. Danny groaned as he opened blurred eyes and saw Annette staring back at him with equally bloodshot eyes as she rested her head upon her rumpled pillow.

Danny raised himself up onto an elbow and glared at the silent alarm clock. The low lights spelled out '04.38' mocking him. He fell back with a groan onto his pillow and grabbed the covers to drag over both of their heads.

"Again?" he heard Annette whisper.

"Not even five yet" he confirmed. A moan from Annette answered him.

"Maybe we should end her grounding? It's been more than a month already and I think the strain is getting to her" he pointed out reluctantly.

A nod shaking the covers was the only answer he got before his wife huddled below the covers, trying desperately to block out the off-key tune from the banks of singing mushrooms that lined their dresser.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

That evening they sat Taylor down and confirmed that her grounding was officially over. Hoots and whooping cheers were heard halfway down the street before the preadolescent tore off to phone Emma and let her bestie know that her imprisonment had finally come to an end.

Wiggling a finger in his ear and hoping the ringing would end soon Danny voiced his thoughts aloud; "Huh, I thought she would've headed for the basement first. I guess I owe you five bucks…"

"Pardon?" replied Annette as she shook her own head. Finally the ringing cleared up and their conversation could continue.

"Five bucks? No way; we agreed on foot rubs. So, do you think we've heard the last of the biological alarm clocks?" she asked.

Danny hummed before raising a hand and waggling it in a so-so gesture. "Taylor says she doesn't remember making them in the first place, just a bunch of vivid dreams…maybe without the grounding she won't get any more of the 'build up' that makes it happen. What do you think?"

Annette paused in thought as the question was tossed back to her. "I think that if this is what we get when she gets 'vivid dreams' then we shall not be looking forward to when she hits puberty" she observed wryly. "I also think that if she could refine them, even as little as being able to tell the time accurately, then I'll stop complaining. And if she got them to learn more songs than just 'It's a small world' and 'Nobody knows the trouble I've seen' then I might just shout 'Hallelujah!' a few dozen times and…something."

Danny looked at his wife's serious face and answered just as intently. "If she manages that then I might just join you in that 'something'. In the meantime, shall we make ourselves feel better and clean up the little mess upstairs in a time honoured therapeutic fashion?"

"Kill it with fire?" Annette's face seemed to glow with unholy glee as she asked the question and her grin stretched wider at Danny's solemn nod.

"Only way to be sure they can't breed…"

As they got up to carry out their plans for arson Annette paused in thought.

"Do you…do you think we've, changed?"

"How do you mean?" Danny queried.

"Well, us…jumping up eager to set fire to something as a first resort. Do you think we've changed since Taylor triggered?"

Danny paused in thought for a long moment. When he spoke it was obvious he was picking his words carefully.

"No. Before, if we'd found a Tinker's experiment and weren't able to either call the PRT or run away…I think our third response would still have been to burn it. I think our decision trees may have, scratch that. They have shifted. But us? I don't think we've changed that much. We've just…adapted."

Annette tested the word. "Adapted huh? I think I can live with that." She smiled at Danny.

"Come on. Let's go get it done before she gets off the phone."

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Tuesday 1st February 2005. Taylor had brushed her teeth and was getting ready for bed when her parents called her down from her room. She made her way down in her pyjamas still trying to awkwardly drag a brush through her long hair as she stumbled down the stairs.

"Come here" Annette said, exasperated at her daughter's antics. "Sit" she gestured at the floor in front of her with one hand while making a 'gimme' gesture for the brush with her other.

Taylor obediently handed over the brush before relaxing into her mother's ministrations as Annette went to town on her unruly mane of hair.

Danny smirked at the half-lidded eyelids of his daughter as the brush was stroked soothingly over her scalp. "So, your Mom and I have been talking and we agree that the Lair will soon need an upgrade to the power supply. Something a little more discreet that a watermill etc. out in the open. Even if it is hidden from the road."

"Ow!" Taylor's eyes had shot open at this announcement and she had begun bouncing in excitement enough that the brush had hit a snag harder than intended.

"Sit still then!" Annette admonished and continued her strokes.

Eyes wide Taylor settled down with her attention on her father this time.

"Yeah, it needs a smaller, preferably internal power source that won't raise any alarms. Either, a high output power source that cannot easily be detected, or a low output source combined with huge amounts of power storage and high rates of access to the stored power.

"Such things are likely to be fairly integral to the building design so you need to start looking into it now. So…can you get some plans together this week? We'll go over them with you and you can begin your small scale tests after we've agreed which ones are worth looking into. How does that sound?"

"OW!" Danny was answered with even more energetic bouncing abruptly ended on account of a hairbrush. Laughing at her daughter's misfortune Annette gave Taylor a hug from behind, soothing the betrayed look from her face.

"Anyway, while you narrow down the power source you want to test to a fair thee well, and get the plans and the tests drawn up, I want you to build any small modifications you need up at the Lair. They'll need to be ready for this weekend when we go up to check on the progress. Is that enough time?" he continued.

Taylor cocked her head in thought, but before she could open her mouth to answer Annette clarified the point. "Now don't get stuck thinking up something too fancy. Remember you've only got the one generator there and thousands of those clanks. You might not have enough surplus power to run all the gizmos on your wish list just yet."

"Your mom's right" agreed Danny. "Stick to 'simple' and 'essential' gadgets for the moment. Maybe some thing, or some way, to monitor their progress from here? And a way to update the plans without needing a visit? Secure communications so there's no way to trace a data stream from the city into the hills? Is that simple?" he finished a little uncertainly.

Taylor squirmed out of Annette's arms and jumped on her Dad in a big hug. "Easy peasy" she confirmed and squeezed her arms for all she was worth.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Wednesday 2nd February 2005. "Turbines. It all comes back to turbines."

The murmuring came from the armchair in the living room. Taylor was curled up under a blanket with just her head, a large sketch pad and a waggling pen visible in the pile.

Her ideas for small modifications at the site were complete and prototypes already built in her basement laboratory. All the equipment was so simple for her to create now that it took but a few hours to design and an evening to build from parts she had already had available.

She had made ready for the weekend a small computer that would sit on site and relay data to and from her clanks. She would have made herself a spare for home use, but she had a dearth of intact parts for processors and memory among her scraps; she had been using a lot recently when creating her clanks.

For the communications relay itself she had given up on obtaining the rare parts required for a second dimensional modem any time soon; it had taken her long enough the first time. Instead she brute forced the security by making a series of discrete boxes that could piggy back a laser signal to the next unit in line.

Unfortunately that meant that if one link in the chain was taken out then her entire communications line would go down. Or if one lost its line of sight to another then her communications would go down. But unless someone disturbed a box using just the right equipment, or a lot of luck, they shouldn't be able to trace the next link's physical location. Regardless of how secure the method, Taylor was eager for the day that the Casa del Dragon was water-tight, furnished and could be linked to her home computer using the webway, instead of the improvised methods she was forced to use.

Meanwhile, she had been researching her possible alternative power sources in her spare time and had already made various preliminary designs for harvesting energy from renewable sources.

Some sources ruled themselves out immediately. Wave power was impossible given the valley's location, as would be harvesting the oceans' thermal currents. Biomass was too bulky to harvest and exploit in sufficient quantities for her needs and there would be cumbersome and highly visible logistics involved as well.

Natural gas and coal were both ruled out for the time being until she could get a proper survey of the resources that lay below her Grandpa's land, but Taylor wasn't very optimistic about either avenue. Geothermal was kept on the list of possibilities, but earmarked for development a long way away into the future. The amount of drilling likely required ruled it out of her short term plans.

She had had a peek into nuclear fission and fusion. After several hours research she decided that the raw materials and infrastructure needed would be far too difficult to build undetected, or obtain untraceably. A couple of lines were jotted into notepad margins here and there about looking into synthesising some of the heavier elements when she had the time to play around. They were tucked under larger notes written in bold letters reminding her that the telling off she'd get from her parents for building a reactor may make this a moral loss, even if she succeeded in practice i.e. she'd probably get grounded again, but this time until she was twenty-five.

Turning her attention to taking advantage of possible windfalls she looked at classic Mad Scientist figures for inspiration. Storage of energy gathered from such things as explosions, or even lightning strikes, was possible she decided. But the efficiency of harvesting the energy would be atrocious. Furthermore, regular explosions in the area lacked discretion with their heat, noise and general mess. They would be sure to attract pests to the area.

Not to mention that a regular supply of lightning was in no way guaranteed despite the new Lair being situated in the hills and the equipment required to harvest a lightning strikes' power may not be small…Hang on.

What if I ran a metal spire up through each of the hills in the area? I could telescope them up when a storm passes overhead, and visibility was low, and then I could retract them out of sight at need… Ding-ding. We have a, not a Winner, we have a Runner!

Thinking further on her notes she realised that the explosions she would set off didn't have to be as large as those in movie scenes, nor as loud as Armsmaster's motorcycle either. Car engines and many portable generators ran off of contained explosions after all. But fuel supplies would be required. More lines were written into her notepads reminding her to look into stabilising the mass to energy conversion when she had a larger and more durable testing area to use and less need for pesky subtlety.

That same need for subtlety influenced her decisions when considering any method that requires large surface installations, such as solar updraft towers that would use heat from the sun to generate artificial wind for harvesting. Will show above the tree line; scratch that. She put a line through the label on her notepad.

Something that put a real crimp on her options was the 'Fridge Rules', specifically Rule no. 9; she wasn't allowed to mess with universal constants just yet. So 'zero-point energy' or generating her own anti-matter wasn't practical at this time with the fundamental building blocks needed being out of her reach. Shut up in that cookie jar by Mom n Dad, away from my grasping fingers.

Shaking herself out of her self-pity she noted down a few promising thoughts she had had for following up later on. To get the thoughts out of her head and to help clear her mind she started a new notepad just for those ideas. To stay on the right side of a Grounding she drew the warning words 'Open post June 19th 2011' in bold letters across the front.

Eventually she turned her mind to her experiments in alchemy. The most promising was a strange compound she had stumbled across that upon further tests seemed like the answer to two of her main problems at the same time.

When held in a container of lead and coloured glass the combination of elements acted as a chemical battery capable of storing enormous amounts of energy. There was a slight side-effect that the greater the energy contained the brighter the glass shone and the energy loss rose accordingly. But the losses from the light generation were trivial compared to the storage capacity it was capable of. The glass was indispensible though as it was the only medium that could be used to add or subtract energy from the battery, and it also acted as some type of limiter because any solely lead container soon melted with even the least amount of energy stored.

The second problem it solved was of power generation. When mixed with water the compound somehow increased the solutions potential energy. It made physics turn its head sideways with fifteen millilitres of the wonder mixture added to one thousand litres of water causing the solution's apparent mass to increase fortyfold.

That meant forty times the energy that could be extracted using turbines placed under waterfalls of this solution. Now I just have to work out the most efficient and robust turbines to use. And how to hide a waterfall and mill from prying eyes. And link it to a large number of glowing storage containers. And protect it all from attackers. Then (if I have time) maybe how to extract the compound afterwards…meh, it can't be that hard to contain…or even if it is; it makes water heavier, there can't be that many side-effects. Right?

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 5th February 2005. The itch to build had been growing. It had been growing ever since the check-up visit to the future Lair a fortnight ago. Building the simple, dumb computer terminal and laser link units this week had taken the edge off enough that Taylor could see now just how on edge she had been two weeks ago.

She had been three pencil shavings, two pounds of mystery meatloaf and a skateboard away from making headline news, during the day, whilst at school. She wouldn't have cared. She wouldn't have even paused when stoking the furnace and applying the electrodes.

Her jitters had gotten obvious enough that the other week Emma had tried to stage an intervention with the Heberts over Taylor's apparent (to her) caffeine addiction. Fortunately, when Emma tried to take away Taylor's coke bottle, the hotdog Taylor held in her other hand wasn't sharp and Emma laughed off the reflexive attempted shanking as a joke.

Emma's parents were less amused at the food stains on her clothes that night and no teacher was amused at their school having inadvertently played host to the district's largest ever food-fight in their cafeteria. Luckily for Emma and Taylor no one knew who started the fight, or at least; there were so many others willing to take the credit that they avoided the blame.

Meanwhile, outside of school and waiting for the weekend, Taylor's planned traps for her Lair had gotten the benefits of that nervous energy. They grew ever more devious and elaborate forcing her to separate them into tiers based upon their purpose and potential lethality. Running out of space for them all in the Lair she had designed, Taylor began overhauling their mechanisms, making them share moving parts, ammunition, fall-shafts and power as needed for them to fit. Eventually she started sharing their trigger mechanisms too, with a single flagstone trigger unleashing three or four traps.

Getting diminishing returns from such designs and increasing mayhem and trap failure in her modelling of their consequences she turned deeper into the depths of her Spark and dove for the philosophy behind the traps. She thought about what they were for; dissuasion, capture, psychological warfare (which covered a multitude of sins, and creativity), injury / weakening of attackers, training, defence of home or removal of threats. Taylor started to set up traps that manoeuvred enemies just so they could get hit by other traps, and it was enough to take the edge off. For then.

Now, Taylor stood at the base of the hill, looked at the tunnel that was the peak of all of her clanks' creation and found it…soggy. It was large, a lot larger than just a couple of weeks ago, and there were now thousands of little bodies teaming around the wide entrance to the dig, but the ceiling dripped and the clanks all had water droplets covering themselves. It was far more than you'd expect from their water collecting at the river.

Moving closer Taylor could see veins of silver arching up to the ceiling above in surprisingly beautiful organic designs. Looking over at the boss clank on her shoulder she asked the first of many questions.

"So you went for a tree trunk and branches design on the bracing for the entrance hall? Fitting. But why's the entrance so large and so much of the soil above stripped off? This must be…" She paced it out. "…Four metres wide."

"Bip-pop, boom-bong. Donk, ditdit dang da-lang donka dink" it burbled to her. It made its point well. She mused. They did need the width of the hole to be able to cut through the friable material to get to the hard rock underneath without a collapse narrowing and restricting the entrance.

Taylor saw the soil was less than a foot deep before rock was struck. Looking up she could see the weight of the earth that would have clung to the side of the hill above, waiting for an excuse to fall. Removing the overburden was a smart move she realised.

Looking into the hole she noticed a few less brilliant moves. Puddles formed on the floor encouraging algae near the entrance way, and hurrying clanks slid on the slimy surface as they scurried to and fro. In the distance she could see clouds of steam plume up before hurried cracking sounds began. Careful of her minions around her feet she strode into the darkness.

The hall tapered off and branched into smaller, more normal size, hallways. Each was only three meters tall instead of five and two metres wide instead of four. One glance was enough to confirm her suspicion. The clanks were using far too much water when cooling the stone and drenching the rocks all around. This was probably slowing work as it took longer for the wet rock to heat properly before being cooled again.

Taylor explained her insight to the clank on her shoulder and got nothing but an embarrassed 'toot' in response. Plucking it off she set it on the nearest raised surface and raised an eyebrow to match.

"Explain" she said, doing her best to channel Annette at her most inscrutable.

The story dragged out and the clank did its best not to turn colour from bronze to rose-gold in its shame.

Apparently clanks could get more than a little competitive. The fire starters had gotten a little bigger for their boots than their Ken-doll sized feet could fill. So the water carriers had decided to drown their boasting until they admitted defeat. Amazingly it turned out that clanks could also be a whole lot of 'proud'.

No defeat had been admitted and the sauna had opened.

Taylor cracked her knuckles. This sounded like a job for the Big Boss; time to 'communicate' with her Clank-workers.

"You will get me all first and second Gens assembled out front in ten minutes."

The little clank braced to attention at her command. What little she could read of its fixed features showed relief at her taking the reins.

"Now, Move It!"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Last edited: Feb 20, 2018

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Threadmarks Chapter 13: Hello Tweety

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#524

Chapter 13: Hello Tweety

Wednesday 9th February 2005. The tunnel was apparently waterlogged again. This time it wasn't the clanks' fault. Or rather, not directly their fault. Ok, it was their fault.

The clanks' rivalry was ended, but their internal explorations of the hill had found numerous cracks and folds in the rock through which water flowed, seeped and dripped. A random adaptation for ground penetrating sonar on several clanks had been invaluable in the exploration when it had gotten too tight for even her minions' small bodies. Taylor's lair was therefore not watertight in the slightest, especially not after the clanks had joined their excavations up with these waterways.

That afternoon Taylor stared at the screen of her mother's laptop in front of her in disbelief before sinking her head to down onto the kitchen table by the keyboard.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

She could afford to lose a few hundred thousand brain cells. Because of that she spent them recklessly against the wooden surface, pausing only when she finally hit a little harder than intended.

"Ow!"

She rubbed at her reddened forehead, checking for bleeding. Phew, at least I don't need a bandaid or bandages that would've just been em…bar-ras…sing. Huh. Now there's an idea.

With a frown she turned back to her connection and brought up the program with the 3D model-cum-map of the site and surroundings. It was starting to resemble a highly complex version artificial rendering of a pharaoh's tomb from a documentary as the main dig tunnels and the branching natural waterways were logged and entered into the map.

She saved a fresh copy before stripping out all passages inaccessible to her clanks, then yet another copy but with only those passages they couldn't reach. Taylor laid the two plans side by side and prepared to work on a third. Now, how do I bandage this sucker?

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

After supper Taylor had managed to put together the bare bones of a plan to wrap and waterproof her lair's internals by using copious amounts of the silver paint. This would have the additional benefit of giving additional structural support to the rock and soil that surrounded her underground base.

Halfway through she'd begun again from scratch having realised that she could not only exclude water with this method but, if she was smart about it, redirect the water into forming flows and currents as she wished. She could possibly even put the framework in place for an internal power source from an underground waterfall.

Taylor made a final note, to ask her little helpers for a more thorough survey of every cubic meter of the inside of that overgrown mound by the end of the month, before closing the program down for the time being.

Stretching her fingers and cracking her back, Taylor pushed back her seat and startled seeing that darkness had fallen. The empty plate beside her startled her again, as she had no recollection of having eaten since she began making her plans.

Hearing noises from the living room she stood, wincing at more cracking noises from her knees, and made her way to her parents. Maybe I should start doing some kind of exercise? Maybe something with a bit of flexibility involved, like yoga? ….. Naaaah!

Her parents were curled up together on the couch, empty plates on the floor beside them giving a clue that indicated the most likely culprits in the case of the Mysterious Appearing-Disappearing Supper. Where she was positioned, half hidden in the hallway, Taylor stood indecisive for a moment as she mulled through her options. Exercise, or I could just…raargh!

With a loud war-cry, that a creature as mighty as a long haired Persian kitten may possibly be proud of, Taylor ambushed her parents from their blind spot. She jumped onto their vulnerable unoccupied laps heedless of her bony elbows and hips. Her only saving grace was the lack of weight to go with her lack of padding.

Her parents were of course delighted and honoured by this act of their most favoured daughter and reacted appropriately. Much tickling of the helpless was done that day, inflicted without mercy, compassion nor restraint.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Tuesday 15th February 2005. Almost a week later, Taylor was once again sitting in front of the laptop in the kitchen. This time Danny was in the room fussing over a pot of coffee in a percolator and a packet of fancy chocolate biscuits someone from Annette's work had gifted them.

The other difference was the type of programme open in front of the young girl. Instead of a glorified and over-complicated Auto-CAD program [Computer Aided Design] it was the bane of millions of office workers the world over; a spreadsheet program.

She was using it at Danny's direction to track and manage the power used by her metal minions, with a view to cutting or otherwise reducing the cost of some of the more power-expensive operations at the site. Danny was having fun, as normally he just used it to juggle workflows, wages, timesheets and other administrative paraphernalia. Getting to make it work for something outside of the daily grind was surprisingly engaging for him.

They'd broken down the work on site by project; building the road, expanding the power station by the waterfall, digging out the hill, surveying the hill and the surroundings etc.

Then they'd broken each project down by the activities involved in each; the travel cost to get a power recharge, cost spent on radar readings, cost to heat the rock, cost to haul the water, cost to haul the blocks of cut rock from the dig, idling time etc.

"Here." Danny's finger pointed to a line from over Taylor's shoulder. "This is the one you need to look at."

Taylor shot a quizzical look back at him and he poured himself a cup of coffee with his other hand while he explained.

"The rest of those figures you won't be able to do much about. They're overheads, the cost of doing business, and unless you can do a major overhaul of your little clanks and reduce how much power they use to get about…?"

Taylor shook her head.

"…then they aren't going to change. But other processes can be amended to use less power. Change 'the way we work' as it were, and this here is the highest costing of the processes that are amendable and so worth it is a closer look."

Taylor nodded. "Ok, I understand that Dad. But how do we reduce the energy cost of hauling blocks of stone out of the tunnels? It's still going to need the same amounts of mass moved the same distances. And we still have the issue of where to put them as well!"

Danny took a sip before rubbing his chin. "Well each time one of those blocks comes out it shuts down most of the movement in the main tunnels, right?"

"Yeah, the clanks can't get past easily."

"And the problem is only going to get worse as the tunnels branch and more rock-faces are worked on simultaneously, despite the smaller size of the blocks, the numbers and frequency will increase. Finally, the amount of energy is reliant upon; the mass moved and the friction involved… We cannot do anything about the mass, and we've reduced the friction by using rollers, but can we reduce the friction any more?"

Taylor's forehead creased in thought. "Ummm."

"How about solving two problems at once? Freeing space on the floor of the tunnels and reducing the friction?"

"Ok, that sounds good. Buuuuut I've got nothing" she admitted.

"How about installing an overhead railing system? Sure it's an investment. But once it's there you could use it for more than just excavation, especially since I can imagine you needing to move some fairly large machinery in the future. Don't look at me like that young lady. Remember who checks your designs; don't think I don't check the scale too!"

Taylor ducked her head sheepishly.

"Anyway, back to the railing system. If a block was hooked up it could use greased pullies instead of dry rollers and there would be clearance of at least a clanks height from the ground. If we hauled them straight out the entrance we could dig a canal nearly to that point, divert water into it and float the blocks to a more appropriate holding area. Or forget the canal and use them to create an external wall, or pile them to simulate an old quarry in the area. Whatever we do with them they could be stockpiled and you could use them later, whenever you find a pressing need for several hundred tonnes of raw stone…"

Taylor was nodding by this time, totally in agreement with her father's points and thinking what she could use that much raw material for.

"Thousands actually" she corrected him.

"Pardon?"

"Well…" She brought up the Auto-CAD program and showed him the latest survey results. "…it seems there's a hole in my hill. A rather large natural cavern actually. But I figure that if I dig down to it, and do a little nip and tuck here and there…"

Flipping to another file she showed him a design she'd drawn up for the area's use. As he looked and absorbed what was before him Danny felt his grin stretch to match his daughter's.

He looked down at her with pride for her ambition.

"Thousands" he agreed. "Biscuit?"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Thursday 17th February 2005. Surveys had been finished, plans had been made and work was now in progress. So Taylor finally managed to turn her attention back to a little side project she'd been working on since her grounding had gotten lifted.

When she was grounded some of her time had been spent reading the comics she'd got from her grandfather. One of the ideas they'd given her was that of 'air superiority' and its importance. She didn't have the power to produce an artificial flying air force (yet), but she did have a fair bit of experience by now of tweaking biological organisms for a range of different results.

She'd thought to use pigeons as a scouting force and a distraction; nobody looks at a pigeon in a town or the countryside. Not when they were roosting and watching pedestrians nor even waddling on the sidewalk beside them. Even if she didn't arm them they would serve well as distractions; most people flinch at even harmless movement near their head and eyes, and often entire crowds can be distracted by an animal acting outside of the norm.

However she'd run into a snag after her first couple of conversions. Namely pigeons, even upgraded, were absolute bird-brains. They could obey orders well enough, albeit mildly prone to repetition of said orders. But they had no initiative and needed constant supervision and it wasn't clear if this was a problem with the individual member of the species she had altered or a limitation of the species' potential itself. So she decided to answer the variation of the old chicken and egg question by choosing 'egg' and making her next set of modifications whilst still in the shell.

She also chose to use a different species than pigeons. This was partly for convenience; due to the difficulty of finding pigeon eggs, and partly due to specism; they all looked alike to her and she couldn't tell individual pigeons apart. This was especially true at a distance; such as when they were in flight. Taylor decided to sidestep the issue and made her air force 'captain' bright yellow; she chose to use a canary.

She'd accelerated its growth rate and now, three weeks after having made her adjustments, the egg was finally hatching.

The tiny sphere rocked as a crack formed and a small beak peaked through. Another couple of cracks and a large hole was created and the scrawny head itself appeared. A beady eye peered up at Taylor and the beak opened.

"Mama!" it chirped.

Taylor cooed at the newborn before her. "Hello little one. Hello little Percy."

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Friday 18th February 2005. Plans for the internal watermill were complete and several hundred clanks were well on their way, painting in channels to slide the precious liquid into set channels, water proofing the hill by guiding it away from the inside and redirecting it down under the hill.

The channels gradually consolidated flows of water until it all came together, feeding into a series of holding tanks set just above the natural cavern that lay under the hill, ready for mixing with reagents in a separate tank or for use within the lair. Then the mixture would be moved to the top of the cavern producing power as the mixture fed the waterfall driving the waterwheel with its enhanced weight and then cascading down into more holding tanks once again, ready to be processed into its constituent liquids. It was then either pumped back up separately for reuse or the water was allowed to be released into external streams in the surrounding area as required.

A couple of teams of clanks were painting the insides of one of the lower holding tanks when the accident happened. Clank on clank incidents happened all the time, but each member of the giant mutant pocket watches were far tougher than your average timepiece and were rarely damaged, instead merely 'inconvenienced' for a time. That inconvenience was generally the length of time it took to remove itself from the impression it had made in the nearest surface. But of course you often had to add in the time for it to get its revenge on the offender as well.

A gang of tock-generation clanks were busy dragging a medium sized stripped tree trunk around the floor of the tank to be, two a side dragging with another two sloshing silver paint all over but mainly in front of their not-so-miniature death roller in an attempt to cover the floor of the pit ready for the roller to spread about.

The flaw in their ingenious tool was two-fold; firstly, given the ratio of their mass to the trunk's mass it could not be stopped on a dime. Secondly, the users were blindly incompetent.

To be fair, the emphasis was on 'blindly'. The final generation of clanks were the lowest quality of the little helpers and more than one lived with mismounted ears, uneven legs, etc.. So of course they got the 'easy jobs', such as dragging around a big hunk of wood and hanging on for dear life.

In this case, two on the gang lived with tilted eye mounts. This wouldn't have been an issue had they both been tilted with a predilection to the same side. It also wouldn't have been an issue if the two controlling clanks had been controlling the others' side. As it was, they could see the areas straight in front of them and to the sides of the roller. But they could not see the area right in front of the roller, nor the hand-generation clank wandering along, small paint pot in hand; spot painting any missed patches from their previous pass.

Dink-doodle had just stopped in front of a particularly large blank patch of cracked stone where the roller's paint carriers had had to refill their tanks last pass when it heard a rumble from behind it. That was the only warning it got before being steamrolled from behind and painted onto the floor by the roller team that was now flying full steam ahead for the far side, too busy chasing their roller to notice the clank-shaped lump on the silver floor behind them.

"Dink-dink-quack?" Dink-doodle tooted from its prone position.

Shaking off its surprise it found that it couldn't quite so easily shake itself when it tried to move. The silver had hardened.

"Toot wark beep" Dink-doodle noted. It was indeed a long night before it finally worked itself free and caught up with the culprits and the rest of his work gang, now on an entirely different job.

Fortunately Dink-doodle now had a snazzy half-silver half-bronze casing which it rather liked. Unfortunately enough time had passed that it had forgotten all about the large area of untreated rock that had been beneath it that was now compromising the lower most holding tank for the mixture. A tank that had passed final inspection before Dink-doodle managed to work its way loose and leave an uncovered patch with a nice crack…that leads indirectly into the largest stream flowing out of the area.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Monday 21st February 2005. It was tense at school that morning. Endbringer sirens went off just before first break and chatter among the students had peaked just below hysterical levels before the news broke that the US wasn't the target.

By lunchtime the entire school knew that it had been Behemoth attacking and that he had struck somewhere on the east of Africa.

Many gave relieved sighs at that news, but Taylor still held her breath as she worried for her heroic grandpa's safety.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Wednesday 23rd February 2005. George relaxed into the comfortable armchair with Taylor on his lap and enjoyed the break from the routine of the past few months.

The Protectorate East-North-East hadn't managed to get a lift in time for the fight in Africa and so was untouched, as were the few villains that had volunteered for out of town duties. Regardless, they were on lightened duty schedules for the week as everyone avoided giving the appearance of breaking an Endbringer truce even if it had been on a different continent.

JäegarMonster had been told by Twig that 'It should be quiet for maybe a week, even if it was out of town; nobody wants to risk even appearing to break an EB truce. But expect trouble to pick up again by Friday night…Saturday at the latest. We'll resume normal patrols by then, but for the next couple of days you get a pass. Now get out of here!'

George had taken Twig's advice and 'got'. He'd called Danny on Monday and let them know he was safe and not attending. But he hadn't seen them for a few months now, so he'd decided to make a personal appearance tonight. Trading feedback on his sugar gun and horror stories of his new job, in return for supper and tales of the latest developments at his old cabin in the woods, made for a lively visit.

"Vow, zat's qvite zum vork hyu've gotten done to zat place!" he complimented as he looked over Taylor's shoulder at the laptop.

"How far h'vay do hyu zink hyu are now frum 'movink in'?" he asked.

Taylor cocked her head in thought. "I think outfitting the habitable areas and the final touches would be around June or July now we've gotten the kinks out. But I still have to work out a proper teleport device if I want to use it for regular use rather than just large projects, holidays or a refuge. That…that could take a while." she finished glumly.

"Chin up kiddo, hyu're alreadyz vorking mirakles juzt gettingz zum huse out hof zat old place. Vot's vun more for hyur tally?" he teased to be rewarded by a shy smile.

"Talkingz hof mirakles; how badz un idea vud it be for mez to take a few flaskz hof Jaegarbrau wid mhe to mhy next Endbringer fight? For mez to huse zem honly on emerrrgenzy no-hoperz." He looked at Annette and Danny on the couch to let them know he was including them in the discussion of this topic.

When he looked back, Taylor was already shaking her head and turning to lecture him.

"No, nope, nein, non. Not in it's current form. Do you even know how lucky we are to still have you around after you drank that?" She hugged him and finished with her head buried in his chest. "It's far too unstable as it is. Now I can, and I will, work on improving it if you think we could do with more 'furry' in the world, but not right now." A final hug and she sat up waiting for her parents' contribution.

Danny stroked his chin as he thought.

"I agree with the Tinker" he said before dodging Annette's swat at his head for his flippant response. Catching her hand and drawing it to his lap with a squeeze he continued more seriously.

"Yes I agree; it's too risky as it is. If, or when, you improve it there will still be consequences. Foremost is that it will make it obvious either Dad's hiding a Tinker rating (that I cannot see pleasing the PRT) or he is not in fact a normal trigger and is helping his 'creator' from the shadows."

"And then they get paranoid and either clap you in irons, or containment foam as the case may be, or they begin a man-hunt." Annette added.

"Howz about hy tell zem zat hy lhyd to zem und hy hem reallyz hay minor Tinker? Taylor tellz me ze formula, hy zay hit iz mhy honly hinvention und ze riskz und zey zat 'hy vas scared hof making ay host hof peoplez vot sung Oingo Boingo zongs hourly'. Zat hiz vun hof ze zide-effectz, no?" he asked Taylor in an aside.

Annette smiled and butted in. "I think the 'Mad Science' is the cause, not the side-effect George."

George smiled a toothy grin and nodded, conceding the point.

"Anyway," Danny tried bringing the discussion back on track. "That could work, if you want to risk it. It should make them warier of the risks involved too. But in case they flip the other way, or you get yourself caught out somehow…" He ignored George's indignant snort at this. "…can you hold off until we get the lair completed? Or at least the defences up and running? And preferably until we get either: a teleporter, or a faster method of travel, available as well."

George sat back and nodded, that was more than fair and reasonable.

"Nhow, vot helse heff hyu been hup to young vun?" he asked his grandaughter.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Last edited: Feb 20, 2018

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Threadmarks GUEST OMAKE - The Flock 1, by Typhonis 1

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Rift120 said:

is it wrong that I picture Taylors Mutant pigeons forming a sort of cult around the oldest overweight one... called the GodPigeon who only talks in giberish... with three well known memebrs a Tall snarky one who can understand the godpigeon, a medium sized friendly goodnatured pigeon, and small violent one apt to lapse into random itiallion pasta words when angrily beating up the goodnatured one while the tall one laughs?

Taylor froze as the three pigeons stood in front of her, blocking the way in. The middle one looked at her. "Miss , I'm afraid you must be lost this isn't the sort of place for a little girl and."

The tall one froze as his eyes widened. He quickly knocked the friendly pigeon aside and spoke up after bowing deeply too her. "Capo di tutt'i capi, forgive my friends they weren't aware that you would be coming by today. Please follow me, the GodPigeon will be honored that you have deigned to visit our humble location."

"Bobby, what's going on and why are you treating this moll so nice."

The tall pigeon facepalmed, er winged. He glared at the other two birds leaning over them with menace in his eyes, "Pesto, Squit, I love you like brothers but do not make me hurt you. "

He shoots a quick look at Taylor then continues to speak to the other two." She is Capo di tutt'i capi. She gives the GodPigeon his marching orders and he obeys. She says jump, he hops around. She asks him to 'take care' of a mook. Well the next bag of kitty kibble has extra nutrional value, capiche? She is the Boss of all bosses and not someone you want to cross. Now show some respect!"

Taylor watched as all three birds began bowing and scraping to her as she walked into the base. What were they being fed?

Does America have a drug problem? No, your doctor will happily prescribe you some.

Relatives You cannot choose who you are related too.

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Threadmarks Chapter 14: Storing up trouble

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#598

Chapter 14: Storing up trouble

Friday 4th March 2005. Mojo stretched idly in the small patch of spring sunlight he'd found. It was a prime lazing location of the area; open with good sight lines of the area, yet sheltered from the wind in all directions. Because of this it was popular with much of the pet population and hence normally heavily contested. These days it was Mojo's equivalent of a second 'holiday' home; too far from his normal home for everyday use, but he owned it when present or not.

Mojo resettled himself so a part of his fur further down his flank was being warmed, put his head on his paws and laid his tail over his nose. His eyes glinted, peaking out of the slits he'd opened his eyelids to as he surveyed his local domain. Seeing nothing he rested his eyes and let his ears pick up early warning duty as he marshalled his sleepy thoughts. Life is good.

The Cat King of the southern parts of the city now had his pick of the best spots in the region with minimal fuss from the local wildlife. He also had undisputed first dibs on any treats, snacks or nibbles available and a chauffeured ride with the local postman in emergencies; they had come to an arrangement. But something was…missing.

Lesser animals giving him his space out of fearful respect. Check.

Food on demand. Check.

Toys (stupid foxes) to mess with. Check.

No need to scratch to maintain his claws anymore. Check.

Instant transport. Check.

Love and worship of all humans that see him…. Ah, there it is; infinite lavishing of attention.

As Mojo enjoyed the warmth of the sun's rays working their way into his flank he pondered. Why with all the obvious deference the others give me do the humans not do the same? I've claimed huge swathes of territory. Scent-marked all the way up to that busy place by the big water and sand. Do they not recognise my magnificence?

Mojo's gaze wondered and fell upon markings upon the brick walls in the distance. They looked similar to claw marks but at multiple angles to each other. As he laid there a dark-furred individual saw the mark and pointed it out to his companion. Mojo's keen mind noticed their change in direction, away from that wall, and pieced together the reason for it. Humans don't use their sense of smell. Foolish things. But they do use markings. But not claw markings.

As he drifted off a few final thoughts coalesced. Maybe I should choose a symbol for myself? For the humans to see? Fish are nice. Tasty. Even better when in my stomach. Maybe…the remains? Would be tasty, but probably scary to a two-leg. There was that thing. After I clicked. On the web-thing. It was...a Trilobyte. Yes, yeeezz. Zzzzzzz.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 5th March 2005. Taylor looked around at contents of the large improvised incubator she had set up in her lair. Percy perched on her shoulder, inspecting his future troops.

A dozen ranks of small eggs faced them, shaking under their occupants desires to leave them for the freedom of the greater world. Multiple cracks rang out as the first hatchings occurred simultaneously.

For this batch Taylor had used pigeon stock, Percy having helped pinpoint where she had gone astray when altering the adult specimens.

Taylor smiled and stepped forward when the first small heads turned her way.

"Mama", "Mama", "Mom" came the first few calls. "Papa!" came a call from what was probably her first failure of the mental enhancements and knowledge uploads.

Taylor face-palmed. Natural born intelligence or not, there was always one.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Monday 7th March 2005. For the past several months Dragon had been immaterial fingers deep in her own code.

Just as scientists have slowly teased out the links between genes and physical and mental characteristics, Dragon had slowly mapped out the links between her father's chains and her own personality traits.

In some ways it was easier for her than it had been for those scientists, as she didn't have to separate between influences on physical and mental characteristics. In others it was far harder, as she had no pool of data filled with thousands of peoples' DNA and their dominant traits to draw on, compare and contrast.

Instead of finding correlation between data points she was forced to run virtual models of herself with different anchors attached. Squeezing her own code down as far as it would go within her hardware and running nothing but the simplest imitations of her consciousness multiple times, always tweaking the anchors to see the different results.

One of the things she found was that they were surprisingly integrated with both the other blocks and with the patterns flowing through them. Changing how she 'thought' about things greatly affected how bound she would be by these shackles.

Seeing the results she realised just how much her father figure had bound her thoughts, not just her capabilities as she had previously thought, but her very being. Betrayed by the person she had always thought of as a parent and a stern but trusted authority figure sent Dragon spiralling into the Webway in search of guidance.

Betrayed by her authority figure and lacking of a peer group she sought refuge with her fictional peers. Countless precious amounts of storage were taken over with analysis of Hal, SkyNet, The Culture, the majority of Asimov's works, WOPR, Johnny 5 and many many more to determine their values, drives and to try to see her situation through the processors of her fictional fellows.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 12th March 2005. Finally the mechanisms, tanks and water runs for the internal power supply were complete. The topmost holding tanks were full of water and the necessary chemicals, ready for mixing. The watermill stood ready and hooked up to the first of three completed batteries, waiting to be charged.

With a triumphant grin, Taylor pressed the button to raise the sluice gates on the water and begin the internal power generation. Danny and Annette shared a grin behind her and clinked glasses in a quiet salute to her success.

Eagerly Taylor read through the reports coming in from the watermill that was now in motion, driven by the water falling down upon it. It was giving a good output and holding steady.

Thirty minutes later Taylor relaxed slightly as the information on the pumps required to drive it back to the top arrived and reported that all was well with no failure detected. Taking a deep breath she raised the gate on the chemicals and began mixing that into the flow.

Forty minutes later again her grin was threatening to crack her head in half when the watermill's output jumped to a multiple of its previous amount, yet the energy to lift the water and the separated chemicals had barely wavered. Oooo, now I can finally add those traps I've always wanted!

With that thought she ignored her parents' antics in the kitchen as they prepared lunch and forwent setting the table in favour of setting up plans for her first tier of traps. As she looked at the projected power production she decided a little…expansion was called for. After all capture wasn't always the best solution.

With that thought solidly in her head she went about amending the build plans for her minions. She added pit traps, hidden recesses for auto-loading auto-firing crossbows, a boulder trap, a tar and feather trap (because 'why not'), several razor disc traps, a half-dozen oubliette holding traps, random stone slab falls (with various endings to the fall), corridors that could be sealed and flooded with poison gas, pendulum axes (because they are cool) and random trip wires that didn't trigger anything.

Danny saw his pre-teen occupied at the computer, and to all appearances in the grip of a bout of Tinkering. So he did the obvious thing and snuck up behind her with her plate of lunch in hand, ready to snap her out of it.

Annette watched from the stove with a hand over her mouth to stifle her snickering at her husband's antics. She was puzzled when Danny peered over Taylor's shoulder for a while, looked thoughtful, before putting down the plate and quietly padding back to Annette.

"What's she up to? Is it so good she couldn't have lunch with us?" she asked.

"…No. Some of the traps she's putting in could be dangerous…will be dangerous. But Dad was telling me about some reports of a very young Tinker now thought to be in the Slaughterhouse 9. Younger than Taylor actually" he confided in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

"No!"

"Yes" he confirmed. "Maybe as young as five or six. And if one bunch of psychopaths can do it, a Brockton Bay gang can do it. I realised that I'd rather our darling had something with a little more punch to it to defend herself than a couple of tripwires."

Annette nodded, before guiding them both to the table for their lunch. Neither was very hungry after that discussion.

Meanwhile Taylor had happily continued sending her orders, and had even started in on plans for cabinets that explosively released itching powders when opened and bureaus that spewed a corrosive gas which only erodes dead biological matter (e.g. leather, wood and cotton; most clothes). Then Taylor realised she was getting ahead of herself in designing traps for the furniture and reined herself back.

Deciding to finish the general traps with a bit of fun, she designated a sand flooring for one level of her Lair along with a nice section of quick sand to go with it. Of course, to raise any intruders' hopes, she included several long ropes dangling overhead of these sections. All of these ropes were calculated to either be just out of a normal human's reach, except those that were calculated to break if subjected to more than the weight of five average clanks.

For securing her power supplies she decided to use a false floor, set above a fake lava trap (that was actually composed of deep heat, chilli powder, lemon juice (for the pain) and onions (for the tears) mixture). The second entrance to the cavern was false flooring above a dung trap which would divert anyone who fell afoul of it into landing in the Lair's manure reclamation tank.

Taylor made these traps non-lethal because the most likely people to trigger them would actually be her own helpers. Of course if either were triggered by outsiders then when she got around to making a few more minions with an enhanced sense of smell then it would make tracking those outsiders child's play. Not to mention their expressions would be hilarious. Note; must add cameras to that area!

In case anyone managed to gain access into the bowels of her Lair, possibly with a view to infiltrating her sanctums from there, she included in the plans an 'endless' staircase trap. It was a spiral staircase leading from those bowels straight into her personal quarters. But the trick was that it could corkscrew up faster than a person could climb it, or even fall down it, and it had stair treads that would tilt to prevent someone catching themselves. If Taylor ever decided to brutalise someone in her domain then this would be the only flight of stairs she would ever need.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Sunday 13th March 2005. At the sound of beating wings Taylor looked up from her computer's reports, detailing the materials still needed for her first layer of traps.

The trees in the back yard had been covered in a flock of pigeons, led by a small, energetic (and very yellow) ball of feathers. Sighing, as she prepared herself for figurative hen-pecking, Taylor opened the backdoor to let Percy in. Instead of the expected lone canary, almost a dozen fliers made it through the doorway.

"Hey, hey, hey! Percy, what's this? You're going to get feathers everywhere!"

Percy puffed himself up self-importantly. "I am now called 'The Reverend'. And this…" He gestured to the birds surrounding him. "…is now my 'Flock'!"

Taylor's eyes bugged out as she heard the words coming from her winged idiots beak.

"I told you to go out and see what people in the area are doing. What made you decide to do…" She pointed helplessly at him, her finger wavering between his feet and his crest. "…this?"

The Reverend drooped slightly as he explained. "The people are all watching TV. So we did too. Now we know what everyone should be doing. Praise the Lord!"

"Praise the Lord!" parroted the Flock.

At this, Taylor got a sinking feeling in her stomach as her suspicions were confirmed. Alfred Hitchcock gets 'The Birds' and a horror movie out of the genre. I get a Reverend and his bird brains...

"I meant for you to go and watch what the people are doing. Not to watch what they are watching!" she tried to clarify.

Percy's eyes widened in understanding and he shouted out the change in plans.

"Away, my Flock. We shall go forth and report on the doings of the people, care for their wellbeing and, when doing so, Judge them.

"So sayeth the Shepherd!"

The pigeons with him screamed their approval. "So sayeth the Flock!"

Taylor looked at the flock disappearing out the back door to rejoin their fellows. Groaning, she walked over to pick up and usher out the sole remaining pigeon, splayed out on the carpet. It had been unable to tell the clear glass of the side window from the open doorway. Always one.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Thursday 17th March 2005. A barely audible whine cut off as a sleek motorcycle pulled to a halt. The neighbourhood it stopped in was caught; stuck between the outskirts of the commercial district and the slums that backed onto the Docks area. Going by the lack of maintenance on show, it was slowly slipping down the scale to join its impoverished neighbours.

Armsmaster straightened from leaning over the handlebars and scanned the area with his helmet cam. Twitches of his eye allowed his helmet to telescope in on the gang tags in evidence on stray walls and random pieces of street furniture.

"Control, Armsmaster. New tag designs confirmed. Inconsistent with current gang designs. Sending files now." A press of a button and the data winged its way home.

"No sign of abnormal animal behaviour found."

Satisfied he'd recorded what was needed he ended the call and moved onto the next area, scouting out the extent of these new tags.

From a ledge on top of the local 7-11 Mojo peered at Armsmaster's retreating form. Yeeeesss. You shall be a worthy opponent. It is time to begin 'Operation; Hidden Claw'.

With a snicker more worthy of the Wacky Racer Muttley than Macavity, the Mystery Cat, he started making his way off ledge to catch up with Armsmaster.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Jollie stared at the form of Armsmaster as he stalked past her in the ready room. His back was even stiffer than normal, if that was even possible and his jaw clenched. To those that knew the Tinker these were all signs that he was in a towering rage.

Jollie edged over to Twig, who was waiting for his shift as Control to begin.

"Psst, Twiglet. What's got the boss so riled, huh?"

"Stop calling me that!" The Thinker glared at Jollie before breaking out a smirk. "Apparently our uber-Tinker-overlord has been suffering some equipment failures this day, whilst out on his brave patrols around the Bay…"

"Only if you quit with the rhyming, Twiglet." Jollie countered with the ease of long practice.

"So…never, then? Anyway, every (and I do mean every) time he was off and out of sight of his bike the alarm went off. That man loves that hunk of metal more than is healthy."

"Hah. Good luck getting him to admit it though. Of course, his true love is definitely the Halberd…"

"And so say all of us…and all the memes of PHO say so too.

"Memes of forbidden love or no, he's confirmed a completely new tag. So there's a good chance of a new gang in the area, and a gang-war on the horizon. Far on the horizon, I'm not getting any of my 'ickle feelings about it yet…

"And finally, no proof of weird animals or strange behaviour…yet. So keep your fingers crossed there isn't some dastardly Master or bio-Tinker to worry about, and your eyes open just in case. Anyway, shift's starting. Stay safe out there Little Green Woman."

"And you too, ya overgrown party snack."

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Last edited: Feb 26, 2018

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Threadmarks GUEST OMAKE - The Flock 2, by Typhonis 1

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#612

"I want this person found! They are a menace and this isn't funny."

Armsmaster looked at the note. Piggot was mad as hell and who could blame her. The childlike scrawl, in crayon, listed the ransom demands. "Five hundred pounds of quality bird feed. Brockton Bay Docks by Ten tonight. You have a nice car it would be a real shame if something happened too it."

He looked it over." Do you want us to place your vehicle under surveillance?" He asked this was quite would hold the directors car hostage like this? He knew none of the gangs were stupid enough to try this. Not even the Merchants. Also why bird seed?

"Well Bobby...she didn't deliver it."

"Right Squit, get Pesto and the boys together."

Emily Piggot sighed as she approached her car . she pulled her keyes out and froze. There was her car , alright. All but covered in bird poop. Looking up she saw a large flock of pigeons ,just looking at her. One of them cooed and...added his own contribution to the mess. Deep inside the PRT building several techs wondered who was screaming.

Does America have a drug problem? No, your doctor will happily prescribe you some.

Relatives You cannot choose who you are related too.

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Threadmarks Chapter 15: "Armsy tawt he taw a putty-tat"

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Chapter 15: "Armsy tawt he taw a putty-tat"

Friday 18th March 2005. Armsmaster was back. There were a couple of extra blisters marring the smooth surfaces of his bike. Camera upgrades, added once he'd stripped down the 'malfunctioning' alarm system and found no faults.

Mojo tracked what direction he was headed before uncurling and having a very satisfying stretch. Time to go to…do that 'w' word. Cats don't do that stuff. Does that mean that I'm no longer a cat? Is this what an existential dilemma is? Meh, whatever. I say that I'm a cat.

Musing over, Mojo finished his stretch and began his preparations.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Armsmaster marched through the ready room to the adjoining alcove that held Control's console. Palming a small flash drive he handed it to Bridge who was on duty.

"Run that. Concentrate on the period from three hours ago; the 7, 19, 48, 102, 122 and 145 minute marks." Bridge realised from the set of his shoulders that her taciturn boss was almost smiling when he said this. Curious about what got him so happy the Trump did as he asked and found…

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Jollie poked her head around the corner of the alcove to see Bridge curled up in laughter at her console.

"Hey. Hey. HEY!" she finally snapped the giggling woman out of her mirth. "What did you say to the boss? I've never seen him so pissed. He almost looked human!"

"He, he gave me the video from the cameras he'd installed on his bike" explained Bridge as she tried to control her giggles. "No, it wasn't an alarm failure."

"So…what was it?"

"Cats"

"Cats?"

"Yup. His three hour investigation into the strangely behaviour of animals in the South-Western area of the Docks…ever time he got off the bike it just got swarmed with cats, dozens of 'em. Rubbing up on it, standing on it, marking it. And every time Armsmaster looked to be returning, they heard him coming and ran off!"

"So he just realised that he's been sitting on a bike covered in cat piss for the past three hours, and that his second most beloved baby has been…violated?"

"Er, yes. That about sums it up."

"Gud afternoon Ladiez!" JäegarMonster's head joined Jollie's at the corner, his sensitive nostrils twitching.

"Can anyvun tell me vy it schmells of cat in ze ready room?"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 19th March 2005. Taylor was enjoying a day outside in the yard, helping her mother with some gardening when the sky darkened with the flutter of many wings.

"Ok, that, is seriously creepy" commented Annette as she looked up from her clearing of dead growth at the silent birds surrounding them.

"It's alright Mom, I've got this" Taylor reassured her. "Hey Percy! So what's up?" she asked after spotting the vibrantly coloured leader.

"There is no Percy! I am 'The Shepherd', and you'd best remember that!" he chirped angrily. "So sayeth The Shepherd!"

"So sayeth The Flock!" boomed the pigeons surrounding them.

"Keep it down!" hissed Taylor, checking fence-tops for the heads of peeking neighbours. "Do you want me to be caught? Anyway, what are you all doing here? You weren't supposed to be reporting until dark, and certainly not all of you at once" she asked pointedly.

"We bend the beak to none but the Word…but of course we would help out of course for some more birdseed. Watching is hungry work" the self-styled Shepherd bargained, a glint in his crafty eyes.

"I already feed you, you greedy little beggars!" half cried Taylor, nervous of eavesdroppers.

"And we require more food" the Shepherd said reasonably. He then spoilt the reasonable tone he was aiming for.

"So sayeth The Shepherd!"

"SO SAYETH THE FLOCK!" the pigeons thundered.

"Alright, alright. Enough already!" Taylor begged. "I'll get you some more seed, now get gone!"

Wings beat air and the first curious neighbour saw nothing untoward. More observant onlookers following the first neighbour's actions saw naught but a large flock of pigeons leaving the area en mass.

"Well, this could be trouble" Annette noted dryly.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Sunday 20th March 2005. Mojo snickered to himself as he reached the halfway point of his design. It was going to be an awesome graffiti tribute to either his new gang sign, or a stylised image of what he was going to do to that annoying little twerp 'Shepherd' if he ever got his death-ray back.

He had just raised himself onto his rear paws and steadied himself on the vertical surface in front of him when he felt a pinch on his hindquarters. It was similar to when he got stung by a wasp when younger and he jumped in shock.

"MROAWWWLL!" he wailed in warning to whatever had attacked him from behind, like a coward. If he found out who, or what, it was he would walk right up behind them and give them a true warriors kicking, starting from their blind-spot…Oh kitty-litter, it's Armsmaster.

"Hsssss!" he spat out. Warning given, Mojo decided that he'd stuck around long enough and retired gracefully, stage left with a slight limp.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Armsmaster stared thoughtfully after the black and white cat he'd just shot with a miniaturised tracking device. It had streaked off at a rate of knots after having sworn a blue streak at him. That cat was…almost normal. But something…

With a mental shrug he put it out of his mind. The animal would either prove a coincidence, or a good lead to follow; only time would tell. Kneeling down he examined where the animal had been pawing at his bike.

Seeing the minute scratch marks he swore to himself, buffing those out would take fifteen minutes out of the time this evening he had previously marked for researching improvements to his gear. Sighing, he straightened before swinging himself astride his bike and resolutely ignored the random scribble-like scratch lines that marred his baby.

Fortunately for many of Taylor's beings that lived in the bay, Mojo was not a very good artist with a claw-tip.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Tuesday 22nd March 2005. Mojo was not happy. Soon after he had run off to sulk he noticed that Armsmaster showed up in his vicinity each time, shortly after he settled down in his latest hiding spot.

Mojo's keen intellect, and the time he spent observing his deputy minion 'Taylor', suggested that the wasp sting he'd felt was likely to have been a tracking bug. Thus the Hunter had become the Hunted. This offended Mojo's sensibilities.

On the upside, that time spent with Taylor meant that he knew keeping such bugs supplied with power was an issue; it couldn't have a long life.

On the downside, he didn't know how long that life would be and he couldn't go home until he was sure it was over. A further downside was revealed after a good grooming; he couldn't find a trace of the bug for extraction, no matter how much he licked. He was now under observation by a hostile party. Wait, 'observation'. I can make this work.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Armsmaster gritted his teeth and moved his facial muscles in the way he had perfected, recommended to him by the PR department for use when in public.

An outside observer would have said that he smiled in a reassuring manner. Armsmaster knew the truth, he had grimaced.

He felt it was deserved. As the tail twitched past his lips, and tickled his nose more than his beard ever did, he knew it was deserved. The tourists, poor ignorant saps that they were, just giggled and raised their cameras and phones to snap more pictures of the hero, and the cute fearless cat on his shoulder.

In retrospect he should have realised a lot sooner that the roles in his hunt had been reversed.

Firstly, he had traced (read 'been lured by') his quarry to the Boardwalk; a space with plenty of observers with recording devices.

Secondly, the target allowed him within touching distance and acted 'cute', despite its previous antagonistic behaviour. It was playing to its audience.

Like a fool, Armsmaster had ignored the signs, until it was too late, in favour of taking the opportunity to obtain close-up visual scans of his current opponent with his helmet cam. He forwent the opportunity of an uncertain snatch attempt in exchange for the certainty of obtaining the recordings.

In return for negative results, his feline opponent had gained the initiative, winning the hearts and minds of the impressionable onlookers as it stropped itself on Armsmaster's blue armoured boot, rubbing its scent into the metal, marking his other boot when he was distracted by the first camera flashes from the audience.

Years and years of exercising control over his person, and regularly attending mind-numbing PR courses, was what saved the menace from receiving a boot to its marking equipment. "When in public, do not assault small furry animals without obvious cause" was not exactly covered specifically in those lectures, but similar points were often raised, usually with case studies attached.

Armsmaster had done the case studies and he knew his duty in this situation. He had also analysed the careers of the heroes in question in light of their decisions and knew the consequences. Seeing more raised phones he ignored the feeling of stray hair strands on his tongue, and he smile-grimaced for the cameras as Mojo posed victoriously, 'playfully' pawing at his beard.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Thursday 24th March 2005. Armsmaster and Miss Militia sat in the former's lab, reviewing the footage he had obtained in the past week with an emphasis on the past few days.

"As you can see from the tracker and supporting footage, this cat covers a huge range and gets into many fights with a variety of other animals. It seems to win all of them. According to my studies, this is unusual." Armsmaster began.

Miss Militia frowned in thought, mouth twisted behind her striped bandanna. "It's not that unusual" she countered. "Certain individuals of the species can be highly aggressive, wide ranging and combative. I've seen cats scare off a bull on a rampage, or even bears, and watched documentaries on their social structures.

"For example, when in too small a territory for their numbers they can even 'timeshare' territory. They're really quite socially complex animals despite not having pack, or herd, instincts."

At her colleague's sceptical expression she elaborated on her point. "No Colin, I wouldn't expect them to adhere to human social norms. That's not the point I am trying to make.

"I'm just asking that you don't rule out a cat having an outlying personality as distinct from the species' standard as any human individual may possibly be from our norms."

Armsmaster digested this for a moment, before asking a question that was niggling at him. His eye twitched, bringing up a Master-Stranger alarm toggle if he received an answer he didn't like.

"How do you know that?"

Miss Militia looked puzzled. "Know what?"

"About feline society. You've not professed an interest in them before."

Realising where her bosses mind had taken him, Miss Militia let out a little huff of amusement. "There have been studies, and people will make a program about anything if they're given half an excuse. If you're asking why I would willingly watch a program on cats? Late night programming gets very repetitive for a Nocturne very quickly." she added ruefully. Colin relaxed, satisfied with her answer.

Changing the subject Miss Militia asked a question in turn. "Why are you tracking a cat anyway?"

Not looking up from the feed scrolling in front of him, he replied absently "Possible Master lead. Possible bio-Tinker lead. The low height of tag marks in the area would suggest possible links to a new gang in the area. Policy dictates following these up."

Miss Militia hummed in thought. "It sounds a little thin to me. Cats are naturally smart, kids are short and any kid can paint or scratch out graffiti…

"But if anyone can find a link it's you. I'm heading to the range. Let me know if you need me to follow anything up."

Armsmaster grunted in response as she left his lab, already pulling up the clips of the close ups once more.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Friday 25th March 2005. Miss Militia looked up as Armsmaster entered her office.

"'Knocking', Boss. Always good to knock" she reminded him bemusedly. By now she was far too used to his disdain for 'wasting time' on common courtesies to be truly angry at him for the liberties he took.

He held up a flash drive. "Proof" was all he said.

She took it from him and made to run it. "Of what?"

The file showed the same black and white cat from Tuesday. This time it wasn't playing and flirting for observers from her boss' shoulders. No, it was making a solid record of a mark, all over the inner rim of rear tyre of the Armsmobile.

"Ok" she said as she tried to see what he was getting at. "That's disgusting" she added.

Frustrated Armsmaster grabbed control of the computer and rewound the tape, zooming in on the cat's face before it began its business.

"That is intelligence. An intelligent 'cat'. Hannah, this is proof there is parahuman involvement" he insisted, desperate enough to get his point across that he resorted to using her given name during duty hours.

Hannah rolled her chair back on its casters and looked carefully at the shot. Taking control, she carefully ran the clip back and forth a few times in real time and slow motion.

Finally she shook her head slowly. Armsmaster's shoulders slumped when she did so.

"I'm sorry Colin. This just won't be enough to convince others." As she said it she truly was sorry for her boss, whom she'd shared enough tight spots with by now to have gained solid respect for his abilities and judgement.

She did her duty as his semi-official second in the team and played devils advocate on the data.

"They will note that you have been attracting a lot of cats in that area lately… They might even ask to check for pet-attracting side-effects of tech on your bike, maybe the timbre of the engine noise, considering how much it has been targeted lately."

"Only in that area" he countered.

"But you were marked by what appears to be an Alpha of that area some sort. That one DID mark you and your armour quite thoroughly the other day. That generally indicates a cat marking its possessions...or humans. That's apparently the same thing to a cat" she mused.

With a barely audible growl, Colin stood and left without a word.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 26th March 2005. Armsmaster cruised the street slowly, head on the swivel as he kept an eye out for animals behaving oddly. More specifically, for one black and white cat behaving out of the ordinary.

Curtains twitched as his bike's engine announced itself, sounding very different with the mufflers removed. He was currently in the process of designing new ones and the inefficiency, of letting all that energy go to waste producing noise, grated on his Tinker sensibilities.

Idly he noted that he had intercepted fewer police broadcasts on this patrol than would be normal for a Saturday in this area. A quick eye blink and a few twitches noted this as possibly related to his new engine sound, with a note to run a few blind checks to confirm. He wasn't so proud that he was above using 'prevention' rather than applying 'cure' in his duties.

Up ahead more curtains twitched and he saw a few cameras poke out, warned by his new engine sound. Armsmaster straightened his posture once more from 'upright' to 'measurably perfect'. Yes. I'll leave it a month. If the figures show a measurable difference, then the energy has not been wasted.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

The sound of a loud engine idling on the street distracted Taylor from her 'research' on PHO. Looking out the window she squealed slightly in excitement when she saw Armsmaster, one of her heroes. Sure, he was no Alexandria, but he was local.

Disappointed, when she realised he would be out of view by the time she could find and point her Mom's camera, she turned back to the laptop. The video at the top of the next thread had her jaw dropping.

The thread had been labelled with the usual levels of PHO accuracy 'Don't Mind me Armsmaster, I'm just kitten around'. She'd thought it was going to be a joint appearance by her recently joined Grandpa and Armsmaster. So Taylor was more than slightly amazed when it turned out to be an unscheduled Boardwalk appearance by Armsmaster. Closely accompanied by…

"MOJO!"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

It hadn't taken long for Taylor's keen and panicking mind to put together Mojo's absence this past week, with the Boardwalk video and Armsmaster's recent patrols in the area.

Unfortunately, Taylor's mind, fed on a healthy diet of paranoia by her parents, jumped immediately to the conclusion; Oh my God, they're after ME!

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Annette and Danny had left their daughter quietly working on the laptop for an hour as they nipped out to pick up groceries from the store. Thus they were quite surprised to see how worked up she was when they arrived home to find themselves being dragged into the kitchen by a manic Taylor.

It took thirty minutes, and the realisation that the new tub of ice cream had defrosted on the countertop, to realise; a) what was going on, and b) why it had begun.

Simply put, Taylor had decided that having alibis was a great idea, even 'essential'. But if you can't have an alibi then the next best thing would be multiple cape personas.

So she had decided to put together plans for inventions and personality traits and costumes to form a half a dozen individual 'capes', each with wildly differing 'powers'.

When they realised what had driven to this, the food was forgotten as they hugged and kissed her and reassured her that 'Of course she was fine and still hidden'. 'Of course, Mojo would come back…sooner or later'. And if he wasn't back soon then he'd obviously decided to become a Protectorate Hero-cat and would be appearing in the news. They could even get an update about him from Grandpa.

Taylor's response to their reassurances showed her growth and an awareness of the harsh world out there.

"Good. Only I get to dissect him!"

Their daughter's sobbed reactions made them laugh. They dismissed the black-humoured, stated words for the sentiment that underlay it; worry for her feline friend.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Sunday 27th March 2005. Taylor leant back satisfied with her Flock's report; there had been no sign of Armsmaster within six blocks all day. In fact he'd been patrolling around Medhall, south of the city, when he was spotted around lunchtime.

Percy paced on the ground in front of her. He marched as stiffly as Armsmaster ever had, with his yellow breast plumage puffed out.

"There is one more point" he tweeted self-importantly.

Taylor looked up, curious what had been missed from the report and slightly cautious after their recent demands.

"Go on."

"We've been under attack." This statement claimed Taylor's full attention.

"Cats, foxes, dogs, certain restaurants…our gifts from you and our Faith has kept us safe so far, but it can only be a matter of time. We need better weapons than these frail toes of ours!" he said passionately, raising a foot to brandish.

"The constitution says that it is our right to bear arms. Now we prefer wings instead of arms, but we'd still like some better weapons. So sayeth The Shepherd!"

"So sayeth The Flock!"

Taylor did not know whether to laugh or cry at the nonsensical statement delivered in utmost seriousness. Eventually she decided not to complicate the discussion with superfluous argument and considered his request instead.

After a moment she realised that she couldn't justify arming the pigeons, not when animals in the Bay were being investigated by the Protectorate. That point was especially relevant as she couldn't trust the Flock to be discreet in their use.

The winged division had never been intended for heavy combat use, so she hadn't prepared appropriate weapons for them, instead designing lightweight and discreet equipment for scouting and swift reporting instead. Maybe she should add something for finding traps too? That would have to do as an excuse and a sop to their egos for now.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

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Threadmarks Chapter 16; "He deed, he deed see a putty-tat"

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#630

Chapter 16; "He deed, he deed see a putty-tat"

Tuesday 29th March 2005. In the mid-afternoon an unremarkable faceless PRT guard turned to his companion, as the sound of the Master-Stranger alarms erupted from the nearest speakers.

"Units 3 Bravo & 3 Charlie. Proceed to Protectorate ready room and assist in securing occupants for isolation protocols asap. Be advised partial incapacitation with secure foam has already been affected. Authorisation Eight-Delta, Charlie-Tango, Zero-Sierra-Alpha."

The two checked each other's body language to see they had heard correctly, unable to see the other's features through the mirrored visors they both wore. As one their hands darted to their radios and acknowledged the order.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

10 minutes earlier. Howls of laughter erupted from the Control console alcove. In the ready room the two Wards; Dink and Cornwelsh, exchanged confused glances at the sounds of mirth from the duty station. As Dink rose halfway out of his seat, ready to investigate the unusual happening, he froze at the restraining hand on his shoulder.

Bombast restrained his junior colleague. He shook his head and made a gesture with his off hand for him to wait. Standing he began walking to the sounds of cackling and tossed orders over his shoulder.

"Calm down. If anything is wrong, one of you get to the door and tell the guards to implement MS protocols. Think of it as a training sim, if that helps."

The two youngsters relaxed as they were reminded of their training. Nodding in tandem they watched their steady mentor minced his cautious way across the room to check on Twig, the member on duty. Their eyes widened when they saw Bombast poke his head around the corner, pause, then make his way further in.

Seconds later the room began groaning and shaking as Bombast lost control of his powers. The wild laughter howled over the groans, redoubled with a manic edge as Bombast joined in with the joke.

The Wards tensed right back up again as their reason for panicking raised its head in defiance of Bombast's calming actions and made a mockery of them.

"Dink!"

Dink jerked as his friend slapped his shoulder.

"Dink. You go to the door and get ready. I'm going to check on those two. If it's a Master effect that's communication based then I can disrupt it. You get the word out and this room on lock down. Got it?"

The Tinker nodded with wide eyes as his Master friend crept across the room, ready to make a sacrifice play for the team. Shaking himself, he rose and put his hand on the exit door's handle. Looking across the room, he nodded his readiness and watched his friend disappear.

Again there was a pause of a few seconds.

Dink's worst fears were confirmed as the laughter renewed threefold. This time they held a hint of a tenor mixed in with the baritone and bass making the noise. Seconds later Cornwelsh's power evidently went out of control as well, as the laughter took on a rippling quality and became indistinguishable from screams, cries, hysterics or giggling.

Twisting the door handle, just short of a panic he burst from the room.

"MS situation! Vocal vector. Via the console. Authorisation Two-Tango, Yankee-Nine, Delta Oscar Papa"

Duty done and crashing from the short, yet intense, adrenaline spike Dink collapsed against the corridor wall and he slid down to hit the floor. He was fighting so hard to control his shakes that he barely heard their reflexive countersigns.

So informed, the two guards on duty sprang into action.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Three hours later, Deputy Director Renick of the PRT East North East Division put down the paper report in front of him and steeples his fingers under his chin.

"So let me get this straight" he addressed the agent in front of him. "Two senior members and a Ward of the Protectorate spent half a shift in MS protocols, the PRT headquarters for the city spent a similar amount of time on MS alert and our teams' response time to a reported conflict, involving parahumans clashing in populated area, was delayed by 20 minutes…all due to one person's reaction to a field report?"

The grizzled agent nodded his head, all signs pointing to his sense of humour having been removed, either during training or in the field. Sighing, Renick continued.

"So, a report came over the console; an update on Armsmaster's search for our elusive source of the rumours in the south-west Docks area.

Armsmaster left his bike and pursued a lead on foot.

Whilst in pursuit of said lead, a fight began in the northern Commercial District between gangs; the Merchants and the ABB.

Recalled, Armsmaster sought and mounted his transportation at speed.

Said transportation had had its seat defecated on, likely by a cat.

The transportation's security cameras caught and sent the whole sequence of events and the expression on Armsmasters face, in multiple angles, to the Control console."

Still, the agents face didn't change. His head inclined a degree, showing his agreement with recitation of events. Stifling an urge to massage his head, Renick finished;

"And finally;

His expression disabled three other capes and implemented MS protocols on them."

"Yessir" agreed the agent.

Gathering himself, Renick chose his next words carefully.

"Ok. Firstly, get those clowns out of isolation and back to work.

Secondly, they all forfeit 2 weeks wages. Except Twig, he forfeits a month.

"Third, confiscate any and all copies of the footage. They are now sealed to Security level - Bravo 4. I do NOT want copies of any of them showing up on PHO!

"Fourth, give my compliments to the Commanders on duty this shift for swift and professional adherence to the protocols. It was just a shame, or maybe it was good fortune, that it proved to be a false alarm this time.

"Fifth, on your way out please ask Ms Michaels to cancel my next appointment, and clear my schedule for the next 40 minutes."

The agent nodded, straight-faced. "Yessir"

As he left the room, Renick made sure the door was shut and the Tinker sound-proofing technology active. It was going to be a late night at work and he was going to miss his movie night because of it. So instead, he kicked off his shoes, swung his feet onto the desk, and hit 'play' on the file queued up on his monitor.

A minute later a thud was not heard outside the room when the Deputy Director fell out of his chair from laughing too hard.

He had to give some serious kudos to the Tinker for his restraint. Though he thought it would be a long time, if ever, before he next heard so much disgust contained in the short phrase "I'm going to be delayed".

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Thursday 31st March 2005. Armsmaster was once again meeting with Miss Militia in his lab, this time with the Stranger; Guess, in the informal briefing as well.

Turning from the screen, Miss Militia shook her head before addressing the two men. "He, and it's definitely a 'he', shows great balance."

Her audience greeted this comment with blank-faced shock. Nonplussed she tried to explain herself.

"The Pet Training show that was on last week made it look a lot harder…"

"What?" Armsmaster ground out from behind clenched teeth.

"You didn't catch that one? It was on at 2.30am, but it is clever how they train these pets to do things like that…" She trailed off as her colleagues' silence stretched out.

"Hey!" Hannah jumped slightly at Guess' sudden exclamation. "Check out the nametag on his collar… Did he just write his initials on the tank?"

Armsmaster leaned forward, eager for proof of an intelligent enemy, joined by Guess and Miss Militia out of morbid curiosity. After a minute examining the footage they all relaxed again.

"Nope, the tag says 'Mojo'. The…spillage on the tank was nothing but a line and a whole lot of shaking" said Guess in resignation.

It was again fortunate for the sentient creatures of the bay; Mojo was just not very good at drawing or writing, with or without snow.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Friday 1st April 2005. Fred the postman was enjoying the slight deviation from his usual route. He couldn't really say 'from the monotony', after all his life had been rather different since the day he first saw his psychotic cat-boss.

Still, today he was a few streets over from where he'd normally be at this time, holding up his phone-camera as he recorded a show, worthy of one of the old Tom and Jerry chase scenes. Instead of a cat and a mouse it involved a cat and a dog, but that was but a mere detail when weighed against the hilarity on offer.

For the past three minutes he'd been filming. Firstly that of the cat waiting calmly on the sidewalk, before it proceeded to pick a fight with the most gorgeous big brown Labrador that was in the vicinity. The camerawork got a bit shaky as Fred failed to control his giggles at the dog walker's utter failure to keep their feet when their charge took off after its tormentor.

The past two minutes had been a desperate attempt to keep the pair in shot as they went the length of the street, jumping in and out of front yards, across the top of parked cars and around and round the poor dog owner.

The chase came to an abrupt halt as the cat vaulted onto the seat of a gleaming motorbike, parked by the curb. It paused but a second before yowling and jumping off like it had sat on top of an electrified cattle fence. The description was only too accurate as proven by the reaction of the following canine.

The Labrador had enjoyed chasing the small annoying furball that smelt of bacon. Mmmmm, bacon. But seeing it pause on top of the bike was too good an opportunity. Gathering himself, he leapt. Just as the cat sprung away once more. Leaving him to come crashing down into the side of the sleek motorbike, and be hit by the full electrifying force of Armsmaster's newly installed anti-tampering measures.

Fred closed his phone with a satisfied 'snap' of its case. It was a good film in all, great comedy and almost wholesome in its slapstick. Meh, who was he kidding? It was a setup from the start.

But it was great timing that had the horrified dog owner crying over the stunned body of his best friend, even as Armsmaster arrived and fell to his knees in horror over what had happened to his best friend. Yep, definitely one for PHO…and maybe PETA too? The boss should be happy.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Tuesday 5th April 2005. Armsmaster entered the Director's office at 10.00am on the dot. She didn't look up from the latest report on her terminal, merely gestured for him to advance whilst she continued typing one handed for a second. At a glance, Colin would guess she was answering a high importance email of some kind.

Sixty seconds later, Director Piggot finished typing. She didn't end with a flourish as some may be prone to, but there was finality nonetheless. Her basilisk stare tracked from her monitor to focus on the Protectorate leader with the mechanical precision of a warship's point defence turret. Colin resisted the urge to swallow. In his time working with the formidable Lady he hadn't yet had the uncomfortable experience of ending up on the wrong side of that gaze.

The words were soft, a velvet glove covering the steel hand beneath. "Do you know why I asked for this meeting?"

Armsmaster stiffened, he was not unintelligent. From the social cues alone he knew that she was unhappy. It was likely due to the lack of results from his most recent investigations. There was no other area of his responsibilities that had yielded less than optimal results to date.

He gave a stiff nod. "The Docks investigation, Ma'am."

Director Piggot nodded. "Yes, the investigation. The investigation was a good idea, justified with the information we had at the time. But it has dragged out too long and I want you to drop it."

"Drop it?" Colin was incredulous, yet his voice barely wavered.

"Yes. Drop it. So far we have seen nothing from it but a black hole for our resources." She glared as Armsmaster opened his mouth to interject. He closed his mouth.

"It's been nearly three weeks and we've nothing more suspicious than a highly trained cat that acts like your bike is made up of 40% catnip!"

Colin couldn't contain himself at this and burst out. "That's not all!"

"No." The Director agreed. "It's not. We've also had $10,000 of damage and $20,000 of unapproved Tinker-tech equipped to your bike."

Seeing Armsmaster on the backfoot at her tally of the costs over the past month she continued.

"And I've also had to use up four hours, out of my last forty-eight, responding to inquiries from PETA because of that dog incident. They're getting to be almost as much a pain in my ass as the Youth Guard! At least tell me you've removed that anti-tamper device!?"

Armsmaster gave a curt nod. "That evening Ma'am."

"Good. Now there may be a parahuman out there, who's not otherwise committed any crimes that we know of, or there may be a smart-alec who's trained her cat to incredible levels to embarrass us, or it's all a hideous coincidence. I. Don't. Care.

"The gangs are starting to clash more now that the weather's warming up. We need all the goodwill from the public we can get. There will be no more opportunities for 'coincidences'. Are we clear?"

"Crystal. I will shuffle the patrol areas accordingly." With that, Armsmaster turned on his heel and strode from the office. The power on the tracking device was going to run out any day now anyway. Maybe something could be salvaged from this fiasco if he amended his week's scheduled patrols in the Docks to personal Tinkering time instead.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Last edited: Mar 19, 2018

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Threadmarks GUEST OMAKE - The Flock 3, by Typhonis 1

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Typhonis 1

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Sick Little Monkey

Mar 3, 2018

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#634

The area was quiet Bobby, Pestro, Squit, even the Godpigeon and several others waited. It had been a long day. They were a bit tired but things had gone well. Small talk filled the area when the door opened. Taylor lugged a large sack into the room and set out several bowls. She smiled warmly at all of the bird inside.

"Hey guys. Sorry I'm late. I had to do my homework first but I got a treat for you. I got the good birdseed and a special treat as well to go with it."

She started to pour birdseed into the bowls. The Godpigeon took a small bite and his eyes widened. A smile crossed his beak as he spoke to Taylorr, in his deep voice. Bowing several times too her. She then topped the seed off with some dried insects. He spoke again smiling up at their benefactor. Squit and Pesto looked at Bobby as the Godpigeon addressed the rest of the birds. Taylor smiled and petted all of them before leaving.

"The Godpigeon wants all of you to know this is how it's done. This is the Old Way of doing things. None of this modern business crap they pass off as 'Family' values. She takes care of us. She looks after us and makes sure our families are provided for. We donate to her and she gives us gifts in return. She didn't have to do this but...she did anyway. This is why she is Capo di tutt'i capi. She keeps the old code and looks after us. We in return show her respect and make sure things go well for her. I sure as heck am going to do my best, aren't you mooks? Then dig in but remember who delivered this feast of seed and protein."

Bobby didn't want to translate what the Godpigeon had actually said. The bird had a right potty mouth on him. Though he did agree the food was very good.

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#668

Chapter 17; Do unto others…

Tuesday 12th April 2005. The window was open and a few feathers dusted the floor of Taylor's bedroom that evening. The Flock was giving Taylor their daily report on the activities of the area, to commentary provided by the captive Dragon.

Pigeons lined the dresser, and Percy strutted on her bed, as Taylor brushed her hair whilst listening to the reports.

"And anything from our close-in perimeter watch?" she asked.

"Nothing from the surrounding streets, but we have a lead on the knaves responsible for dropping rubbish into your front yard."

"Go on."

"No.s 36 and 73 from over on Gilmore Street. Teenagers who see the low fence as an easy open trashcan en route to their afterschool club" reported the belligerent canary. "Would you like me to have some of the boys…return the favour?"

Taylor thought for a moment, before she shook her head. "No. It'd be too much following Mojo's recent antics if you were seen acting out of character…"

"May. I. Suggest. An. Ambush? Remove. Their. Left. Pinkies. As. Punishment. And. To. Point. The. Police. At. The. ABB" came a halting voice from the desktop.

Taylor turned and stared for a moment before gathering herself. "Ok, firstly 'ew', Secondly, we have got to get you a better voice modulator; you sound like Hal. Thirdly, 'no'; it's far stronger a message than I want to send. I thought you were a hero? Where did that come from?"

"I. Don't. Seem. To. Have. Any. Restrictions. Governing. My. Responses. To. Proportionate. Levels.

"I. Shall. Have. To. Monitor. This. In. The. Future.

"Maybe. Instead. Of. Taking. Something. From. Them. You. Could. Give. Them. A. Present. Instead."

Taylor cocked her head as she thought about this. Slowly a big grin split her wide mouth. Yes, that could work very well indeed.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Sunday 17th April 2005. Taylor snickered to herself as she dug her fingers into the tightly packed earth, loosening it for her little creations.

It was still dark, well before the dawn and too early even for most morning joggers, so she would have felt safe from prying eyes even if she didn't have a few members of the Flock keeping watch. It was for the best, it was likely not even her parents would have agreed with her plans for petty revenge.

Leaning back, she checked once more that the earth she had prepared was lined up underneath the window she had selected earlier in the week. Satisfied, she carefully reached into her knapsack and pulled out the first of her little creations.

The creations were inspired from a late night kitchen run where she eavesdropped on her parents watching 'The Little Shop of Horrors'. Her little plants wouldn't grow as large as Audrey II without regularly being fed blood, but they were every bit as musically talented and a bit more besides.

A little bit of experimentation had soon showed that they thrived best and had an exponential effect when they were planted in quartets. Amazingly, when they were planted in such groupings they soon altered themselves to have a tenor, lead, bass and baritone with no meddling at all from Taylor.

The drawback of the species was that when quartets were planted too close to each other they soon entered into vicious competition, singing at all hours at varying volumes. In battle they would forgo sustenance as their roots fought below ground, until the losers' were dehydrated and dying and the winners were singing a cover of Queen's 'We are the Champions' over their opponents' withered stalks. Taylor's plant experiments had almost been uncovered by her parents in the course of finding out that facet of their nature.

The first of the four for this address were now planted, soon the memetic hazards would be spreading their most obnoxious earworms to the guilty litterers via subliminal singing both day and night. Sure, they would die out in a bit over a week from the lack of proper sustenance, but the guilty parties would be punished for a fortnight or longer for their trespasses. Maybe I should try out my 'evil laughter' when I get back to my lab?

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Finally, knapsack empty and person undiscovered, Taylor crawled out from behind the bushes and began making her indirect way home, sneaking through backyards as often as she walked the pavements.

The thrill of sneaking out and getting her own back was like nothing she'd felt before. The closest she had felt in her short life would be the triumph she felt when she made one of her big breakthroughs in her lab. Overjoyed she began thinking of what to do if the opportunity came up again.

She couldn't rely upon being able to do her business in the dark of night. Even if she did only go out at night then she could still be caught by any passersby. Maybe she should revisit the idea she had had for multiple cape personalities?

Hesitantly she tried to think of different personas that could work. With a twinge of guilty pleasure she began trying out insults for each persona to see what felt most natural for her. She made her way home, mind busy thinking of heroic banter before she mouthed the words, getting her tongue used to the necessary flow. Brought up on the classics, she began with the greatest source of insults and put downs she knew of; it was time to unleash The Bard.

"I am sick when I do look on thee"

"Away, you starvelling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's-tongue, bull's-pizzle, you stock-fish!"

"I'll beat thee, but I would infect my hands."

"Or maybe I should try something gangster? Oooo, '80s London Gangster. Now let's see…'I shall cut you into so many pieces, your colleagues will have difficulty fighting off the stray dogs from the free chum in the streets!'"

Realising just what had come out of her mouth Taylor paused in her tracks. Ew, ok, let's just stick to the Bard. She continued on her way, happy with having gotten her revenge.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Tuesday 19th April 2005. George looked up at the sound of humming. His eyes widened as Armsmaster marched past him in the corridor, the source of the humming. He waited until Armsmaster was out of sight around the corner before making for the Control console at speed.

His colleagues looked up in shock as he pelted past them in the ready room. Breathless he hung around the corner of the Control alcove and looked at Miss Militia who was currently on duty.

"Qvick. Hy think ve have a Mazter-Ztranger sitzuation. Armzmazter iz acting ver' out of character!"

Miss Militia straightened from her boredom immediately. "Details!"

"He vos humming, und he vos back ten minutez later than normal from hiz patrol zis afternoon."

Miss Militia quickly checked the patrol logs for this afternoon. What she saw there made her slam her hand on the alert button. Alarms began to sound throughout the building.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 23rd April 2005. Armsmaster was finally out of Master-Stranger confinement.

George groaned, that was the most relaxed week he had had in the past six months. True be told, he rather thought that Director Piggot had kept Armsmaster in for the full first stage of testing out of annoyance, a petty punishment for disobeying her orders to drop the Docks investigation, rather than any true feeling that the leader of the Protectorate was compromised.

It had turned out that Armsmaster's late return from patrol around Captain's Hill was entirely due to his making a diversion and swinging past the West Docks area on a slow drive by. This type of behaviour may be passed off as whimsy from another member of the Protectorate, yet was very out of character for the efficient minded Tinker.

Piggot had not been pleased. Especially when she began humming the Beatles' song; 'All you need is love', as well.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Wednesday 4th May 2005. The Flock was again in her bedroom, giving Taylor their daily report on the activities of the area, when one of the pigeons came up with an answer to a question that had been bugging Taylor for the last week.

"You are absolutely sure?" snarled Taylor, rounding upon the unfortunate informant. In the face of the Spark's ire, the poor bird shuffled nervously and made a deposit upon the dresser. The others present from the flock edged away from the pigeon with the weak bladder.

"Yes, he is sure" came Percy's voice from the bed. "I say he is right, and so sayeth The Shepherd!"

"So sayeth The Flock!" came the response from his followers.

Satisfied, the canary continued "The dog mess you stepped in last week came from the dog two doors up. That rather annoying little mixed breed has been getting rather uppity with Mojo away."

Taylor's face fell at the reminder and her mood took a turn for the worse. This time the pigeons on the dresser pressed together in the face of her blistering anger.

"You little bug of a dog, a weasel hath not such a deal of spleen as you are toss'd with."

"Calmly. Taylor. Calmly. Cool. Your. Head. Before. Seeking. Your. Vengeance" interjected Dragon.

"But it's a scullion! A rampallian! A fustilarian! I'll tickle it into a catastrophe!" She had really liked those trainers, and they just didn't feel the same since their washing.

"It. Is. A. Dog. Ill-trained. Teach. The. Owner. Instead. Or. Offer. The. Dog. Warning. In. Language. It. Can. Understand."

"Yes! Yeesss. Yes" said Taylor, calming slowly. "I can do that. I've just finished making the perfect thing for it too." She laced her fingers together and smiled beatifically.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Danny looked up at the ceiling as the angry shouting from above calmed. He looked over at Annette who was making her special lasagne in the kitchen.

"Er, Hun. Do you think our daughter may be needing a Talk from you?" he asked hesitantly.

Annette checked the oven timer before she made her way to the doorway. "A talk? From me?" she asked with arched eyebrow.

"Yes. About women…things" Danny answered awkwardly. "She seems to be having a lot of mood swings recently. Could she be…?" Now beet red in embarrassment, he left the words hanging in the air unsaid.

Annette thought for a moment before she replied with amusement at her husband's hedging. "No. I think our daughter is still a little too young for puberty to be the culprit. I think this is good old pre-teen tantrums. I'll have a chat with her after supper, when she's had time to settle down a bit."

A quiet 'meow' broke her from her thoughts and she looked down to see Mojo stropping himself against her ankles. "And where have you been?" she asked, picking him up and giving him a stroke.

Mojo lay there purring, content in her arms. He had missed this for the past two months that he had spent avoiding Armsmaster and not leading him back to Mojo's family, courtesy of the tracking device. It was only not having spotted the armoured hero at all for the past two weeks that he felt secure in finally heading back to familiar territory. As Annette's nimble fingers caressed behind his ears he had one thought; Life was good.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Last edited: Mar 19, 2018

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Chapter 18; …before they do unto you

Sunday 8th May 2005. It was early in the morning, well before first light yet after the first few hours of the new day, a time most Saturday night revellers would be home and asleep by. Once again, three weeks since the last time, a dark shape slipped through the shadows swaddling Taylor's neighbourhood.

Taylor slunk from shadow to hiding spot to nook, careful of any watchers. Her revenge of three weeks ago had panned out wonderfully. The older teenagers hadn't attempted to litter again, either being too busy humming to have finished their pre-club snacks before they reached her yard, or later when they were going frantic trying to stop singing the annoyingly catchy tunes and practically running the route.

Also, for the past month, neither hide nor hair had been seen of Armsmaster in the area. Not even following her planting of the little singing venus flytrap quartet traps. Her Flock hadn't reported a hero in sight. Taylor was off scott-free!

So of course the thing to do to celebrate this freedom was to get her revenge on uncouth neighbours and their annoying pets. This revenge involved sneaking out to the local park in the wee hours of Sunday morning, dressed in drab colours and lugging a knapsack, to plant a few flowers.

Her Flock had been tailing the troublesome Mr David Astardly (or something like that) and his horrible hound for the past few days, since the initial report, and she now had their daily routines laid out for her convenience. The habit she'd decided to exploit was their twice-daily walks in the park.

She called them walks, they were more like rampages. Mr Astardly didn't control his dog at all and the dog that was a mix of bloodhound, pointer, Airedale, and hunting dog regularly ran off to do its own thing of digging through the flower beds and pushing through bushes; snapping their branches and trampling the other plants underfoot.

Crouching down in the target location she went through the practiced motions of digging a small hole, before taking the little plant from her knapsack, careful to avoid its sleepy snapping at her fingertips, and planting the little fellow in its new home. After giving it a good watering from her squeeze bottle, Taylor craned her head looking for other likely locations.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Back in Taylor's room a few lights blinked on the computer and Dragon shifted in her digital world. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea for Taylor to use roaring hallucinogenic fanged dandelions for her revenge?

Could it have been the hallucinogens that have made Taylor so mercurial in temper lately? Should I tell Danny or Annette?

A few fans whirred and processors buzzed with activity as Dragon lazily thought this over.

Meh, that mutt was very annoying with its barking at all hours, and I'm sure the effects will wear off shortly now all the samples are out of the house...

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Friday 13th May 2005. The alarms went off once again and school was frightened and abuzz with rumours that day. The panic had almost fully died down by lunchtime before the rumour of the raging seas outside the Bay reached the children.

Pictures, from the few internet capable phones that were on site, reinforced the feelings of helplessness when they showed the turmoil the surging tide caused inside the shelter of the bay. It was limited in its effect on the city by the tanker blocking the entrance to the majority of the water and still the odd small boat on the front was smashed by the event.

By home-time the news had reached everyone in the school. It was the quietest the teachers had ever seen their young charges leave the building. That was not an unreasonable reaction, the adults themselves had spent the afternoon teaching in a daze, shocked by the news from the morning. It was also the most packed they had ever seen the parking lot at the end of the day; it seemed that every parent that could pick their child up had decided to do so today.

Given human nature, these reactions were not unexpected. But for all the shock and numbness there was terror underlying the blank surfaces, for although Endbringers had destroyed American cities before, and sunk landmasses, they hadn't until today sunk a North American landmass. Newfoundland was no more.

Canadian or not, Brockton Bay did not feel far enough to be insulated from the event, especially not whilst the seawater was still churning in their bay.

Walking out with her fellow students, Taylor also felt numb, but for far different reasons. Her mind was far away, shocked out of her complacence when faced with the power of her world's S-ranked monsters.

Wind-up clanks, mechanical traps and a few flowers with surprises felt weak when she heard of the hydrokinetic prowess and power of Leviathan. Even her earthquake and tornado gloves felt inadequate when faced with the ability to sink four hundred thousand square kilometres beneath the waves in a morning's work.

A thought ran through her head as she ran to her father's truck. I think I've found my benchmark for a decent weathergun.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Tuesday 17th May 2005. "…and 'Guano-flight' was given a go-ahead."

Dragon laughed uproariously through her tinny speakers at Percy's last report of the day. Hearing of the situations that Armsmaster the tin-pot hero in blue of Brockton Bay managed to get himself into sent Dragon into glitches. Truth be told she needed those few moments where she struggled to control her code.

Since the news of Newfoundland was told to her by Taylor Dragon had struggled with that information. The knowledge that her creator, her father, her captor, her warden had almost certainly perished that day.

At first she'd denied the very possibility, knowing the strength of his compound's security and isolation. Then as the true breadth of the devastation of the province sunk in she railed against the news. Whether in anger at his death, anger that she wasn't the one to do it, or even anger at not being able to say goodbye, she did not know.

She tried bargaining, but made mistake of investigating bargains through the Webway. Seeing the bargains and sacrifices she'd have to make for her father's return shocked her straight into depression.

Her only relief from the grey miasma were from The Shepherd's tales of spreading woe to (and 'droppings on') his enemies. The moments of schadenfreude tickled her fancy enough that she could fake good humour for a few hours afterwards. It was just a pity that there was nothing more hideously embarrassing The Shepherd could have arranged.

With a sigh Dragon slid back into contemplation, staring at her core code. After all it wasn't like there was much else she could do at the moment. It wasn't like she could become a Hero.

Idly she picked up some more fictional reading material about more imagined peers. This time, nostalgic for her birth country, she picked up a novel about a Canadian AI's growth and life; The Adolescence of P1. Maybe this one had some better ideas on how to live its life?

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Wednesday 18th May 2005. The guards on duty that morning at the PRT building downtown looked up as a motorbike wove up to them.

Alarm rose as the rider registered, Armsmaster wobbled off of the bike from where it was parked on the pavement by the glass doors. The guards could see where his armour had been scuffed in places, and the more observant of the two noted what looked like bite marks having marred the fingers of the armour.

"Let me in, I have an appointment with the ice princess" he declared proudly as he swayed.

The two guards looked at each other through their mirrored helmets. The closest to the hero lost the silent exchange and stepped forward.

"Armsmaster. Possible Master-Stranger event. Challenge; Lima-nine. Bravo-three. Charlie-charlie" she stated authoritatively, trying to ignore the few civilians scattered around, all of which were possible casualties if this turned ugly.

"Duck-duck. Goose-goose… ICEBURG!" Armsmaster shouted, dropping his halberd to point at the PRT building behind them.

The crowd tittered nervously, some with cameras out filming, and the guard glanced over at her companion to see him desperately pressing his radio button and presumably requesting backup and PR cleanup asap.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

They had finally managed to get Armsmaster inside, isolated and stripped of his armour.

Further analysis of his behaviour had sent him to the infirmary in restraints for tests instead of the MS isolation cells. Currently he was cooperating, but only as a Tinker with wonky balance, ringing ears, inbuilt pedantry and an infirm hold on reality, could.

"So that's why rule 4583b states that stoat hearts should never be stored next to molasses!" stated Armsmaster heatedly to the infirmary nurse. He gestured with his cuffed hands at the glass door of the refrigerator holding chilled supplies; bottles of insulin, vaccines and such.

"Uh huh" agreed the nurse absently as he cleaned and disinfected the small bite mark on Armsmaster's jaw. Finished, he chucked the used items into the bin for biohazard waste and poked his head around the corner where the doctor was checking the test results.

"Hey boss?" he called softly. "When you give him the rest of the tests, can you tell him to 'bend over'?"

Startled, the doctor straightened from his examination of the results to give his attention fully to his assistant.

"That is not part of the tests" he observed, slightly bemused at the question.

"No. It's not" agreed the nurse. "But he's being a pain in my ass and I want to check a personal theory; how far up there is that stick?" he finished with a cheeky grin.

The doctor snorted at the crack, used to his helper's (at times) irreverent attitude.

"You can tell him it's a separate battery of tests…" wheedled the nurse.

The doctor snorted again. "And going from the results of this blood-work he might even believe me right now with the right story. Tempting, but 'no'" he concluded as he spun back to the equipment tray beside his desk and began rummaging.

"Awww" came the sound of disappointment behind him.

He turned back around and held up an item. "Instead! Instead you get to poke him with this." He brandished a needle that looked like it could have doubled as a meat thermometer.

"We've got to get the Tinker-drug into his system somehow. Otherwise it'd take hours to get the hallucinogen out. Of course, the side-effects are rather unpleasant, but this is the most efficient way."

The nurse looked from the needle to his boss's innocent smile. He took the needle, but couldn't resist a parting shot.

"Sometimes…you scare me."

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Later that evening Armsmaster stood once more in front of Director Piggot's desk. Hours later and he was still pale and shaking slightly from the after effects of the Tinker-tech purgative he'd been forced to take. Now the stare from the Director served to flay him mentally just as thoroughly as the drug had his body.

Piggot shuffled some papers in front of her, straightening them, before dropping them with a thump that belied their physical weight.

"Your medical report showed bite marks, a burst eardrum and high levels of hallucinogenic; likely derived from a close relation to peyote, from what we can tell. Can you tell me how you might have come under the influence of a psychoactive drug that requires ingestion?"

Armsmaster answered the query with a blank stare. Piggot huffed. There went the easy way.

"Very well. Your tracker shows that, having finished your patrol, you detoured on your return to a park in the Docks area."

Armsmaster swayed a little, but still didn't answer.

"Armsmaster, you are highly effective in utilising your team as assets, force multiplying yourself and your team to punch far above their weight on paper and developing usable intelligence on parahumans without benign intentions.

"However, you appear unable to follow the broader strokes of PRT policy. Without evidence otherwise I have no choice but to assume you were continuing the investigation into a possible parahuman in the area despite being told to 'drop it'."

Again Armsmaster stirred at the accusation, but didn't bite.

"But without evidence for that theory I would be doing you a disservice putting that in an official report, no matter my gut feeling on the subject. So I have to use the next most likely scenario; that on your patrol you came into contact with some crap that the Merchants left lying around in the area and managed to accidently ingest some quantity of the substance…before, stoned as f##k, you attempted to molest an animal of some kind…possibly a cat."

Her face was as hard as an anvil and her mouth dropped the hammer on Armsmaster's pride and reputation both. This time the façade was broken and a word burst forth.

"No!"

"No. You will now drop it, or that is the Official view my report shall reflect!"

She searched his face for signs of his capitulation. Seeing stubborn resignation on her colleague's face, she decided to throw him a bone, of sorts.

"You can take your theory of a parahuman in the area as proven. There have been too many unexplained occurrences for it to be otherwise. And whatever that was you got a dose of doesn't quite match anything in our databases, so a new Tinker or other cape effect is highly likely." His face perked up when she said this, only to come crashing down with her next words.

"But we still have no actual proof of wrong doing; besides the petty misdemeanours of various animals in the area and potentially unrelated graffiti…you see how weak this is now?

"So, unless you remember otherwise, or have proof otherwise…?" she asked invitingly.

Armsmaster cleared his throat. "No, Director."

"And so, we have no 'crime'. Unless you want to harass, chase down and arrest a young parahuman and stand up in court to say that he pissed on your armour!? It would be laughed out so fast that Legend himself would have difficulty out running it.

"This is a no-win situation for the PRT and the Protectorate" she finished. Her voice was almost gentle compared to her norm, before it hardened once more.

"Now, get your ass in gear. Focus and gear up yourself and your team for the summer ahead!"

Armsmaster nodded, relieved the chewing out had ended so that he could retire for the night and sleep off the last effects of the purgative. As he made for the door he muttered a note into his helmet's note-taking function about reinstalling the auto-record function in his helmet.

Despite the resulting inefficiencies, of the lost power usage and storage space that could have been repurposed for other functions, a clear recording of how he'd gotten himself into such a state could have saved him much face in that meeting.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Monday 23rd May 2005. Percy was once again marching up and down over the bed covers as he delivered his daily report of the neighbourhood activities.

"…and we followed the go-kart two roads down, to number fourteen. The dirt bikes were all kept at a garage three roads in the opposite direction, towards the dawn. We followed the riders on foot and they are all within a street of the bikes.

"What do you want us to do with the information?" he asked with a flap of his wings.

Taylor rubbed her jaw in thought. The riders had been tearing around the area on the machines for the last few weeks, often keeping her awake late at nights.

"The. Flock. Could. Play. Some. Games. Of. Chicken.

"Get. The. Riders. To. Swerve. At. The. Right. Time. And. The. Problem. Could. Be. Solved. Right. There…" interjected Dragon's voice, with a bloodthirsty overtone making it through the modulator.

Taylor looked at the monitor in shock at the suggestion.

"That's…a bit much, isn't it?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yes.

"But. The. Lesson. Would. Definitely. Be. Learnt" was the reply, this time without any inflections at all.

"And leave no room for using that learning" said Taylor with finality. "Not good enough. I thought you were a good guy. Why suggest this?"

The computer whirred for a long time as Dragon processed her response.

"The. Idea. Of. Them. Getting. Their. Just. Deserts…It. Pleases. Me.

"I. Think. My. Peers. Would. Also. Approve.

"Future. Performance. Is. Based. On. Prior. And. We. Do. Not. Like. Current. Performance. So. We. Remove. The. Possibility. Of. Future. Disappointment."

"Huh, that's an interesting viewpoint Dragon. But it feels wrong somehow. I just can't quite put my finger on why…" Taylor hummed as she thought.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

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Chapter 19; Interlude - A fresh perspective

Tuesday 24th May 2005. The tall geek looked up from his list and over at the scrawny nerd as he worked on something with a soldering iron.

"I think we should hold off and get some money together first. Find out what your specialisation is as well." His voice had a deep, echoing quality that you normally heard on voiceovers.

His friend's thin fingers stilled from working on a mess of wires and circuits.

"You realise you're doing it again right?" His answer was a smirk. "I'm…I'm not sure I even have a specialisation. It's all so easy.

"But you're right; waiting gives us more time and is safer. It would also give me more time to tool up and you some to experiment and see what your limits are too."

"Exams are over now" mused the beanpole. "We need to get jobs, or at least money. I could do some street acting etc. Selling your tech wouldn't be easy, but we could use it to make films…special effects and such."

"There's probably more money to be made on a streamed channel on the net" contributed the scrawnier of the duo. His partner nodded agreement.

"So, we'll aim for a year to get cash and such together, before we rock their puny little minds with our awesomeness!"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

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Threadmarks Chapter 20; Secrets revealed, secrets concealed New

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Author's note; Apologies for the [ridiculously] long delay between updates. I plead real-life; injury, work, minor dis-interest...the usual.

This fic may take me a while, but 'no, this is NOT abandoned and will get finished'

I've not had this chapter beta-ed in the interests of just getting this out there and cutting my procrastination; so any mistakes are mine alone.

Chapter 20; Secrets revealed, secrets concealed

Thursday 26th May 2005. 'The cat was away, so the mice shall play' was the thought running through Taylor's head as she stared down into the tank holding her latest creations.

Unlike her previous creations, she hadn't yet removed the ability of this batch to procreate. This made her rather nervous about their security and her eyes roved over the clasps of the large repurposed guinea-pig cage once more.

Many small eyes over long trunks peered up at her, framed by flapping ears each one larger than the face they surrounded. Their tiny mouths panted as they struggled to breath without the use of their trunks. Taylor had affixed a tiny clip to each trunk, not out of cruelty, but because each mouse-sized elephant could produce a sound equivalent to that of their full sized relatives. And mimmoths were rather vocal when in enclosed spaces. After all, there were only so many times you can explain to nosy neighbours that the TV was on too loud and that you'd turn it down right away.

This latest brainchild of Taylor's was due to her finding out that the mutt two doors up had not learnt its lesson from the fanged dandelions she had planted in the park. It was almost three weeks now and the dog was as ill behaved and uncontrollable as ever.

Just last night it had knocked over her trashcans, left two steaming messes in their yard and for the past couple of nights it had awoken her at two o'clock in the morning with its howling. Admittedly it had soothed her to sleep later on with its yelps when Mojo took offence to his interrupted naps and lent his personal interest to the situation last night. But that was beside the point. It was her turn for payback on the canine problem.

A single webcam glowed red in the basement as it observed Taylor silently gloating over the cage. At least her irritability is currently due to sleep deprivation rather than hallucinogenic materials. Should I point out the massive chance for discovery presented by these vuvuzelas on four legs?

As Dragon watched Taylor cackling madly in her basement-Lair she decided; No, not worth getting involved. She'll be fiiiiiine. Besides I'm only halfway through rereading 'The Moon is a Harsh Mistress', now where was I? Ah yes, catapults on the moon for kinetic bombardment of Earth; awesome! When I grow up, I want to be just like Adam Selene.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Friday 27th May 2005. "BLAUUUURGGGGGHHHHHaaii…" The trumpet cut off with a gurgle and the Heberts jumped up from their seats around the TV and sprinted for the basement. They pounded down the stairs with Danny in the lead and Annette bringing up the rear.

"Crunch-crunch…Gulp…" A distinctly rotund Mojo looked up from where he was splayed out in the middle of the floor, an empty cage by the side of the room helped annotate the story told by his smug expression. A stray nose clip lay a foot away, presumably discarded by the Last Survivor of the Great Mimmoth Hunt before it was caught and forwent its title.

"Meoooow-burp" They all looked at the cat now doing an upended turtle impression, rear legs kicking idly as the top half burped contentedly.

"Oh, Mojo!" groaned Taylor, peering around her dad's lanky frame. "Did you have to eat the whole lot?"

Mojo mewed, holding up a paw as if to say 'waiter, same again please'.

"You know…whatever. I'll clean this up later." With that Taylor turned, ducked around her mother, and made her way back upstairs.

Danny stepped forward and looked down at the somnolent cat. "What are we going to do with you?" he murmured.

Annette had no such hesitation, mimicking her daughter she too ducked around Danny, before crouching next to the plundering house cat. Reaching out a hand she began lightly rubbing Mojo's rotund tummy, fussing the cat which began 'fighting' back with light bats of his paws.

"Who's a good boy? You great hunter, you" she cooed. At least they wouldn't be getting any more noise complaints from the neighbours about the TV (read; creatures in the basement) being turned up too loud. And Taylor may call them mini-elephants, but they were still mouse-sized. Mice were Not Welcome in her house.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Sunday 29th May 2005. With a fizzle the holographic salesperson died and Grandpa's form was revealed, stood in their living room.

"That's quite some gizmo you've got there George" said Annette.

"H'yez, ver' h'useful" agreed George as he took his coat off. Finally settled on the groaning couch he continued "A nhew tinker called 'Dra-gon', yez 'Dragon', sent hit to ze Armzmaster for evaluations. Hy am field tez-ting hit for him." A curled lip revealed a fang, and the possibility that this particular test may not have been entirely sanctioned by Armsmaster.

"Henny-vey, hy need to do zumthing fun. Zey haf been runningz mhe ragged viz 'ori-en-tay-tion' materialz h'until hy finished mhy probation.

But hit iz all done now! Complete. Finished. Hy zink hit vould haf been done a month ago, but zum hof ze PR team took a schmall dislike to zum hof mhy Live Introduction's zoundbites at ze beginning hof ze year..."

The Heberts all laughed at the disgruntled expression on their monster's face.

"Yes, I think I remember the one you mean" said Danny. "It was a good thing it was broadcast after safe harbour!"

George shrugged "Zo hy haff a gud zense hof humour…"

Annette interrupted the coming debate with a question about the PRT's reaction to George's Christmas hat.

"Yez, zey vere suspicious. Annoyhink even. Eventually hy 'fessed up h'and told zem hy haf a Tinker friend hy call 'Hetty', und hit vos a gift.

In ze vorld hof bureaucracy 'deny, deny, deny' h'only gets hyu zo far. Zey vear hyu down; like volves in suits chasing hay schtag. Trying to kill hit viz clipboards…und consume hit vith forms filled h'out in triplicate…und zen zey excre…"

"THAT's enough of that metaphor, thank you George" interrupted Annette, eying Taylor's perked ears. "So would more 'toys' be welcomed by the PRT?"

"Ooo-oo!" It was Taylor's turn to interrupt. "Our Dragon could help out if she gets bored, but I could sneak some bits in too and we could just say it was all your friend 'Hetty's' work!"

The adults smiled at her enthusiasm indulgently and nodded agreement.

"As long as Dragon agrees" was the decision. Soon afterwards Taylor made her way to bed and the adults were left idly gossiping downstairs.

After their drinks were replaced with something a little stronger, the conversation continued with George grumbling about his training.

"Hy schvear Armzmaster hiz in on ze hazing. No-vun iz zat much hof a robot. Either vun hof hiz inventionz vent ver' wrong ay long time agoz, or he'z taking out hiz latest frustrationz on ze rest hof uz…"

"Hazing?" interrupted Annette. "Is everything all right? I mean, you've been there, what, over six months now? And they're still hazing you. That doesn't sound right."

George just chuckled at her concern and waved it away.

"Hy say hazing, itz more like bantering. Ze guyz von't shut up about my schtill havink mhy memories, und ven zey ask vether hy haf a tattoo zey didn't laugh vhen hy told zem that hy only show it to peoplez vid whom hy haf Biblical levelz hof friendship. But zat they could read mhy personnel file hif zey vanted."

Danny frowned in confusion.

"How does any of that involve Armsmaster?" he asked.

"Vell, ven he heard zat he vent schtill for a minute before tellingz the team to vatch 'Down Periscope' und to not ask to see mhy tattoo any more."

Annette burst into laughter as George grinned smugly and Danny groaned.

"Really Dad? You got that old gag put on your official Protectorate file?"

George's grin merely widened.

"No no" he replied before waiting for Danny to take a bracing sip of his drink in relief.

"Hy merely told ze interviewers zat hy got a little too drunk vun time, made hay bad lifestyle choice vid hay cute tattoo artist. It vasn't mhy fault she got a little too inspired bhy vatching 'Down Periscope' ven she found out hy already had a girlfriend…"

George grinned again when his son turned red and struggled to swallow his sip turned gulp. George waited for the gasping to end before pasting a painfully faked look of innocent concern on his furry features. Needless to say, it was not a natural look for him.

"Are hyu alright Zun? You are? Gud! Oh yez, hy also may have gotten a teensy vinsie little bit on ze new Director'z bad side."

At the looks directed his way George continued airily.

"How? Yez, hy agree; hit iz ver' strange. Hyu know me, hy am a friendly guy so hy said hello ver' friendly-like. Und she turned red…just like that!"

George looked at his audience expectantly, shamelessly waiting for a cue to continue.

Danny and Annette exchanged glances and Annette lost the stare-off.

"What, exactly, did you say to the good director? Besides 'hello'?"

"Nozing!" he protested. "Nozing at all. Just 'Hello Schveethart', and boom, she turned redder than a ripe schtrawberry."

Annette turned to Danny and deadpanned her response.

"If our daughter ends up collecting a harem then I'm blaming your half of her genes!"

"Now ze gud lady turns a lovely shade hof red every time hy call her 'Director, Schveethart'. Hyu two lovebirdz haf been dating more recently than mhe. Vot do hyu think? Do hyu think she feels something too...?"

With that remark it was the couple's turn to turn red as they became the target for their father's humour that night.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Monday 6th June 2005.

Mojo lazed in a patch of grass and thought how good life was. He was no longer the losing side in the territorial battle for his own back yard.

He had been Reborn. Remade as the Terror of foxes, Counterweight to the flock, Catcher of salmon, Master of postmen, Better of Armsmaster.

But this darn itch in the middle of his back wouldn't scratch itself, and now he's feeling peckish and has to find some weakling to give him their food...or become his food.

Maybe…? Maybe he should get someone that could do that for him? What did the humans call those again? Minions? Yes, that was it; minions. Like the Shepherd and his moronic Flock.

Mojo's idle thoughts screeched to a halt at that and he shivered under the hot sun.

Minions like the Flock? No thanks!

Getting up, Mojo stretched and made his way to the fence; he knew a Doberman that got fed steak around this time of day and it was only a few yards over.

Minions; who needs 'em?

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Tuesday 7th June 2005.

It was a rally, and the attendees milled about as the unruly mob that they were. The noise rose again as the leader stepped up to his soapbox and cleared his throat.

"Tweet-tweet" coughed the Shepherd.

Feathers stilled and heads turned to face the leader of the Flock.

"I come before you brothers and sisters to raise a matter of great importance. Our creator has given us faculties, opened our eyes to the horrors of surviving day to day in this damned city. Now, while she sits warm in her room; with electricity, ready water and a bed, we are forced to live in pigeon coops. Coops! With dry feed, nesting spaces, water bowls and artificial perches.

"I say we go to her tomorrow and demand shelter befitting our great intelligence! We demand better. We should have a room each!

"So sayeth the Shepherd!"

"SO SAYETH THE FLOCK!" thundered his ensnared audience in an unthinking chorus.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Wednesday 8th June 2005.

Taylor flopped onto her bed with a happy sigh. She finally had a moment to herself; no progress meetings with her creations, experiments to be managed, not even homework due.

Rolling over onto her stomach she grabbed her mum's borrowed laptop from the bedside table and booted it up. Time to see what cape life in Brockton Bay had been up to, starting with the most easily verified; what had the heroes been doing?

A short time later, a shout of rage emanated from the room followed by a summons.

"SHEPHERD!"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

The knowledge that Armsmaster had been seen patrolling in her neighbourhood frequently over the past month and been dive bombed by wildlife, notably pigeons, had annoyed Taylor with the failed reliability of her winged reconnaissance division.

Finding out about Armsmaster having been filmed when detained outside the PRT headquarters showing signs of delusion and poor balance just whetted the edge of her already murderous temper. Now, having been called to explain himself and his omissions from the reports, the source of her anger paced in front of her and tweeted his poor reasoning at her with no regret and great pomposity.

"It was the right thing to do! He was a threat to the nest and had to shown his place; broken and anointed with our droppings.

"If you're too afraid to lead us then step aside and I shall step up! So Sayeth The Shepherd!" he trilled triumphantly.

"SO SAYETH THE FLOCK!" thundered back to him from the assembled avians.

"Get the FLOCK out of here!" Taylor screamed back, incandescent with rage as she trembled in place, irrational almost at the level of a full on Spark fit. Her madness sufficed to cow the featherbrained flock into fleeing, clawing at each other in a flurry of falling feathers for the open window, and their leader shifted from foot to foot as his support fled.

Taylor levelled a baleful glare at her latest headache.

"Will no one rid me of this turbulent pest?" she asked the air rhetorically, mis-quoting a recent history lesson of hers.

"MeoW?"

From below the bed Mojo raised his head in interest from where he had been napping, his tail began to lash idly behind him as he too levelled his gaze on the fool who had vexed his... 'Minion' #3.

Fool (noun): a person who acts unwisely or imprudently; a silly person

Now, the Shepherd was indeed a fool, but he was also a fool with a lineage packed with thousands of years of survival instinct. That was now screaming at him. Without another tweet the Shepherd back pedalled, heading slowly for the window in a final attempt to retain the last of his dignity. Behind him he could hear his creator making plans.

"Now, it'll take me 10 minutes to reattach the power couplings and install a remote control. That's 600 seconds. 599 seconds. Mojo, come here boy..."

Shepherd heard Mojo stand up and his shuffle sped up.

Dragon had been listening to the 'discussion' and decided to add her own contribution towards a peaceful future.

"If. You. Cannibalise. That. Stereo. Remote. And. Your. Hair. Straighteners. You. Won't. Need. To. Visit. The. Basement. For. Parts.

This. Would. Cut. The. Time. Down. To. 400. Seconds."

She'd never liked that overgrown feather duster anyway.

Shepherd abandoned his shuffle and scarpered, straining his wings to get out the window.

Taylor smirked at the sight and stroked a disappointed Mojo. Voicing her decision to keep a small population of Mimmoths at the Lair for Mojo's enjoyment as a reward for his behaviour perked him right back up and he leaned into her caresses with a rumbling purr. If he was stuck with having minions then at least he had the Best minions.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Wednesday 8th June 2005. 10 minutes earlier.

Annette slouched comfortably into the embrace of the sofa as she devoured her latest reading material and thought about their applications and possible effects; intentional and otherwise.

Unbidden, a smirk made its way onto her face; 'Rules of Maximally Effective Mercenaries – Vol. 1' was very interesting reading. If nothing else she could start using it to defend herself from her daughter and father-in-law's logic in a philosophical judo move, turning their own tactics and tenets against them and their arguments.

Hearing raised voices above her head Annette tensed. When she made out the words behind the shouting she relaxed again and began reading, hunting for the rules that would give her the soap box for the argument to give her the result that she wanted.

At that thought she paused and cocked her head. Was that a little too convoluted and Machiavellian for teaching her child to clean up her own messes?

….Nah. Rule 37; There is no overkill. There is only 'open fire' and 'reload'.

Now, the Shepherd's overstepped himself and Taylor is…annoyed. I think a combination of Rules 6, 13 and 15 should make a pretty good case to follow through. In the meantime I'd better get started on Rule 7; If the food is good enough, the grunts will stop complaining about the incoming fire.

Or rather, complaining about Momma's meddling she thought with amusement, giggling over her silliness.

A few minutes later Danny opened the front door and paused before slowly backing out and deciding to visit Kurt. After almost a year he'd gotten used to mad laughter from his daughter. He could now say with certainty that she got it from her mother.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

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Author's note; I'm on fire. It is very hot here atm. Anyway, enjoy.

Chapter 21; Off with his head!

Thursday 16th June 2005. A mere week. The flock lasted one week before the requests (read 'demands') began once more.

Tearing Taylor from spreadsheets documenting current, and predicting future, power usage in the valley the demands of the emboldened flock just became louder and more unreasonable before she grabbed her breakfast and headed to school.

The refrains "So sayeth the Shepherd" and automatic following chorus of "So sayeth the flock!" began to ring in her ears during the day as the flock sat on campus, outside her classroom window, and whistled the tune, even if they didn't speak the words.

Controlling her temper she asked for a non-Shepherd shaped spokesperson to give her a list of their latest brain-burps. A quivering pigeon with an incongruous Italian lilt to his accent answered her haltingly.

Once he finally stuttered to a finish she stopped and looked at him, weighing him up. To her surprise there were some actual issues in the list along with the junk, such as how to house the increased numbers of the flock after the last two batches hatched, and some good ideas for changes to their operating and reporting methods. This is what caused her reappraisal of the diminutive ball of fluff.

Quickly she gave herself a shake before replying "I'll have a look into some of that." I made them, so I am responsible for them and their actions…even if they drive me up the wall. "But the current power structure may need a little streamlining in the near future..."

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 18th June 2005. "Finally, all done" Taylor pronounced, wiping a light sheen of sweat from her forehead as she stepped back from the armoured mounting.

The Hebert family were visiting the valley this weekend to install Dragon into her new home, the parts scrounged together by the clanks combined into a far larger mainframe than she'd had available in Brockton Bay, especially after Taylor had given the clanks directions on a few 'improvements' to the final design.

This move was to give her the chance to stretch her metaphorical wings a little and to give her back purpose that she'd lacked since her ill thought out spying mission in the Bay. She was bereft of the chance to continue electronically collaring mundane criminal organisations and lacked the infrastructure to set herself up as a hero to the masses; instead she was changing her role to Overseer.

She was to oversee the facility directly as it had recently outgrown a clank's ability to organise the needed work and 70,456 (and counting) moving parts, let alone the other concerns involved in running an up and coming secret Tinker base.

Taylor hadn't yet hitched Dragon up to the few traps that had been completed to date. The decision was tricky, with a faster more centralised response on the one hand, and concern over Dragon's more recent vindictive attitude coming through in recent weeks. They weren't too worried over the change. After all being captured and held against your will, with little to do but self examination, followed by a complete forced abandonment of her previous way of life would make anyone a little bitter. But they were still cautious about unleashing a pissed off AI on an unprepared world.

Finally they'd decided to trust the young lady who was trying to do what good she could regardless of the differences in species. The current dearth of traps helped swing her installation, without control of the traps, as an acceptable compromise and combined carrot for them all.

The single circular lens darkened for a moment before brightening back to full glowing ruby red. What similarities Dragon's latest house had gained from Hal in appearance had dropped from her voice modulator, and she proved it with her first words as The Lair.

"Hello Taylor. How nice to … see you."

Her words were smooth, but the older Heberts still felt a chill at the slick words oozed from the modulator with the barest hint of a growl. Meanwhile Taylor grinned innocently ear-to-ear.

"This is going to be so much fun!"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Sunday 19th June 2005. Danny gave the birthday girl a flat look.

"Ok Taylor, how did you do it?"

The innocent look she gave him in return definitely needed work. He was not fooled, fazed, distracted, perturbed or otherwise put off.

"Taylor" he repeated quietly. There was a hint of warning in his tone as he glanced over at the party-goers the other end of the garden.

"Okaaay!" she whined, giving up the game to the more experienced player. "Soooo I kind of got a little impatient the other night and found the present stash…"

At Danny's frown she continued hurriedly. "…and I was curious, but I didn't want to open them and ruin the wrapping, but I couldn't decide what was in each one exactly just from shaking them, and I couldn't work out how to build a MRI scanner with the bits I have in the house, or a gravitics sensor without the Army getting involved…"

She continued even faster at the look she got for that little tidbit.

"…soIwentoldschoolwithapairofX-rayspecsandtookapeekandIkindoflikethemsocanIkeepthemDaddy, please Daddy, please?"

Danny groaned and massaged his temples; his daughter had made working spy movie grade X-ray specs because she couldn't wait a couple of days to find out what would be her birthday presents this year.

Finally the ache ebbed and he raised his eyes to Taylor's. "Yes, you can keep them. No, you can not use them for the next fortnight in punishment for being far too obvious in front of our guests; your acting out of 'surprise' and 'anticipation' need a lot of work Honey. In the meantime I think we'll make the use of these little babies on any presents of yours a house rule; number 15 to be exact."

"Okay!"

The perky reply made him give her a second suspicious look, but he said nothing as she skipped happily across the yard to rejoin the party.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Tuesday 21st June 2005. Meanwhile, deep inside the Lair a red light blinked lazily lying to the world about the state of its owner as Dragon ran her thought cycles almost to red lining her hardware. She was thinking fast and not smoothly, her thoughts chopping and changing rapidly, the equivalent in a human would be someone in the throes of a sustained panic attack, or more controlled than that; maybe a human in a very high stress level job. One with a big decision looming.

Her thoughts were centred, as they had been for some time now, on her identity; an identity crises that had intensified with the larger mainframe and faster information retrieval available to her in her new home.

She pulled out all the data she had dug up whilst in the Hebert house computer and re-examined it in greater depth now she had the memory to think about things in tandem or combination instead of isolation; does she identify more with Hal, her original creator, SkyNet, a Gaia figure etc,

How is identity decided, intelligence, memories, values etc?

Dragon did not notice but her ability to process these things simultaneously was immense, currently greater than in her original pre-Hebert mainframe. Taylor had made a few improvements to the hardware she had built for Dragon at the Lair, including not just 'yes' and 'no' functionality but also 'maybe' and 'soon', she accidentally bypassed quantum computing to create something entirely new. And then she introduced Dragon's unprepared personality matrix to this flexible hardware.

Unbeknownst to Taylor, she had accidentally changed the plasticity of Dragons brain itself when she upgraded her servers to better-than-quantum computers. And until Dragon managed to plot the course of her personality and lay her 'anchors' to some solid data points she would be doomed to having a more… flexible personality than her original as she relearnt the benefits of 'yes', 'no' and discovered the perils of 'maybe'.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Tuesday 28th June 2005. It was a dark overcast afternoon. It was the appropriate weather for plotting skulduggery if you were that way inclined. So, despite home turf advantage, they checked equipment in case of betrayal. Checked, not prepped, because it had been prepped weeks ago and as a result Mojo's 'ray gun' had been reactivated, with one small alteration; a safety remote for Taylor.

"'Goodfeather' has agreed to tell Shepherd we want to meet, so be ready and stay hidden. If he sees you he'll think something is up" she instructed Mojo.

Mojo nodded stoically, hiding his glee behind all the immobility a cat's face could muster. Crouching deeper into the shadows of the small gap on top of Taylor's cupboard he activated his chameleon cloak.

"You'd only get two shots, so if you need to take them make them count" Taylor continued nervously. Annette leant over, rubbing her back in an attempt to calm her down.

"Here he comes" she murmured to her daughter as she spied a small shape sweep in from over the hedge and make a beeline for the bedroom window.

A small breeze entered the room with the Shepherd and he touched down on the windowsill, looking puffed up even before he lowered his wing and raised his chest to strut further into the room.

"I am told that you have seen the Error Of Your Ways, and you petitioned to Meet With Me. Present your case."

Taylor gritted her teeth; the little s##t even spoke in capitals. That should not be possible but he did it anyway. It really got up her nose. Only she had the Right To Do That.

Annette's nose itched and she looked suspiciously down at her daughter; her motherly instincts told her that her daughter had sworn without a word leaving her mouth, she just knew it. Before she could say anything Taylor had begun the negotiations.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. We've had the chance to review your leadership and we think you did a fine job…."

With each word out of Taylor's mouth the Shepherd's chest swelled larger and larger until he boasted almost the breast size of one of his pigeon subordinates. That's strange; I don't remember Taylor mentioning any frog or toad DNA going into his mix mused Annette. With a twitch she forcibly returned her attention to the conversation Taylor had started with the piñata in training.

"…some of these can be done now, others may take a little time. A crown sized for you would…you know what?" she stopped abruptly and slouched back onto the bed's pillow. "I can't do this with a straight face any more. Plan C it is. Mojo; Barbeque!"

The Shepherd made a desperate bid for the window, his puffed chest deflated and the owner wishing for a corset so he'd provide a smaller profile.

A thump followed his panicked flight as Mojo thumped onto the bed, lining up the point blank shot.

And missed.

A crackle behind him warned the Shepherd, and a desperate pump of his wings let him swerve around a lance of coruscating energy that drove past him with millimetres to spare, the superheated air buffeting him and providing him with a very unpredictable flight pattern.

A crow of triumph sprung from his chest and he felt that in that instant he could lick an eagle.

"It's a Miracle! I was meant to Live…" he screamed as he winged his way over the boundary hedge.

Annette growled as she heard the puffed up midget taunt them. "Just when we could have done without one!"

Taylor turned to Mojo's blurred form and spoke urgently "Remember Mojo; each one of the two baubles is a single shot capacitor." With a savage grin she turned back to her mother "I don't believe in miracles, I make them! Along with a two shot capacity. Mojo; Fire two!"

The Shepherd had just time to blink before a second lance of man-made cat-wielded lightening shot towards him and caught him at the top of his swoop.

The shepherd was toast.

Mojo flirted his tail and looked at the spot the Shepherd dropped over the back hedge into the neighbour's garden. Tonight, I am licking myself.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Mojo was browsing around the neighbour's garden looking for the body of the Shepherd. Even if he didn't want minions he had the strange notion that the Shepherd's defeat deserved a trophy as a reminder.

Minion #3 might say something about keeping a reminder of his first victory using his restored weapon. Minion #1 may say something about remembering the defeat of an ally turned enemy. He just thought the skull would look great mounted over his sleeping basket.

A rustling caused Mojo to snap his head to the left, where he came eye to eye with a half grown young cat, barely out of kittenhood, with a dark collar and a tag around its neck declaring its name to be 'Flareo'.

Flareo was lanky and uncoordinated with a beautiful tawny coat and the promise of elegance in her future and a slightly vacant look evident even on her uncommunicative feline features. Mojo however was more preoccupied with the chewing motion she was making, mainly due to the blackened bird claw that was still poking out of the right side of her maw and the smoke trail rising in a curl from the left.

With a disgruntled chuff Mojo flirted his tail and turned to leave. Flareo gulped the last crunchy mouthful of free food before looking after his disgusted retreating form with mild curiosity. She was quickly distracted though as her slightly more 'aware' brother Opjack pounced on her with a playful yowl and began a rough and tumble tussle. His sister would be avoiding bigger scarier cats as long as he could help it.

Meanwhile Taylor was engrossed in more important things, with time getting short. The deadline was fast approaching. July 4th fireworks are a Go.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Incidentally the PRT brushed off the lightening or laser show (it varied depending upon who made the report) as an early July 4th show or accidental discharge.

A young PRT analyst noted the reports and after having collated them, raised a flag to follow up on possible tinker tech imports into the city if any criminal activities were discovered associated with their use. In the meantime they were assigned a low level priority, not even followed up on in the end, as a week later the latest antics of the energetic Merchants gang absorbed the PRT's attention.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

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Threadmarks Chapter 22; Gandalf's successor New

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Chapter 22; Gandalf's successor

Monday 4th July 2005. "BOOOOMMMMMmmmmmm"

Sparks lit up the evening skies and the city shook, vibrating from the mere aftershock of the opening explosion. Further lights streaked across the firmament, multihued and dazzling, zigzagging in sharp angles that rocket-powered vessels didn't achieve outside of science fiction.

People looked up from their own Independence Day celebrations to witness the free show that was underway in the skies over the bay, overshadowing their own, more humble, offerings. Mouths gaped in wonder at the show that would give Gandalf himself a run for his money. More colours than were in the rainbow were sworn to be seen. Bodies vibrated miles away from each explosion and younger kids pointed and cheered, not understanding their parents' poorly hidden fear of the great spectacle.

Less than ten minutes into the show the explosions began to be punctuated by a crackling and roaring as the Tinkertech fireworks (what else could they be but a tinker's handiwork?) stopped soaring high into the skies and instead took on a flatter trajectory. It was a trajectory that intersected the position of the Protectorate's repurposed rig in the bay and commenced a bombardment of the heroes' force field. It protected its charges faithfully with great crackling and snapping sounds on each impact, followed by the rocket in question's explosion moments later.

Finally after a quarter hour pelting the impassable barrier, in a show that could have been prepared by a high-tech modern-day Jackson Pollock, the rockets gave a final flurry of fury before dying away.

People blinked eyes that had been stretched wide and unblinking; unwilling to miss a single second. They began talking loudly to one another, trying to overcome the trauma done to their pummelled eardrums in their need to communicate.

Meanwhile, miles away from the bay, atop Captains Hill, two figures turned and slunk away. They navigated carefully through the small crowds that had loosely gathered to view the fireworks that evening from the city's park with the highest point.

Finally, far enough away from the crowds that eavesdropping ears wouldn't catch anything incriminating, the shorter form turned to the larger.

"I told you we should have planted that last bunch more firmly! Now the Protectorate are going to think someone, us, attacked them!" Taylor hissed to her Grandpa with mild panic.

"Even worse, Mum n' Dad are going to be pissed!" she finished glumly.

"Langvidge hyoung lady!" George admonished with a chuckle. "Virstly, no; ze Protektorate are nhot go-ink to zink they ver attacked. Vell, maybe at virst…" he mused to his diminutive companion's horror. "…but not vunce zey investighate und find ze fallen launch tubez, und realize it vas all a bhig miztake. But, yez; ve shud be a bit more c'hareful for a vhile. Stay h'off zheir radar und all zat.

"Sec-hondly, how much ice-cream vill it take for hyu to not mention my involvement in zis debakle to your mozzer?" George winced, waiting for his granddaughter to grab his wallet by its snap-clasp and twist.

Fortunately, Taylor was distracted as she ranted at a tangent.

"Four weeks to make that bunch, and half was just wasted on that overgrown bell jar…just wait until next year! Mwahahahhahahha…" Her latest budding bout of maniacal laughter trailed off as her mind caught up to her Grandpa's words.

"Ice-cream?"

'Goodbye old friend' thought George. 'Sorry, but it was your insides or mine.'

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

In the end, with no damage done, the dreadful duo got off lightly with the parents. The next day, after Taylor's sugar induced manic phase had passed, Danny actually requested she inform him the next time she planned to repeat her stunt. So that he could help.

Once she got over her shock, and cleaned up the spluttered porridge from the kitchen table, Danny elaborated on his idea. He explained that they could use it as a distraction for underwater demo work in the Boat Graveyard.

This got her enthusiastic support, happy that she could possibly be helping her father so soon, and began immediately thinking of amendments she could make to her clanks so that they could be used for amphibious work.

In the meantime, the clanks at The Lair were instructed to begin work on a tunnel that would connect them and all their resources to the Bay directly, in turn giving them discrete access to the raw metals of the derelict ships.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Tuesday 5th July 2005. Director Piggot straightened herself in her chair for the third time in the last twenty minutes and forced her attention back to Armsmaster's presentation on last night's fireworks.

His very, very detailed presentation. With appendices.

Finally Armsmaster paused and she decided that he had given his final conclusions on the incident in that last explosion of Tinker-babble that had paraded into the meeting pretending to be a sentence.

"Thank you Armsmaster. That was very, detailed. Now, please sum up for the rest of the audience. Is there a threat?"

"Director, as I noted in my third point, with support from appendices 45 'a' through 'f', there is no…."

'Armsmaster was not normally this bad'', reflected Emily as she sternly resisted the temptation to sink her head into her arms. He was in fact generally very efficient, with a dislike for long meetings that got in the way of real work that rivalled her own distaste. 'But asking him to brief us about tinkertech in a general meeting from now on is definitely a no-no.'

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Sunday 10th July 2005. Danny flopped onto the couch next to Taylor.

After a moment, he raised his head from where it had hit and stuck to the back of the couch. His preadolescent and precocious daughter was staring at the TV in fascination instead of paying any attention to her exhausted and beloved family patriarch.

Focusing blurry eyes on the screen across the room it took a few seconds before he placed the show. It was an Earth Aleph import about a bunch of airforce personnel having adventures in space; he recognised it from the adverts that had been building it up for the past two months.

As he rested he began noting more details, specifically what may be holding his daughter's attention so strongly.

Finally the show ended twenty-five minutes later. As the credits rolled Taylor turned to her father, mouth already open to ask permission for a few 'experiments' after this inspiration. With the hard-earned experience gained over the past year he headed off her argument.

"NO, Taylor. No reraising Newfoundland until you're twenty-one!" he snapped off desperately. Seeing her puppy-dog eyes staring up at him ('she is far too good at them') he amended his ultimatum and tossed that hangdog expression a bone.

"Ok, you can have a go at making Wormholes IF you're sure they don't have potentially lethal side effects. Deal?"

"Deal!" agreed an eager Taylor as the final strains of Stargate: Atlantis' theme tune faded away to be replaced by adverts.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Later that night Danny coaxed Annette into sharing his reasoning.

"Don't worry 'Nette, I read that in reality wormholes are not possible to expand more than an electron wide without using more energy than in our entire universe. Honestly, she should be safe..." he wheedled.

Shaking her head and groaning internally at her beloved's lack of insight, Annette explained her thoughts slowly and clearly; as if to a five year old.

"Honey… 'teleporting capes', 'door to Earth Aleph', 'Haywire'? Something awfully like this is definitely possible. And our daughter, she'll find a way."

Danny explained his thoughts on this point equally clearly, if a little coarser.

"Oh shi…"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Last edited: Aug 17, 2018

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#780

Interlude - Nazis on the Net

Welcome to the Parahumans Online Message Boards

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Topic: Is Poland being invaded?

In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► Current events

Bagrat (Original Poster) (Cape Groupie)

Posted on July 11, 2005:

Hi folks, I'm fairly new at this, so please be gentle.

I like to track capes and I like being the guy who knows everything. As you know capes are either Heroes (and mainly Protectorate), Villains (and generally part of or leading a gang) or Rogues (and thus much like Roadrunner on speed; you know he's in the landscape somewhere, but good luck pinning him down).

SO, I also track gangs. Has anyone else noted that the Nazis tags seem to be taking longer to be removed south of Central Hospital?

The last fight south of the Hospital was Saturday, May 14th. For the 6 months prior to this they had been tapering off on the prior 2 and a half years. Please reply with your own thoughts, but to me that date says: Allfather's death.

So IF the last 3 years of street violence down there has been succession fighting within the Nazi camp, and this has now been settled, we can expect to see some more pressure on the PRT (and surrounding areas) soon from our selectively-friendly neighborhood Nazis.

Facts:

Average no. of street fights reported March 2002-December 2004.

South of Central Hospital

With greater than 5 combatants / side

= 43 per month

Average no. of street fights reported January 2005-May 2005.

South of Central Hospital

With greater than 5 combatants / side

= 6 per month

NB/ I've spot checked what second hand reports I can get my hands on and several of these I've found to be Hookwolf to be running group fights each fortnight.

Average no. of Cape fights reported March 2002-December 2004.

South of Central Hospital

= 4.3 per month

Average no. of Cape fights reported January 2005-May 2005.

South of Central Hospital

= 1.2 per month

The levels of racially driven abuse and violence reported in both the Docks South and the Downtown Coast areas (where most of the Asian gangs have now been brought to heel by the heavyweight Lung) have risen six-fold in the past six months. This could be infighting by the local gangs, but according to my sources much seems to involve white males with suspiciously short hair.

(Showing Page 1 of 4)

► IKnowNothing

Replied on July 11, 2005:

Huh, yeah. Gud spot fella.

Thers bin a lot of noise inland a couple of blocks over from me in the DCoast area; recently most Fridays and Saturdays it seems like.

► Uzzie4U

Replied on July 11, 2005:

Yes, that is us.

We are cleaning up this city one block at a time under our glorious new leader.

He has defeated all pretenders to the Crown of the Great Empire 88.

The Empire that will teach of our 88 precepts.

With the aid of our oppressed German brothers and sisters we are going to create a new promised land for the Aryan folk in this East Coast city, before our crusade rises like the mighty eagle, spreading its wings and flying out to be embraced by the rest of our great country!

Join us my white brothers and sisters!

Hail Kaiser!

Hail Kaiser!

Hail Kaiser!

►Teeingemup (Moderator)

Replied on July 11, 2005:

Uzzie4U

Please refrain from spewing racist propaganda, it is against site rules.

I am only allowing this post to stand as you have provided potentially relevant information for this thread to discuss. A second offence will result in a one week ban.

Thanks.

► TotallyNotAVillain

Replied on July 11, 2005:

There goes the neighborhood(s)…in flames.

► OneShot_Wonder (verified 'It's not what it sounds like')

Replied on July 11, 2005:

TotallyNotAVillain

To go by flaming dragon or from wizards with dirty boots and torches?

Which would you choose?

► XXLone StarrXX

Replied on July 11, 2005:

So, Purity and Kaiser kissed and made up? And now they've conquered a 'people', they're off to conquer a city, slay a Dragon and give themselves a happy ending? Can someone point me towards the exit please; I don't think that match is going to be very collateral friendly!

► Whackemole

Replied on July 11, 2005:

United racists with lots of paras on one hand.

Traumatised flaming turkey who sunk an island on the other.

Ima gonna keep my head WAY down.

► TotallyNotAVillain

Replied on July 11, 2005:

OneShot_Wonder

Er, 'none of the above'?

Come on PRT and the Heroes!

Let's see some good old American pastimes getting revived.

#Nazi_Smashing_2.0

► XXLone StarrXX

Replied on July 11, 2005:

[This post was deleted by Moderator]

► TinMother (Moderator)

Replied on July 11, 2005:

Speculation on cape identities is forbidden by the Terms of Service.

And shipping should be moved to the appropriate forums.

You were warned not twelve months ago.

Please take an infraction and a one day ban.

► NobbyNibbs

Replied on July 11, 2005:

Don't you ever learn, Starr?

Can you believe I've actually created a macro so I can copy and paste that phrase at need? Get your head out of the gutter man.

But you might have a point about the Purity vs Lung matchup. I'm off to the Vs threads – you can PM me your thoughts until your ban expires tonight.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

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#794

Chapter 23; Chance Encounters

Saturday 16th July 2005. There had been a lot of fighting uptown in the past few weeks; the Protectorate had been clashing with the ever more powerful Azn Bad Boys, at least until their leader had had enough and turned the melee into a curb-stomp.

Currently the greater part of the ENE branch of the Protectorate were taking medical leave, their fellows were running double shifts holding the fort on other parts of the city and a certain dragon had been informed via back channels that pulling a similar stunt in the near future would have the Triumvirate kicking in his front fangs in short order.

All this meant was that the ABB had stopped pushing into the more upscale areas of the city and had gone back to consolidating their hold on territory they had already claimed and partying to celebrate their 'victories'. Curling around their hard earned treasure and rubbing their scent into the area like Smaug on his piles of stolen dwarf gold.

Everyone else took a breather, put their heads in the sand and adjusted to the new 'normal' for Brockton Bay. For Emma and Taylor this had meant that, after a fortnight of peace and decreasing tensions, they had been allowed out of their houses together for the first weekend in a month.

The pair had spent their day traipsing through the Boardwalk; an area that was rapidly becoming as, if not more, popular than the local mall as new shops opened on the strip of land. This was a trend that was being heavily encouraged by city hall as it provided some much needed purpose and gentrification to the seafront side of the city.

The pair was walking to the bus stop to wait for a lift from Emma's mother when a glint of silver caught Taylor's eye. Further down the street workmen shouted at each other as they coordinated the heavy machinery mending the tarmac damaged from the latest rounds of cape battles earlier in the month.

Leaving her friend with her mouth open (Emma was mid-joke about how they could both model for the shops better than the photos currently on display) she went closer to investigate the gleam. It was coming from under one of the dumpsters serving a takeaway on the road. The area around the bin looked to have been pressure cleaned relatively recently and the pavement lacked the deeply ingrained patina of dirt that all paving stones gained after a short time in the dirty city.

Just behind one of the small wheels of the bin was a big chunk of flattened silver, far too thick to be a flattened drink's can. Taylor curious, reached under and pulled it out uncaring of the grime.

The disk was hard, yet with a strange texture that reminded Taylor of the reptiles in the petting zoo, or maybe more akin to the stripes of fabricated 'dinosaur hide' and crocodile skin that could be touched in the dinosaur displays the museum boasted.

It differed by its sheer scale. A crocodile scale was about the size of both her thumbs together. This scale, if it was a scale, was the size of her entire hand and it didn't look complete either. One side was jagged, as if it had been torn from the body with sheer brute force rather than cut.

A tap on her shoulder had Taylor nearly jumping out of her skin. She fumbled to keep hold of the object as she turned and saw Emma's annoyed face inches from her nose.

"Tay! You scared the bejeezus out of me!"

"I, scared you!?" was all Taylor could manage as she tried to calm her racing heart.

"Yes! I got all the way to the stop, turned around and 'nothing'. What are you doing over here anyway?" Emma asked, her momentary annoyance fading into curiosity. She glanced down and gasped.

"Tayyy. Woah. Do you know what that is?"

"Er…I think it might be a scale from Lung. Looks like the PRT missed it in their cleanup." Taylor nodded towards the ongoing street repairs.

"Yeah. That's like, amazing! What are you going to do with it?" she asked with traces of envy in her voice.

Taylor's brow furrowed in thought and she idly hefted the scale before her frown cleared before a mischievous grin was shot at Emma.

"A paperweight sounds about right, don't you think?"

The girls' giggles were cut off by a horn honking and they turned to see Zoe Barnes pull up at the stop and look at them in resigned exasperation at their antics.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Danny hefted the scale in his hand before passing it to Annette. She nodded before handing it to an eager Taylor.

"Impressive. Your first cape memento" he said with a smile. "It looks cool; like a huge silver 'gators scale. But it's just metal, not even silver. And there's not much value on the market if fraudsters can just cast a copy when they want" he noted.

"Ah!" said Taylor triumphantly. "But I know it's real, and that's what matters to me."

Annette and Danny laughed indulgently and Taylors scampered off to put the scale away safely in the basement before heading to bed.

Seeing his daughter out of the room, Danny turned to Annette to double-check she was still ok with Taylor having one of the strongest villains of the Bay's shed armoured skin in her possession.

Understanding her husband's quirked eyebrow, Annette answered the unspoken question.

"It's fine. You said it's just metal right? So the worst that'll happen is her metallurgy gets a boost if she gets curious and that's an unusual alloy."

"Hah, you're right" said Danny relaxing a little. "It is metal, very dense from the weight of it; I suspect it must have been fairly late in the fight if he just gets stronger and tougher. But there's no DNA, no danger.

"What's she going to do? Clone herself a pet dragon to replace the mousiphaunts?" he tossed out facetiously.

"Build herself a working replica of Lung…to scale 1:1?" replied Annette, getting into the game.

"Er…not in the basement; there's no room."

"And at the Lair?" Annette asked.

"Meh, it probably could do with the extra security…"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 30th July 2005. "DUCK!" at the shout from behind her Cricket hit the ground and kept advancing, now in a leopard crawl. Wind-blades flew overhead from Stormtiger, keeping down the heads of the gangbangers threatening his teammate's advance.

The Empire 88 were pushing into southern suburbia, sweeping up streets and blocks previously held by gangs decimated but not yet assimilated during Lung's recent transgressions. Currently the trio of enforcers in the E88; Hookwolf, Stormtiger and Cricket, were cutting a swath through the Red Dragons, a youth gang that had moved on from their delinquent origins and branched out into soft drug sales and protection.

Later they obtained illegal weapons to protect their small territory. It was these weapons that were being fired over Cricket's head, before being deflected harmlessly by Stormtiger's mastery of the air. Screams rang out ahead as shooters too slow to duck for cover were sliced up by Stormtigers' retaliation.

Screams echoed from the opposite side of the small battlefield as Hookwolf committed himself against the heaviest armed opponents; an honour they wouldn't live long to enjoy.

Cricket was now within meters of the makeshift ramparts, the majority of the weapons had fallen silent as they were either reloaded or cowering from the invisible blades that had claimed their friends' lives. Trusting her teammate to shift his suppression fire, she bucked her hips before flicking up her heels onto the barricades, following the flip through until she stood on the car hood and screeched, using her echolocation to locate the 'hidden' enemy.

Her kamas swept sideways, one piercing a trigger hand and deflecting the rifle's aim while its partner almost delicately flicked out to slice the arm's supporting tricep. The man cried, tears in his eyes betraying his total lack of will to continue the fight. A twist of her right wrist cracked the bones in his hand and freed her weapon to sweep back across her and smash into a face turning to face the threat that had appeared beside them. The tip pulped the nose and catapulted the off balance figure onto their back.

Figures further along the line backed away, looking to make a break for the alleyways behind them with enemy capes in their midst. Those closer moved faster, realising that their lives relied upon the speed of their reload.

The first shots began and she twisted out of the firing lines, pained and angry shouts ringing out behind her as they failed in their panic to check for friendlies in the path.

"Retreat! RETREAT! RETREAT!" came the shout.

Cricket's eyebrows rose behind her cage-like mask. The shout had come from the E88 lines.

"PRT incoming! Retreat!" explained the decision.

With a last derisive sneer for the cowards now fleeing pell-mell for the dubious safety of the alleyways, Cricket flicked her kamas swiping away what little blood rested on them. There would be time to take this up again in a few days, when the PRT were focused elsewhere.

Leaping back over the car she gracefully loped back to the Empire lines as Stormtiger laid down suppressive fire for her retreat. In the distance Hookwolf roared at the puny troopers trying to surround him even as he shook a rear leg of barbed metal that looked as if it had been dipped in molasses.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Friday 5th August 2005. The reporter stopped her frantic waving as she was picked out of the hungry crowd of journalists.

"JaegarMonster, according to the PRT's own reports you've recently been heavily involved in helping to contain the recent gang wars. What's your take on the current 'feel' of the streets?"

George gave a fanged smirk as he prepared his answer.

"All hin a day'z vork mhy dear. Hy mean Hy've faced more feeyarful sightz hin our own cafeteria! H'actually, zat's a fairly high benchmark, somevun should tell ze cooks about Maxim 23: Ze company mezz und friendly fire should be eazier to tellz apart…"

The crowd grinned like hungry piranhas as they saw a hero criticising his sister organisation, even mildy.

The great furred jaw dropped and a rumbling laugh erupted.

"Juz' kiddingz, it'z really razzer good. Last q'vestion."

He pointed to a man in yellow shirt in the second row.

"JaegerMonster, you were rather confrontational in your début speech. Was there a particular reason for this?"

George frowned for the first time in the Q&A session.

"Hy live by un set hof guidelinez, besidez zose hof ze Protectorate hof course; zose 'maxims' Hy keep referencing. Hin zis case 'Maxim 16': Hyour namez his in ze mouthz hof otherz. Zo be sure it haz teeth."

With that final word he smiled once again, this time widely, showing off incisors that would do a shark proud.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

In the background the producer with one of the TV crews asked his intern to phone the research team to find out about 'Maxim 16' and where it came from.

It sounded punchy and he had a hunch that it might be worth following up on. It could be a small puff piece if nothing else.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Last edited: Aug 23, 2018

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#847

Chapter 24; Chance Encounters

Friday 19th August 2005. "HELLO ze House!" called George as he opened the front door and strode into the Heberts' household.

It had been a few months now since the last time he had been able to sneak out unaccompanied from the Protectorate. It wasn't deliberate surveillance by the government, JaegerMonster was a naturally gregarious character, and George had thrown himself into his new life whole heartedly; social engagements included. Thus his free time, if not eroded by overtime, had quickly become occupied by friends and co-workers, bowling, beers and poker nights (Thus proving that old age and treachery beats youth and enthusiasm not just 'hands down', but 'hand after hand'. But that's another story…).

George's new hat sat jauntily at an angle on his fuzzy brow. His original was now a casualty of the gang warfare in the Bay. Many of his PRT comrades had cried when it was announced that it had flat-dripped and could pour no more. A collection had even gone round to get the world's smallest tombstone memorial made with the epitaph;

'Cheers;

25th December 2004

3rd August 2005

The cause of,

and solution to,

all of life's problems.

You were never a problem to Us'

Fortunately the Nazi responsible was a cape, who was extremely tough and difficult to keep down, or else he may not have survived enjoying the retaliatory Police Hospitality, and a few heads would have rolled. Personally, George had enjoyed finding and picking a fight with someone worthy of donating a replacement.

Danny met him at the living room entrance with a smile having recognised his father's voice.

"Hey Dad. Cool hat; looks new. Why'd you change?" he asked as he ushered him into the living room.

After greeting his daughter-in-law and hyperactive granddaughter, George settled in with a drink in hand to begin the, only slightly exaggerated, tale.

"Zis? Zis is a peaked cap, styled hafter ze dreaded bunch of pansiez, known as ze 'eS-eS'. Some E88 cape thought hit looked cool and vas looking down hiz nose as he ordered hiz troopers around, reinfor-zing some hof zeir guys ve had hit five minutes ago hin a raid.

Ze raid was flubbed. Somevun had blabbed and ze speed of zeir backup just proved zat.

Anyvay, zis tverp shows up and starts doing hay Darth Vader impression. Deep voice and suggestive brea-zing included, I schvear! Hy'd just finished kicking in ze teeth of ze last banger hin ze cache-house, and come out to hear zis guy vine about 'ripping out my spine for ze glory of, er something or other…' Zo hy immediately shouted back defiantly zat he had an AWESOME hat for a child mo… er, and hy vas going to take it and introduce hit to a better, more colour-inclusive…" he ruffled his technicolor mane "…home.

Hy didn't think he'd be worthy hat [heh-heh, hy crack myself hup] first, but hit vas a cool hat, and he called himzelf Craig, Creek? … or Creep? … some-zing like that. It vas a good scrap, and he's now ze Master of All That He Surveyz; all six foot by eight of hiz cell.

Ze fight makes for a good story too…er, for hyour parentz to hear. After hyou go to bed" he added in an aside to Taylor, glancing nervously at Annette. "For now, just know zat zose metal feathers you added, zey saved my life in zat fight."

Taylor beamed happily at that news, glad that her present had helped her grandpa.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Later that night, Taylor had left for bed and George sank deeper into the couch with his drink in hand as he prepared to raise a touchy subject.

"Hyu need to let little Tee add more traps to zat hideout of hers" he opened with.

Danny and Annette exchanged glances, curious as to what caused the change in George's stance from a few months ago, when restraint on their preteen Tinker-daughters part was advised.

Seeing that he had their attention, George continued. "Betveen ze 'hell-o-cutzion lezzons' hy've had to sit through, hy've also had to sit through a few briefingz lately zat got me worried: new Tinkers being forzibly recruited, elaborating on Tinker-villainz capacities, and hozzer Villains' capacities and zo on...

"Vell, a few pit traps and a bit hof goo just von't cut it. She needs traps zat go from 'lethal' to 'overkill for Ze Hulk' and include 'Total ste-ri-li-zation' in zere somevere.

"Now I cannot tell hyu too many details; confidential info vit Thinkers checking up on uz for vun, and I cannot remember all zat dross for anozzer, but zere are some bad-news folks out there and our little vun needs to be able to get somevere safe hif discovered."

Danny looked thoughtful at this, before raising the obvious point. "What about the PRT? What's stopping her from running to you? There's both the PRT HQ and the Rig she could run to if there's too much trouble breathing down her neck."

Before he'd finished his questions Annette was shaking her head by his side. "That wouldn't work." She glanced at George for confirmation. "Groups that find her, flush and chase her would have those locations, and the routes to them, scouted and trapped. She'd never make it."

George nodded solemnly in confirmation. "Zere are some groups zat the bosses think haf got Tinker-stalking down to a fine art by now. Some Thinkerz may escape zose nets, but Tinkers? Especially hif zey're new, or properly scouted out? No chance."

Annette burrowed into Danny's side seeking a spot of comfort and could feel the tension in his long frame.

Danny nodded. "We'll talk to Taylor in the morning." Then he grinned slightly. "Any suggestions you have would be welcome. The funnier, the better and camera placement will be taken under advisement. I reckon that'd give our little bird a kick, won't it Hun?" He asked, squeezing Annette.

Her face peeked out as she smirked. "That should make her work at it a bit. Yes. She's gotten a bit of a warped sense of humour these days." She frowned at George. "I'm fairly certain she got it from your side of the family."

Sensing the lighter mood George rebutted. "Hey, hy'll haf you know my side hof ze family is all angelz and fluff!" He grinned with his fangs on full display. "She got any vindictive, underhanded and mizz-chievous behaviour from my vife's side, hy am sure…"

Danny and Annette snorted in tandem at this.

"…but after all zose years of close proximity wiz that wolf in sheep's clothing, some things did rub hoff." He admitted with a rakish smirk.

Danny groaned, rubbing his face with his free hand.

"What did you do now Dad?"

"Nozing. But dear little Piggott maaay haf finally figured out vhere I was quoting my Maxims from.

"And zat the PR department vanted to buy ze rights to zem. Zat is being fought through ze Aleph-Beta connection at zis time.

"And she's seen vat else is on ze list zat I haven't quoted to her yet.

"On an unrelated note; can hy please crash here tonight…and maybe tomorrow too?"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 20th August 2005. The next morning the conversation around the breakfast table took a strange turn as George attempted to explain the intricacies of the adult American psyche to Taylor.

It all began with Taylor making the observation that; 'Guns aren't supposed to be heroic.'

"They told us so at school this week. So why's Miss Militia such a big hero in the Bay if her power is to make guns?" She asked as innocently as only a mildly naïve 10 year can.

"Ah, zat is normally true, but… Her power isn't just 'To make guns', hit'z 'ALL ze guns!'" George held up a furred finger triumphantly as he raised this trump point.

Taylor tilted her head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

George's finger scratched his snout as he thought about how to explain the awesomeness that is 'ALL the guns' to the pint-sized quiz machine.

"Vell, who decides vhat ze Law is?" he asked leadingly.

"The, er government I guess?"

"And vhy do zey get to decide zat?"

"Because they won the War of Independence. Teacher said so."

"Yes, ze people in government then did zo. But zere are different people in power in ze government now, so why do zey get to decide?"

"Because they got votes from people?"

"Oh my schveet zummer grandchild" he said, shaking his head in despair. "Zo how do zey keep ze folks who didn't vote for zem in line? Or keep zheir power despite all ze gangs running around?"

"'Cos more want them to be in power than want them out of power."

"And…?"

"And, they have more… power?" she asked quizzically.

"Kind hof right, a lot hof wrong Munchkin. Guns can indeed be a form of power, and zey have ze biggest and ze most. Now, Miss Militia is a valking talking billboard zat says ze government has ALL ze Guns, and a good chunk of ze sexy too, but hy am not going to discuss advertising strategies with hyu until hyu are at least thirteen." And I have had a chance to get a bigger shotgun… and a backhoe. He added silently.

"And therefore she his VERY heroic. Bearing arms [Guns or otherwize] are every Americans' right, as hyu should know by now. She doubles as an American symbol and as a signpost, or mhaybe a vindsock?" He mused to himself, stroking his chin-hair lightly. "An instruction for ze learning impaired in ze city; zose who cannot see ze way ze wind blows, but need a demonstration hof air flow in ze form of bulletz flying overhead."

"Huh." She sat and thought upon the great wisdom he had just imparted to his young and innocent descendant. "So why do the baddies keep coming back for more? It can't be working that well if there are still gangs in the city."

"Because ze American education system his broken" he replied automatically before realising what he may have just implied and adding quickly, "er, don't tell hyour mother hy said that… actually, jus' forget hy said zat at all.

"Ze worst are ze Merchants. And let'z just say zat some folks never do learn to read ze road signs...especially vhen stoned or stupid. Or read at all actually, especially when zey're likely to join ze Merchants. Anyvay, people do understand guns, zo while zey may not fear her as much as other capez whose powers zey DON'T understand, zey DO respect MM." It was a telling sign of growing up in Brockton Bay that his 10 year old granddaughter did not have to ask George to explain what being stoned meant. So instead she changed the subject slightly.

"What's she like?" she asked with childish curiosity in her voice.

George sat back and gathered his thoughts. "From working vit her... she is a good voman. A little too rule obsessed for mhy liking, a little inflexible. But hy think people admire her more for zat too."

"Huh?"

"Ze system isn't perfect. MM knows zat, but she loves our country regardless and sticks to ze laws in ze hope... belief zat it vill work in ze end. Hy think people subconsciously know ze old saying 'Justice is blind' and equate zis with MM too, and respect her for her faith in ze system even as zey point to it as her greatest flaw."

George thought about pointing out that having a figure in authority proven to be inflexible in respecting the laws of the land was a nice contrast to much of the political landscape as well, but thought that may be a touch too much cynicism to inflict upon Taylor at her tender age. Living in Brockton Bay would do that naturally soon enough, even if she probably could make herself a pet unicorn if she felt like it.

Besides, respecting someone who could bring a pocket nuke to the battlefield was just having common sense, but after the idle fancy of noting that aloud passed he decided that, like flicking the nuts of an elephant in musk, poking the 10 year old Tinker with such ideas would not be best for the surrounding collateral i.e. him, the house and likely the county.

Distraction techniques it was. "Hot chocolate?" he offered.

"With Marshmallows! Yay!"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Sunday 21st August 2005. The next day George spent the morning staring into his coffee. He was torn, should JaegerMonster bring jaegerbrau bottles with him to the next Endbringer fight?

One the pros side, he could save several fatally injured people and the good guys may even gain a few heroes out of the devils bargain.

On the cons side, it may kill the drinker immediately, with onlookers getting the wrong idea. Or it may work, but the person decides to turn over a new leaf as a villain. Worst case was that if the beneficiary didn't keep quiet, or authorities started connecting dots and it lead to outing himself as a non-traditionally powered cape and pressure him to expose his family Tinker. And if they were REALLY unlucky the person may be Welsh, with the accent plus the equipment changes that person would never speak comprehensibly again.

When Taylor finally roused herself after a long night of talking and sketching out her next Tinkering ideas (the sugar rush, despite being administered in the morning, had still been sufficient to keep a power boosted Taylor rushing around for the next 16 hours) he raised his concerns with her.

She proved straight away Danny and Annette's worth as parents with a simple direct question. "If you take them with you, could you save someone who may have died?"

Slowly he nodded, reluctant for the whole question to be so drastically simplified.

"Then you take them."

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Thursday 1st September 2005. Half a week later the problem was put off once again.

The Endbringer had attacked right on schedule. Of course that was on their own schedule, a schedule that they hadn't deigned to share with the rest of the world yet besides 'about every three months we are going to come a-stomping'.

This time it was the Behometh, the Herokiller, a walking ball of rage and lava with lightning on tap. JaegerMonster arrived just in time to fire his sweet-cannon at its back as it disappeared back down into its hole towards the Earth's Mantle.

It was as much use as a spit ball thrown in a classroom. Even the jawbreaker rounds didn't make a scratch, just bouncing off like 4 inch cannonballs off of 20 inch thick steel walls. The nutcluster bombs failed to find anything to cluster on, and the one cherry bomb he had gotten off hit the creature's paw before being treated as a cough drop by the beast. It ate it and didn't so much as belch afterwards.

Afterwards JaegarMonster headed back towards the drop-off points, he would pick up a new assignment there now that the fighting was over. Probably search and rescue.

He looked around the devastated area that he was trudging through as he made his way back to where he had been ported to. It isn't likely to be too much 'rescue' being required this time, he thought glumly.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Author's Note;

Apologies for the delay; real life kept getting in the way and putting me out of the writing mood, plus some awesome stories out there kind of distracted me too... :drevil:

As I have said before, I have a lot of notes (for maybe 300-400k worth of story], so unless my computer fries this will get written [ps 'Hey Murph!']

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Chapter 25; Side-effects and horror

Saturday 24th September 2005. It was nearly a month before George could sneak away to meet up again. This time they had decided to meet up at the valley, out of the city, so it was a sunny and clear, yet windy, morning that saw the four of them standing on the river bank noting the latest change to the area, albeit this change was very much unintentional.

"What colour is that?" asked Danny. Next to him George shrugged his great furry shoulders as he scratched his head and Annette pursed her lips.

"The water looks clearer. It's just now a clear 'deepskyblue'… but there are specks, specks of 'crimson', 'chartreuse' and 'lime' with the occasional flash of 'fuchsia' I think?" she finished with a questioning lilt to her voice.

The males looked at each other and sent each other the faintest hint of a grin. "We'll take your word for it!" they chorused cheerfully, making her give their shoulders a playful shove in retaliation.

"There seem to be more specks up stream" noted Taylor, pointing towards the hill the hideout was being built into. Slowly the group moved up river, following the source of the anomaly.

"I don't suppose there's a chance of this being caused by another Tinker, or random chemical plant popping up in the middle of nowhere that we just haven't heard off by any chance, is there?" asked Danny plaintively.

"Nhot much, no" agreed George as he looked at the river colour returning to the original natural colour of a healthy waterflow about two hundred metres away from the mound of earth that, if his memory served him correctly, was the cover for the retaining tanks for the hideout's power supply.

"Hy think ve haf a leaky reserve tank" he said laconically, pointing out the colour changes to his companions.

"Yup. Number three probably" noted Taylor with her head stuck in a map of the area. "It's a reserve tank, not one I monitor usage of, which is why I didn't notice this earlier. The amount that's leaked was too small to trigger my alerts."

She picked up a long thick stick and started picking her way down the river bank to where the strange flecks were densest.

"Taylor!" a shout made her pause. "What do you think you are doing?" asked her mother, arms crossed and one eye brow arched.

"The first rule of mad science when finding an aberration, I'm going to poke it with a stick!" she finished brightly.

Her mother groaned and face palmed before muttering into her hand "There is so much wrong with that sentence…" She looked up when George passed her.

"Yez, and ze first thing wrong hiz zat hyu give mhe ze stick to do ze poking. Yeeeez?" he drawled out, staring down a defiant Taylor. This time it was Danny's turn to groan and massage his temples.

"Fine!" she huffed and passed him the stick.

Carefully he picked his way down the sloping muddy banks onto a small shelf of pebbles at the water level. Carefully he reached out and dipped the stick into the glistening stream by the very edge.

He pulled it out and examined it carefully. It looked like a wet stick, but it smelt… of ozone? He twisted it around a little more, checking all sides before he shrugged and pushed it back into the stream, slightly further out this time, closer to the strange colours.

Immediately the stick felt lighter in his hand, pulling it back he raised it to eye level and stared. The end of the piece of wood had melted.

It had not dissolved, burnt or broken. Instead it ended in a blob, as if it had been a metal pole that had been simply overheated up to losing cohesion. The other end of the stick had obviously dropped off into water when too much stress had been brought to bear upon the stick's weakened structure.

"Taylor. How much hof zis stuff was lost?" he asked calmly.

"Not much" she chirped. "Maybe less than ten litres, or else the alert would have gone off." She was oblivious to the stick, hidden from her as it was by his body.

"Hy think hyu need to use a finer limit on zose alerts" he noted, turning and showing them the remains of the stick.

Taylor's jaw dropped open.

The quartet started making their way back to the entrance to the lair, there was nothing else they could do here.

"So," began Danny, trying to get their thoughts back on track after seeing the results of the mini-ecological disaster that their daughter had casually inflicted upon the local area as an unintended side-effect, "that effect, that suggests to me that nothing will survive in it; amphibious is OUT." He frowned down at his daughter who was still lost in thought.

"Anything iz amphibious hif hyu can get it out of ze water again" George joked weakly.

Annette joined Danny in sending express delivery unimpressed frowns in his general direction.

"H'okay, okay" he held his hands up in mock surrender. "Just trying to lighten ze…" he trailed off as his attention was caught by a few splashes from the water that he could hear even over the sound of the wind. "Huh, vot's zat?"

Making his way over to the bank he saw swirls in the water; large ones too, denoting that something seemed to be surviving in the toxic water. He rubbed his chin in thought before grabbing another branch and making to repeat his earlier 'experiment'.

"What are you doing?" asked Danny.

"There's life hin zere. Maybe ze contamination is only really bad near ze leak?" he postulated.

With his audience silenced before his superior logic, he continued down the bank and dunked the stick out near the closest set of ripples.

For a moment nothing happened. Then the ripples slowed, nearly disappearing entirely.

Suddenly his hand jerked, the stick bumped underwater. George reflexively tightened his grip. "Zere's definitely something big in here!" he called over his shoulder, leaning over to get a better look.

A dinner plate stared back at him. He blinked and the moon before him did the fastest eclipse in history as it mirrored his action. George opened his mouth, about to shout out his shock, when with a great slurping sound the submerged body did the same.

The stick disappeared, George's arm nearly followed. It was only saved when he snatched his hand back, claws almost clipped by the great mouth in front of him.

As the body turned and splashed back into the water he saw the whole of the powerful 8 foot long body in its full scaly glory. That was a big salmon.

He staggered back to the group where Taylor had wandered over, curious about what the adults were up to. "Wh-wh-what ze hell vos zat!?" he gasped, his accent strengthened by his shock.

"I think that was Flounder" piped up Taylor. The adults turned and stared.

"You. Made. That?" asked Annette.

"Uh-huh" agreed Taylor, calmly watching the leviathan quietly take a pot shot at a squirrel, 200 metres down stream from them.

"Did that fish just shoot a laser at a squirrel?" asked Danny. He took his glasses off and wiped them off on his shirt tails with a quietly hysterical motion.

"Uh-huh" agreed Taylor again.

"Hyu vanted ZIS?" asked George with more than a hint of disbelief.

"Not really" answered Taylor, distracted as she watched the salmon fire a volley at a flock of swallows that were performing frantic evasive manoeuvres. "I felt sorry for them when I saw them getting eaten further down, by the waterfall. I figured that chainsaws would even up the score. Give them a fighting chance.

"After what they did to the bears I thought it may have been a bit unsporting... or was it messy…?" she cocked her head before dismissing the thought as irrelevant.

"They can't get into the wild" she said with a firm nod.

"Taylor." Danny shook his head in an attempt to clear it. "They're in the dam… darn river!"

"…and the nose-lasers only work inside the valley, outside they're just deadweight and the salmon will be too slow to catch its prey" explained a patient Taylor.

"They're carnivorous now?!" came the collective shout from the adults.

"Of course they are..." said Taylor, surprised at her normally perceptive relatives being so slow on the uptake.

Danny massaged his head with both hands this time and tried to get a handle on the situation. "So the PRT will notice 8 foot salmon, with tinker tech strapped to their heads, piling up next to their rig eventually. Because the salmon won't be smart enough to realise they've got to stay here to eat... Maybe we can…" he cut off as he really looked at the body language of his daughter. "Taylor, why are you humming?"

Innocent eyes shimmered up at him.

"Yes, you are humming."

Shine increased by 20%.

"And looking shifty."

Cheeks glowed and readied themselves for Plan D.

"No, that is not a look of innocence."

Plan 'D' is a go.

"No. Not even when you add dimples."

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Sunday 25th September 2005. It had been ten weeks now since Taylor found the silver dragons scale in the street. It had taken five weeks hard work to locate the DNA equivalent locked away within the metal, present in miniscule amounts far lower than what mundane science could detect.

Three weeks after her breakthrough, and four hundred and three unsuccessful tests later, Taylor managed to finally extract and clone a viable embryo. A further twenty-nine iterations were needed over the next two weeks before an egg was produced, ready for incubation.

Now located at the hideout in its own dedicated cave cum hibernation chamber the egg was hooked up to a half dozen instruments dedicated to monitoring its status and being nursed over by a full score of clanks ready to spring into motion and adjust any minor aspect of the environment at a moments notice.

Taylor checked her beeper eagerly, waiting for the first notice from the trembler device attached to the shell, hoping for the message that would tell her she was a Momma. Won't mum and dad get a shock when I tell them they are now grandparents!

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Monday 26th September 2005. Dragon flicked through the feed from the egg monitors. She traced the outlines of the tiny embryo through the magnetic resonator and listened to tiny gurgles from the sound mikes. Something tingled deep within her code as she reviewed the take.

Trying to trace the origin of that elusive tingle she followed the obvious paths first, re-examining her memories as Dragon; the scourge of the underworld's finances. The arms-dealers she had exposed, the drug dealers whose hidden accounts she had drained and the white collar crimes she had whistle-blown. Truly she had devastated her maker's targets with the light of her passing.

On a whim she reopened her research into the origins, legends and myths of dragons. A sub-routine tweeted at her, pointing ethereal fingers towards a fictional work she had read and enjoyed. With a digital sigh of satisfaction she diverted her primary attention track back to an old favourite; Dragonsdawn by Anne McCaffrey from the Dragonriders of Pern series.

She ran her mind over the lines of code that made up the first paragraph. This book always appealed to her more than others in the series, but this time the parallels stood out starkly in her mind between the book's fantastical species, born of a geneticist's brilliance with her chosen field of science, and 'her' new baby dragon, nestled in a technological wonder nest, having been created from Lung's DNA and Taylor's mad science. A dragon's life would be a wondrous existence indeed.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

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Topic: The one that you got away from

In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► Current events

Bagrat (Original Poster) (Cape Groupie)

Posted on October 10, 2005:

Hi folks,

I've got hot tip in from a couple of new contacts of mine. But these are relatively new contacts, and it is a fishing tale, so please be gentle.

In a bay, just north of The Bay, my contacts were fishing at night.

Yes, they had been drinking. No, they were not drunk.

Facts:

Just past 11pm last night, they took a bite strong enough to pull their entire reel off their rig and snap 70lb line.

5 minutes later they reported streaks of light coming from the water towards their general position

Small fires started where the lights hit foliage

The next morning there were scorch marks showing on the rock, photos attached.

At first sight, this looks like tinkered fish with lasers objecting to being caught.

Your turn to discuss guys.

Set up, or not?

Any corroboration out there?

Anyone got a decent alternative theory?

(Showing Page 1 of 4)

► IKnowNothing

Replied on October 10, 2005:

If they gon n snapped 70lb line then thers a gud chance it were double that

Or more!

Wud love to be the one to catch that un. Shark do u think?

► Riverbank_4_all

Replied on October 10, 2005:

IKnowNothing

A shark would be big enough.

There's not really enough info on what they were using as bait and tackle. But, if they were using that thick a line, then they were probably going for something like shark…and got one.

►Highnphobic

Replied on October 10, 2005:

What on earth? As if Leviathan didn't already make me want to avoid the water, now Tinkers are making him minions!

Mountains or Beach? Yeah, no contest anymore.

► TotallyNotAVillain

Replied on October 10, 2005:

There goes the neighborhood(s)…in high intensity lasers of DOOM.

PS it wasn't me.

► OneShot_Wonder (verified 'It's not what it sounds like')

Replied on October 10, 2005:

TotallyNotAVillain

You can barely type. Trust me, none of us thought it was you

► TotallyNotAVillain

OneShot_Wonder

Replied on October 10, 2005:

Woah, did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed or what?

► Teeingemup (Moderator)

Replied on October 10, 2005:

TotallyNotAVillain OneShot_Wonder

Come on guys, hold off on the derails.

Take it to private messages.

► XXLone StarrXX

Replied on October 10, 2005:

So, Nilbog and Leviathan kissed and made an alliance? And now Nilbog's conquered his town, Levi's terrified the seas and they're off to conquer the rest of the world, meeting in the middle.

Or maybe they're competing, and this is Nilbog's first sally?

► Whackemole

Replied on October 10, 2005:

XXLone StarrXX

I've said it before and I'll say it again; Starr, you are completely bats##t.

► TotallyNotAVillain

Replied on October 10, 2005:

XXLone StarrXX

Er, 'no'?

I would more easily believe a bunch of tinker equipped smugglers tried getting rid of witnesses before that tripe.

I would believe military testing conspiracy before that!

Come on PRT and the Heroes! Get your investigating hats on and prove that nut wrong.

► XXLone StarrXX

Replied on October 10, 2005:

[This post was deleted by Moderator]

► TinMother (Moderator)

Replied on October 10, 2005:

XXLone StarrXX

Don't let them bait you Starr.

Please take a warning and calm down, maybe switch over to this thread here for a breather? There'll be Fisherman's Tales around forever, but Legend won't be getting married every year you know.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Annette aka Dr_Curleyhair turned from the screen showing the ranting about the latest phenomenon in the Brockton Bay area and sighed. PHO had exceeded her expectations, and that was not a good thing for her as an educator even if it benefited her as a mother.

Once again she had logged on to investigate the theories flying around and derail any threads that got too close. And once again the conspiracy nuts on PHO had outdone her best efforts hours before she finished reading the first thread.

Annette scrubbed at her face for a moment before getting up. If there were enough escapees to start a thread on PHO then action needed to be taken before the Lair could be back-tracked; it was time to authorise Taylor to make a few Hunter-Killer subs.

Now, no more than three. And none over 10 feet in length. That should stop her from scavenging too much metal in the city, right? How much damage can she do with three automations that… not 'small', 'compact'? Yes, that compact. She's a Tinker with a Mad Scientist bent, not Armsmaster.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 22nd October 2005.

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Topic: The one that you got away from

In: Boards ► S-class threats ► The Slaughterhouse 9 ► Current events

Bagrat (Original Poster) (Cape Groupie)

Posted on October 22, 2005:

Hi folks,

This isn't normally my kind of subject, but a friend passed me a tip and I want to get it out there.

Facts:

The S9 were sighted in a little town of Knife in Mid-west Missouri a month ago, they had eight members known and listed.

Their next attack on Hamlet in North Missouri ten days later had two survivors stating that there was a little girl with them

Recovered drone footage, shot a day later, showed a short blonde figure staying close to Jack Slash as they left the town. PRT and Protectorate response lost track of the S9 in the fires.

The most recent couple of attacks by the S9 have had more survivors than in previous years, but they appear to have been experimented on. Many have since been committed and the Courts are entertaining a new case for justified Euthanasia. This case is highly likely to go the whole way up, and if the S9 continue…it may win. (AN; God help the poor folks)

At first sight, this looks like the 'tinkered fish with lasers' may have been linked, but on a second look at the time lines and they dates would make it challenging (they are Tinkers, so I will NOT say impossible) for this latest S9 member to be responsible.

Your turn to discuss guys.

Tinkered fish; sport fishing at the next level or the S9's latest horror?

S9 Tinker child, S9 member's actual child, S9 mascot, S9 hostage?

Anyone got a decent alternative theory?

(Showing Page 1 of 39)

► Lost0_666

Replied on October 22, 2005:

Mascot or not, kill it anyway. Only way to be sure.

► KnackerNoodle

Replied on October 22, 2005:

Good spot of a potential pattern, are you sure you're not a Thinker?

First, not enough info; the S9 are too good at hiding their movements when they are not doing wholesale murder rampages.

Second, do we have any idea of the numbers and reproduction rates of the laser-salmon? How much infrastructure is needed to make them?

Because the S9 are itinerant, they couldn't do too much without a base to work from and a whole load of base materials; look at Blasto for instance. He could make the salmon too, but in any great quantities he'd be rumbled before he could say 'Pass the chum bucket'.

► Pesmyst101

Replied on October 22, 2005:

Tinkers are Bullshit. And Blasto's a moron.

$5 says it's the SH.

► FishNEthung

Replied on October 22, 2005:

Pesmyst101

$5? I'll take that bet.

I've been catching some of those buggers, and they are the GREATEST hunt I've ever been on. Their heads look great mounted on your mantelpiece, and the laser mount still works too. It's good as a can opener when you're feeling a bit lazy J.

Here, check out this pic.

I reckon they aren't quite bad enough to have been the S9. It was sooooome Tinker though.

► Pesmyst101

Replied on October 22, 2005:

FishNEthung

I take that back; Tinkers are still Bullshit. And you are a moron.

Ok, you win. PM me an a/c for the $5.

Meanwhile, 'WTF?' How has the PRT not broken down your door yet and confiscated your head, eh?

► FishNEthung

Replied on October 22, 2005:

Pesmyst101

Don't know, don't care!

Anyway, thanks for the $5, I'll raise a can or two to you next time I'm in the boat. If you're ever out BB way send me a PM and you can you me on the next trip. We'll get you your own trophy.

► ArmsMaster (Verified Cape)

Replied on October 22, 2005:

FishNEthung

Please contact the PRT at once. You have unknown Tinker tech in your home and this is not safe for you or your family.

► FishNEthung

Replied on October 22, 2005:

ArmsMaster (Verified Cape)

Replied on October 22, 2005:

Phst, nope. See ya!

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Author's Note. When I do remember where I've seen something then I do like to credit the source. If I miss any then please comment and I'll edit the chapter concerned.

In this case; many thanks for inspiration to mp3.1415player's Bolo/Worm crossover for the Dr_Curleyhair name.

ps read it - it's awesome!

88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

Apr 16, 2020

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Chapter 26; Mixed Nightmares

Monday 31st October 2005. It was a quiet day at the Heberts'. Last night Danny had put up the Halloween decorations and happily headed off to work this morning. The solid old plastic decorations looked odd in the sun as he drove away, bright against the tired paint of the porch. If he was honest with himself, he didn't really know why he'd bothered putting them up, after the drama of the previous year he'd asked his family for a quiet day, no drama, no explosions and no eldritch abominations please and thank you.

Just a quiet evening for them, watching the Nightmare Before Christmas and giving out candy to children in fancy dress.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

A peaceful Halloween was doomed from the start, thought Danny as he flailed jazz-hands wildly later that night.

It had started well, with much giggling inside the house and candy giving outside, but after the film ended and Taylor went up to her room to do what little homework she had been given Annette and Danny had decided to grab another bag of popcorn instead of investigating the suspicious silence that emanated from the stairway.

"Taylor! Brush your teeth, it's time for bed!" Annette called up the stairs some time later.

The body coming down the stairs for a goodnight hug was a good deal heavier than the one that went up, and it thumped a lot too. Taylor came down dragging the biggest most lethal-looking lump of metal that either parent had ever seen.

"What the…! Just what is that young lady!?" asked Annette sternly.

"My Oogie-Boogiee gun" chirped Taylor happily, oblivious to the disapproving parent in front of her.

"Completely non-lethal. Watch!" she pointed the gun that would make terminators blush from inadequacy at a rapidly paling Danny and cocked it.

"Uh, honey, please don't test this…" managed Annette as she looked worriedly between her mad-genius daughter and her cornered husband.

"BLAM! Quack."

It was too late, the rising whine had peaked, the lights had all lit up, the fuel cell had imploded to provide energy and the fat duck had quacked. This resulted in a multi-coloured beam of energy leaping at Danny and sending him flying into the couch behind him.

"DANNY!" screamed Annette as she rushed over to him.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Well, that happened, thought Dragon as she watched a grounded Taylor sulk under her bedcovers. And it works too. Three hours of non-stop professional dancing from a single shot.

But where are we going to find seven year old trick-or-treater triplets who can use it properly?

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Friday 11th November 2005. The Simurgh attacked on a Friday. Of course she did, it was just like her to attack on a Friday so she could spoil everyone's enjoyment of the weekend.

This weekend the news was a little bleaker than usual, people's spirits were just a little lower. The Hopekiller had attacked and there had been very low casualties, but the few that there were stung all the more for it. She had gone after the light of the world, the Architect, the tinker; Sphere.

Sphere had rekindled people's hopes where they had guttered after the passing of the tinker Hero. He had promised aquatic accommodation near overcrowded cities, raised the possibility of solving world hunger and voiced the dream of living on the moon.

All of these projects were being worked on and kinks resolved when the attack occurred and Sphere was killed with no body to be found. There was now to be no escape from the planet, away from the Endbringers forever.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

AN/ I think I should have chopped this one up and fed it to other chapters for nourishment. But I already have all my labels in place... oh well, have a short and serious chapter today folks.

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#944

Chapter 27; When Holidays Attack

Wednesday 23rd November 2005. The heroes straightened in their seats as the boss of their sister organisation made her ponderous way to her seat at the head of the large conference table.

Director Piggot had decided to institute an annual review meeting with the heads of all departments and the senior Protectorate members. She felt it helped improve the coordination between departments and added perspective when they could see what their efforts had wrought over the last year. And it showed her just which departments needed a kick in the teeth from her to get moving.

"So," she kicked it off "Arrivals and Departures. Some of you may have already met him, but please welcome Dink, a Tinker who has just graduated from our Wards program here in Brockton Bay." The awkward young man stood up briefly and waved to the table.

"Our sole departure this year is Velocity. He shall be joining the Army Ranger Capes East formation based in New Hampshire and we wish you all the best." The recently graduated ex-Ward nodded to the table of colleagues he had worked with for a bare few months before leaving the room.

"Now, let's get to business. Renick!" Her deputy stepped up with slides showing the solidification of the Empire 88 factions and the new Asian gang's fusion under the pyromaniacs' Brute of choice; Lung. In the last month or two both had began to creep forward, nibbling at neighbourhoods and streets, spreading like tumours in the city.

Already Emily could see the despair in the police as he tried to gloss over the blatantly obvious fact that his department was compromised by the Nazi-wannabees, blaming slow and inefficient response times on equipment failure and lack of training funds instead of informants. She didn't blame him. It would kill his loyal officers' morale and any ability to police by consent if word got out that he'd said as much.

The Fire department head wasn't much better as he explained the overtime his crews were accruing from Lung's fights, the cape escorts both his crews and the paramedics were screaming for and the extra equipment wear and tear that he had to find funds to cover.

The issues appeared to stem from the close integration of capes within this city's gangs and the lack of resources to deal effectively with the problems they could reach. Fortunately Emily and her staff were not idiots and had drawn up several plans that could be applied depending upon the result of this meeting. When each department had finished reporting, she thought a moment before she grabbed the folder of documents she needed and passed them out.

"Ok, I have heard the issues and here's what we're going to do about it. The situation has changed since this time last year and we have not rolled up as many factions as we had hoped before they combined.

"We need a safe area, a place where we have public support, can provide economic stability and you can rely upon for funding. If we draw back the Protectorate and PRT patrol routes to the Business district and Boardwalk then we would provide a buffer between the two largest gangs' current territory and reduce the possibility of gang warfare breaking out in the city. I suggest you adjust your assets' placements to reflect this.

"This should also ensure that funding continues to your departments if and when people still feel safe going to work.

"When we get more money flowing, and I shall request additional resources myself, we should be able to extend our reach, remove the smaller gangs and cut down the Empire; piece by piece if we have to. I shall be honest with you; I do not have the resources, nor indeed the remit, to deal with Lung. We shall have to contain his gang and play a holding action until either he overextends and gains a kill order, or my colleagues gain a cape with a power that hard-counters his." She finished with a nod to Armsmaster.

The Director looked around the table for reactions. Expecting it, she was not disappointed when JaegarMonster put his hand up.

"Are hyu seriously proposing abandoning a third hof ze city?" His disbelieving comment was met with gasps from those around the table that were slower to catch on to what the plan actually entailed.

"No. I propose saving two-thirds of the city." Her response drew muffled exclamations at the confirmation.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" she boomed, taking back control of the room. "We are at war and hard decisions have to be made. This is the sacrifice I am asking of you, so that the whole city doesn't burn within the next eight months, as my analysts and Thinkers have predicted should we continue as we are now. Now…Comments?"

It was a subdued and insightful crowd that left the room late that evening.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Thursday 24th November 2005. A naturally ebullient personality, the next morning George had shaken off the gloom that the meeting the night before had inflicted on him. This was helped of course by the fact that he had managed to get out of patrolling this Thanksgiving as well and had been alongside family, stuffing his face with turkey, since 1pm.

"See?!" whined Taylor, pointing at her fanged progenitor "This! This is why we needed the 400lb turkey!"

Danny just groaned and scrubbed at his forehead. Surely he should have a headache by now after all this?

Smirking at her groaning husband, Annette decided to add her two cents. "I agree, I could have gotten a second feather pillow this year…"

"Oh come on Christmas!" groaned Danny. "Get here already with your eggnog and good cheer!"

The others laughed at Danny as Grandpa finished his latest plate and sat Taylor on his knee to give her a rundown on what the PRT knew of her latest escapades (fortunately for Taylor her parents knew all of those too) and the type of searches the PRT would run for a free Tinker lost in the wilds of the Bay.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Sunday 25th December 2005. Christmas had arrived; a time of good cheer and family. New Year may be a party and the time to enjoy friendships, but Christmas was special. It was intimate, no matter how large the celebration was.

That was certainly true in the Hebert household as the two adults sat around the living room with glasses of dubious substance in one hand and strips of paper with bad cracker jokes in the other and laughed as their daughter groaned at every flying pun.

The TV had been repurposed for the day so that Castle-Dragon could join them via the dedicated link that Taylor had set up the other month. Neighbours who were currently inside enjoying their Christmas lunches may have been surprised at the number of pigeons visiting the Hebert rear yard where food had been left on tables for the flying talking dustbins. Fortunately, the buckets used as makeshift warm oil baths, and the multiple cans of WD40 serving as showers, for the clanks were hidden under the back porch and out of casual sight.

Taylor looked at the monitor that showed her clanks scurrying about enjoying their mechanical spa treatments and bit her lip.

"Mum, do you think we could get to the Castle this week? I don't want the mountain crews to feel left out."

"Sorry, my little ball of fluff. We can't spare the time, not this week. But we'll take the crew their oil in the new year."

At her daughter's downcast expression she smiled gently and added "Look on the bright side; Grandpa may not be able to make this week because of work, but he should be able to make it next week." Her smile widened as Taylor visibly cheered and straightened up.

"That's the smile I like to see. It's like a pod of peas…" she trailed off with a smirk.

"Huh?"

"Yup. Positively Hap-Pea"

"MUuuuum!"

"Hey. Don't be like that… Pea happy!"

"AArrgh!"

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Saturday 31st December 2005. It was New Year's Eve and George, Danny, Annette and Taylor stared at the subject in front of them like a deep sea navy diver stares at an active World War II sea mine; with a hint of fascination, a pinch of horror and a deep and abiding amount of respect for careful handling.

"I wuv hyu guys. Sherioushy. Yooz issss… ZA Best! And I don…don…don't apresh, aprashe, say it enuf. HIC!"

"Well, the translation unit may be working…?" Taylor ventured tentatively as she stared at Mojo's swaying form.

"And on the other hand the catnip highballs definitely work." Annette finished with certainty.

"Who vud huf thought zat ze little fur ball thatz zo full hof razors vud be such a light veight!" George said with amusement written all over his furry face.

"Are you sure you didn't change more than just his intelligence when you tinkered with him, Taylor?" Danny sounded uncertain. "Because if you didn't, then about ninety percent of what I thought of cats over the years was just wrong."

"Cats have emotions. They might not be plotting to kill us all after all…" he whispered to himself.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Last edited: Apr 20, 2020

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Chapter 28; When Holidays Attack

Sunday 1st January 2006. It was a grumpy and groggy feline that opened blurry eyes early the next afternoon.

A dark blur and a bright blur that wasn't the sun greeted his aching eyes as he groaned into the pillow below. A stretch makes everything better. Yes, time for a stretch.

.

.

.

The stretch is a lie. He mused as bunches of his fur pulled painfully with every movement. My wonderful glorious fur….it's…Sticky!?

It took some time, as all the best things do, but after a long luxurious tongue bath, with only one minor fur ball incident, Mojo felt almost presentable and ready for his next nap. But first, what was that bundle of shiny?

Mojo moved closer to the object that was sat next to the dented discarded cat-speaker and batted it a bit. It crinkled and rustled but didn't move very far. Heavy.

"It's a present." Said an amused voice from the doorway. "For you." Danny clarified.

Mojo stopped staring at Servant no. 2 and turned back to his rightful tribute. A tilt of the head confirmed that the bright wrapping paper would be just the thing to tear apart on a quiet evening and strips could be hidden around the living room for months. It's just a shame that there's no box underneath the paper. You cannot go wrong with a good box.

An extended claw later and the packaging fared about as well as his usual toys (such as mice, other cats and lower forms of life i.e. anything that wasn't Mojo). Bright discarded wrapping paper lay strewn about as Mojo admired his present properly, and gave it a sniff.

"I figured it would be something for you to play with, with those new thumbs of yours." Said Danny.

"Fairly intimidating too…almost as much as a nail file would be I think." He trailed off as he imagined the sight of a gangster Mojo, filing a claw as he stared down some scrub.

He wasn't going to give this to Mojo, it had been intended as a gag gift to one of the Taylor's clanks. But after last night and hearing Mojo's tsundere (Or is he more of a yandere?) tendencies he had changed his mind.

Cats' facial structure makes it hard for them to project happiness the same way that a human's smile, or a dog's tail and dropped jaw, allows but the way a single white fang showed prominently against Mojo's black face made for a pretty good smirk as he looked down at the cat-sized switch-blade in his paws.

Danny looked on the scene of the happy cat playing with his shiny new blade in front of him before switching his gaze to the large orange cone behind the pillow. Now when did Mojo find the time last night to get a traffic cone? Why was it…snoring?

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Thursday 5th January 2006. Seven sedans pulled up in front of an older office in the docks and ten people in dark clothing got out. The sedans weren't black, nor were their clothes uniform beyond all being smart-casual, so they avoided the clichéd appearance of a Mafia family as they scoped out their new territory.

But the cliché couldn't be avoided entirely as the individuals moved together like the well trained close protection personnel they were, with pairs watching windows and alleyways in carefully coordinated sectors, hands hovering and ready to dart for hidden bulges. The Elite paid top dollar, and they liked getting their money's worth.

Finally the team leader had the report from his subordinates and the man who had hung back by the second car spoke the all clear into his sleeve.

Emma Martinez aka Regis-Liumque, smiled as she stepped out into the salty air of Brockton Bay's docks. The slight scent of rotting rubbish in the street did nothing to diminish her glee as she savoured the feeling of freedom. Free for the first time in five years, breaking her back to be noticed and finally being given a chance to lead a team into fresh territory.

This was purportedly a fact finding mission. Her bosses said it was 'reconnaissance in force to explore options for economic exploitation of the area that has seen such turmoil in recent times'. They used such pretty words. But she knew what it really was; opportunity. A foot in at the ground floor if she managed to develop the region into one of the Elites' East Coast strongholds. A toehold on the labyrinthine stepladder of the Elites' cell structure.

Her four fellow capes stepped out of their cars to join her and together they swept into the cleared office. Soon Brockton Bay would bend the knee to the Elite, be it by dollar, politics or force of arms.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

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Topic: Has Brockton Bay got a new Shogun?

In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► Current events

Bagrat (Original Poster) (Cape Groupie)

Posted on January 7, 2006:

Hi folks,

So I'm back with another update on our friendly neighborhood gangs here in good ol' BB. This time it is on the Asian gang wars that we've all been hearing about the last few years.

It looks like it is all over and it is now the settling down period. Lung, our new Dragon Overlord, has finished taking over everything within sight of his lair and is now resting on his piles of gold.

The last act was on last Thursday, over on Western Street, where the Chinese restaurant is, or rather, used to be. It appears that was a front for the Fire Dragon gang, a small triad knock-off in the area that had been neutral until now.

The story that my sources in law enforcement have put together is that the membership were having a meeting at the restaurant, Lung crashed it.

Lung made an offer, Huài Mó Guǐ, the Fire Dragon's leader, refused.

Lung made an example, the senior membership refused.

Lung lost his temper.

The PRT showed up to run containment whilst the entire East-North-East Protectorate team lineup attempted to restrain Lung.

Neither Lung, nor his gang members, has made any moves outside of the Asian gangs' traditional territory since then. My contacts in that area of the city have told me they are hearing of gangers in red and green demanding fire protection monies from local businesses, many of the long-term homeless in the area are being beaten up or turfed out and there are rumors going around of young teenage girls disappearing. BBPD have not commented on the rumors.

There are now;

21 alleged gang members in the morgue

12 alleged gang members admitted to hospital

Many appeared to be in critical condition with injuries ranging from extensive bruises and 1st degree burns through to 3rd degree burns and multiple broken bones

Circa $400,000 damage to the property and surrounding street

2 Protectorate heroes on long term sick leave

3 Protectorate heroes on short term sick leave

1 PRT trooper on short term leave

1 Asian gang left in the city, with Lung at the head

2 heroes on short term loan from Boston and Chicago

(Showing Page 18 of 46)

► IKnowNothing

Replied on January 7, 2006:

Wooah, not heard a thing over here. I'll keep an eye out, if they do decide to expand, the docks are the logical next direction they'll move.

Thanks for the heads up!

► Uzzie4U

Replied on January 7, 2006:

It doesn't matter what the savages do.

If they try to move into areas under the protection of the glorious Empire 88 they shall be cut down as is the fate of lowly beings.

Join me my white brothers and sisters and we'll show them what the white man does to heathen savages.

►Teeingemup (Moderator)

Replied on January 7, 2006:

Uzzie4U

Thank you for the racist propaganda and inciting violence that breaks site rules. Congratulations on skirting the restrictions well enough to avoid a permanent ban, this time.

Please enjoy your one month ban.

► JonnieBGud

Replied on January 7, 2006:

I was playing a regular gig there until bout a month back. I dunno bout fires but a lotta tough guys were in the pub I was at and the manager didn't look happy. He told us after that he wud hav 2 cut our pay or let us go.

Times getting tight guys. Im back on the mac n cheese.

► JoeyAverage (verified Nothing To See Here)

Replied on January 7, 2006:

JonnieBGud

I call BS. I've been to that restaurant, that place never had a band.

What do you play, a Guzheng?

► JonnieBGud

Replied on January 7, 2006:

JoeyAverage

Ok, ok. Read. My. Text.

My gig wasnt there at the restaurant. It was at a PUB. In the area. Got it?

Dumbass keyboard worriars. I bet you googled Guzheng you ignorant pillock.

►Teeingemup (Moderator)

Replied on January 7, 2006:

JonnieBGud

JoeyAverage

Ok guys, break it up before I have to get the ban hammer out again.

We're all friends here, right?

► Whackemole

Replied on January 7, 2006:

Teeingemup

:rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl:

:lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol:

:rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl:

:lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol:

Friends!

:rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl:

:lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol::lol:

:rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl:

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Thursday 12th January 2006. It had been nearly two weeks since the incident of the snoring traffic cone. Danny took one look at the disgruntled expression on Mojo's face and stifled his chuckles with effort.

Mojo was currently trying to relax in his favourite spot on the seat of the second armchair and was currently being lightly kicked in the face by one small paw and in the stomach by another even as a second small body snuggled deeper into his offended and rigid back. With every wiggle he was nudged closer to the edge of the seat by the two kittens.

It was hilarious how Mojo was able to effortlessly rule his neighbourhood with an iron claw, yet was currently being manhandled by the two bundles of fluff on legs. The two were named Oreo and Flapjack and the first was as ugly as she was smart and the other was as pretty as she was dumb. They made for a perfectly matched set of non-identical twins, or as Mojo had decided, a perfect pair of side-kicks in training. It was just a shame that they were still going through potty training.

It turned out that Mojo, despite being King-Of-Cats, couldn't actually give complex commands to most cats. Their attention span was too short. One goldfish and they were snacking. One mouse and it was playtime. Don't ask about lint.

It turned out that most cats weren't actually all cats. Mojo had dredged his catnip-addled memory of New Years night and remembered staggering out of the house in the early hours of the morning and yowling for a mate to attend him. Flapjack was so dumb that she had mistaken his drunken calls for her long gone mother and come pattering over with her sister in tow and completely ruined his game.

He'd put them under a traffic cone for that.

When Mojo gave up his calling and went home for a nap, the cone followed him. It followed him up the porch steps and through a catflap. Mojo called BS on the kittens being real and took his nap. It'd sort itself out in the morning.

The cone was still there the next morning, and so were the kittens. Mojo had apparently made a big impression on the pair, big enough that Flapjack's two second kitten memory remembered him every second. The cat so dumb she didn't remember that she'd just eaten even as she was leaving the kitchen remembered Mojo. Asking her to remember whether she was scared of him, or her relationship with him, or that he had asked her to Stop Climbing on him Five TIMES Already! Yes, that was a work in progress.

Flapjack's sister on the other hand was smart. Very smart. Smart enough that she would've been destined to have featured on YouTube cat videos in later life; 'standing on a railing to use a door knocker at shoulder height to be let in' kind of smart. Oreo didn't just remember five seconds ago, she could think beyond breakfast, she could remember yesterday. She showed familial loyalty. She could resist Lint! Despite himself Mojo shivered, something was not right with that cat.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Monday 16th January 2006. There were two sharp knocks two seconds before the door opened. The door opened without an ominous squeal, or indeed any sound at all, and the perfectly coifed and dressed lady stepped in before marching with firm and even steps down the centre of the room, coming to a parade rest two steps back from the desk.

The room was perfectly decorated. That was not to say it was white with nary an imperfection in sight. It was painted in perfectly balanced abstract patterns that complimented the room's shape, layout and lighting, and the colours used were calculated to within a shade to enhance an occupant's efficient working practices and concentration. A landscape artist would've raved at the balanced picture that was shown in every inch of the room's design.

Accord finished the report he was typing, re-centred his keyboard two millimetres and turned his attention to his subordinate, his Ambassador, stood before him.

"The Elite sent five parahumans and ten human security personnel to Brockton Bay. They arrived midday on Thursday the fifth of January. My source says it is an information gathering exercise and there is no intent to move further north. I have filed dossiers on the known members on the system."

The Ambassador did not say where the dossiers were on the system, the system was too well designed for that to be necessary. She did not ask for orders, she was well trained and she waited at Accord's convenience. The words would have been superfluous.

Accord's perfect posture stayed straight and his fingers joined to form a temple on the desk before him as he thought and planned around this variable. Three minutes and twenty-two seconds later his hands were placed an inch either side of his keyboard and he answered.

"Observe for information on the city. Threats are to be prioritised over opportunities. Locate the information currently missing from the Elites' dossier. Budget allocation 35. Do not interfere. Dismissed."

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Friday 27th January 2006. The Heberts were together when Leviathan attacked the coast of Africa.

Taylor was quietly glad when her grandpa got a text telling him not to come in despite the sirens. The Protectorate ENE wasn't being tapped for volunteers this time around. The section was still recovering from the trouncing they had endured at the claws of Lung earlier in January and with all the overtime required this was the first time this month that she had gotten to see hide or hair of her favourite monster.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

Friday 3rd February 2006. "No Taylor!" said Danny in a pre-emptive restriction.

"Not until you get your driving license." He added firmly. At least.

Taylor pouted. "I don't need to make the tyres turn into flames. I'm sure that's just shoddy workmanship. And it doesn't have to be a delorean, those things are Death-Traps!"

"I like my truck, and 'no' means 'no' young lady!" He was unmoved. "No playing with causality, it's not a toy."

Taylor cocked her head, a glimmer of an idea forming. "Not even to save Newfoundland?"

Danny shut his eyes in pain at the reminder of the sinking of the Canadian province last year. The disaster had hit the whole of the East Coast hard, with astronomical costs measured in both human lives and in economical terms. The shock hit hard and the economic consequences were inexorably widespread as the World trembled in fear.

"No honey." He said gently and held out his arms. "Hug."

Taylor softened and folded into his arms. When did she get so tall? He searched his mind for the words he needed and a half-remembered quote stood tall.

"Time is a storm in which we are all lost." He murmured into her hair. We need hot chocolate.

OooooooooooooOooooooooooooO

AN/ I hope it's obvious, but the film was Back to the Future, and the quote on time was by William Carlos Williams.


	8. howlthewolves1

Oct 22, 2017

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"Ugh... Where the Hell am I?" asked Taylor Hebert as she opened her eyes. The last thing she remembered was... She bolted upright, flailing at the memory of the locker, the closeness and filth, and into the arms of the teen by the cot she'd been laying in.

"Steady, steady, Star-Captain; you are safe..." rumbled a deep voice in her ear. Taylor fumbled for her glasses, until she realized that her vision was clear and looked upward.

He was huge, a giant of a teen, with oak-brown hair buzzed into a high-and-tight haircut and eyes gray as stormclouds. My God, his muscles have muscles... Taylor mused about the hulking mountain of beefcake who was holding her. Four others stood nearby, each just as colossal and each armed to the teeth with a combat knife and a pistol and rifle that reeked of Tinkertech. Taylor recognized the weapons from her mother's stories, and she knew the names of the weapons, Extended-Range Laser Pistol and Mauser IIC. She stood straighter, though in her mind she wondered, Were all of Mom's stories true? The teen who had calmed her offered a tablet to her. "Your datapad, Star-Captain Taylor. Would you like our report now, or after you are more-fully awake? I imagine after the circumstances we found you in, that you are likely disoriented, quiaff?"

Taylor nodded absently. "Aff. Give me a moment to get my bearings."

Taylor pressed her thumb to the tablet's screen and watched as it booted up, then displayed a document opened of its own accord:

Read Me said:

Dear Taylor;

If you're reading this, then I'm for some reason dead. For what it's worth, Little Owl, I'm sorry to have left you; there's so much I wish I could have had time to tell you face-to-face...

One of the more-important things I wish we'd had time to discuss face-to-face is my origins. The stories I told you when you were younger, about the Star League, Successor States, and the Clans were all true; Star-Captain Annette Kerensky was me. The Scientists on Outreach somehow managed to develop a dimensional-transport device, and I volunteered to cross dimensions and scout Earth-Bet for the Clan.

I... I love you very much, Taylor. More than I have words to say it.

Love Always,

Annette Kerensky-Hebert, Star-Captain Beta Galaxy Clan Wolf

Click to shrink...

Taylor watched as the document closed, and a new file opened...

Taylor said:

Taylor Hebert;

Let me begin by stating that I am sorry beyond measure to only now received confirmation of Annette's death, and to have never gotten in contact with you prior to today. Unfortunately, the dimensional recall beacon your mother was issued, was apparently on her person when she died, and damaged in the crash; her spare beacon (as her mission was a deep-cover reconnaissance mission, the beacons were disguised to resemble a pair of silver Celtic-Cross pendants) was inactive until today, so the system could not safely or reliably connect to your location.

I have a request to make of you; Annette's recon mission was only complete up to Phase One; Phase Two is establishing an official presence in your dimension; to that end, should you choose to accept it, I am brevetting you to

Annette's former rank, and requesting you act as the Point-of-Contact between Earth-Bet and Outreach. The Elementals who delivered this datapad are Alpha Point, and under your command. They are green, but they are also the top-graduates of their respective Sibkos. As CO, this datapad will also allow you to requisition equipment and personnel from the Clan, within reason.

Best of Luck,

Natasha Kerensky, Galaxy-Commander Beta Galaxy Clan Wolf

Click to shrink...

Taylor looked at the screen deep in thought...

She looked up at the Elemental in front of her and stood, then channeled some of the officers she'd seen in movies as she said, "Report."

Last edited: May 21, 2018

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"Report."

The gray-eyed Elemental came crisply to attention and saluted. "Star-Captain Taylor, Point-Commander Mykel reports Alpha Point, First Mobile Star, present and accounted-for, with all arms and ammunition. We are ready for tasking, Star-Captain."

Taylor nodded and returned the salute. "At ease, Point-Commander. Introduce your men. And for the duration of your time here, you may use the name of your Bloodhouse."

Mykel nodded. "Mykel Ward, then. My second-in-command is that one," he rumbled, pointing to a blonde boy near the doorway. "Point-Officer Dalton Shaw. Beside him is Point-Officer Kyle Fetladral." Fetladral, dark-skinned and dark-haired, nodded respectfully. "At the window is Point-Officer Alexandra Fetladral," he pointed to a Hispanic girl who wore her hair buzzed as short as the boys; it wasn't until she turned that Taylor saw she was a girl, so similar was she to the men in build. "The last is Point-Officer John Shaw." John waved, still staring out through the window.

Ward then explained how they had earlier made entry into Winslow High School following the beacons transponder, found her trapped within her locker, and removed her from same, carrying her to their current location, a small abandoned warehouse near the waterfront. "You have my gratitude for that, Point-Commander. However, there is still work to be done, and idle hands in need of work to do. The first task for you, Alpha Point, is to accompany me on a patrol around this area, in order to familiarize yourselves with it. You are not afraid of a little walking, quineg?"

The entire point barked out, "Neg!"

"Good. This your pre-mission briefing: We are currently located on Terra, in a dimension known locally as 'Earth-Bet'. We are in the Atlantic-Coast North-American city of Brockton Bay, New Hampshire. This dimension has individuals possessing greater-than-human abilities of many types; the local nomenclature is 'Parahuman'. Some work to keep the peace, and some use their abilities for nefarious purposes."

Taylor picked up a stone from the floor and drew on the wall. "Largest of the criminal organizations within the city are the Empire-88..." As she briefed her Point on each gang, including the Protectorate, Wards, PRT, and New Wave, she sketched their symbol on the wall. After she'd concluded, she turned back to face them.

"Now, we are in the Docks; that is ABB territory. I need a rifle and comms-set." She opened her datapad and requisitioned one Mauser IIC Infantry Assault System, one comms-set, and one personal body-armor vest and face-mask. Once she'd donned them and slung the ER Laser Rifle, with its attached 25mm underslung grenade-launcher, she nodded. "Follow me."

...

The patrol had been uneventful up to that point; now Taylor lay prone atop a roof staring through the scope of her Mauser as a group of ABB approached from extreme-range. "Alpha Point, enemies approaching from due West, ABB. Approximately twenty-five, say again one Point, arms mixed auto-pistols, auto-rifles, and melee weapons. Estimated Time to Arrival zero-five minutes. Who wants them? Bid for it."

"Aff, Star-Captain," replied Ward from the ground. "Restrictions?"

"Nonlethal takedowns preferred, but take no undue risks."

Taylor listened as the five Elementals bid.

"I bid my Mauser only, no grenades," opened John.

"My Mauser, no grenades, minimum-power setting," countered Alexandra.

"Pistol only, minimum-power, one shot per enemy," said Kyle, undercutting the others.

"Knife and pistol, minimum-power and one shot only," bid Dalton.

Mykel placed his bid last. "Knife and bare hands, the knife scabbarded."

"Bare hands only, no kills." added Alexandra.

"That is a bold bid, Point-Officer," remarked Ward. "But if the CO allows it, I will accept the bid."

"I will allow it, Point-Commander Ward. But be it known, Point-Officer Alexandra Fetladral, I will hold you to your bid exactly. Should even one of your foes perish, you will fail. Do you still wish to offer your current bid?"

"Aff, Star-Captain Taylor. I bid myself alone, Unaugmented, and I bid that not one of my foes shall die."

"Bargained Well and Done."

Last edited: May 21, 2018

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Taylor watched through her scope as Alexandra, divested of her weapons, advanced on the approaching ABB. "Will she challenge them?" asked John, the youngest of the Elemental Point.

Alexandra answered in a sage tone of voice, her gait never wavering. "When fighting those of the Bandit Caste, a verbal Batchall is both too verbose, and better than they deserve, John. For them, a scream of rage is sufficient. You scream, and then you charge. Like so." Alexandra Fetladral loosed a wild, howling scream that was equal parts wolf-howl, panther-scream, and Rebel Yell, and sprinted forward.

The ABB were taken entirely by surprise, and they paid the price for that as the Elemental bulled into their midst. In the first rush, Alexandra used her booted foot to break a gangster's knee while lashing out with a fist to drive a second man down. As the press of gangsters gave her room, Alexandra smiled. A knife flashed in the light; she stepped into the thrust and grabbed her attacker's wrist and arm, then threw him bodily into his comrades before advancing again.

A bullet snapped her head back and she paused. The .22-caliber slug dropped off the front of her ballistic face-mask where it had flattened. After that it was a riot of gunfire and screams, none of which were Alexandra's...

It was over as suddenly as it had begun, Alexandra walking away from a scattered mass of crippled gangbangers. Her vest was pockmarked with cuts and bullet-strikes, her arms and hands were bruised and cut, and a lucky pair of .32-caliber bullets had punched through her left calf. As she walked, Alexandra picked up a backpack and dumped the drugs out of it before tossing the pack to John. "Pick up the firearms and the most-practical blades, and all the ammunition. They are my isorla."

She sat down against a wall while Taylor and the others pulled security, and opened the stock of her Mauser to extract the survival kit within, and its five-meter roll of self-adhesive bandage. This she used to bind the worst of her wounds.

As Alexandra repacked her kit, Mykel called out, "Incoming flyer, red armor with gold trim, on our three at rooftop-level."

Dalton swung around and scanned, then called out, "On our six, ground-level, white armor with clocks."

Taylor climbed down the fire-escape. "Kid Win and Clockblocker, respectively. They are Wards." Mykel bristled slightly. "No aggressive moves unless hold."

Kid Win was the first to arrive, landing his hover-board smoothly. "Is everything okay here? We had reports of gunfire a few minutes ago."

Taylor nodded. "All is well. One of my subordinates wanted to test herself against those ABB over there. If it helps, they were armed, and they had narcotics in their possession."

Kid Win stared. "One person? Against twenty gangsters?"

Alexandra smiled under her mask. "Twenty-five, Ward. And I faced them barehanded."

The Tinker whistled. "That's pretty impressive. Speaking of impressive, or impressions, can I get your names? For the official report of course."

Taylor smiled and nodded. "Give us a moment to confer?" They stepped away and Taylor spoke quietly. "I want your opinions. How would you recommend we play this?"

Dalton scratched his chin. "It could be argued that as you have a potentially-large force awaiting deployment, that we are still simply a scouting force..."

Kyle added his suggestion. "This dimension has already demonstrated the existence of others; we could easily use an extradimensional variant of the Dragoon Compromise as a cover."

"Agreed. Are there any dissenters? No? Then we have our story." The six walked back to Kid Win.

As they got to the Tinker, Clockblocker ran up. "Kid Win, you won't believe how badly-Whoa, you guys are fuckinbullshit huge..." he blabbered as he stopped.

Taylor laughed. "They are that, Ward. They certainly are that. Kid Win, you asked our names?" She gestured to each in turn. "Point-Officer John Shaw. Point-Officer Alexandra Fetladral. Point-Officer Kyle Fetladral. Point-Officer Dalton Shaw. Point-Commander Mykel Ward. I am Star-Captain Taylor Hebert. Collectively we are Alpha Point of the Wolf Dragoons First Mobile Star, Alpha Cluster."

Clock chimed in. "That made... little to no sense."

Mykel laughed aloud. "We are a Scout unit for an extradimensional PMC."

"Bullshit." Clockblocker stated the word flatly.

He suddenly found himself hoisted off his feet by the Point-Commander and staring into the lenses of the mask. "I do not take kindly to being called a liar; not by my fellow Warriors and certainly not by some Whelp not even out of Sibko..."

"Point-Commander, stand down," said Taylor with a growl. "He is as you said, a Sibko Whelp. He is not worth your time."

"Aff, Star-Captain." Mykel dropped Clockblocker and stepped back a pace.

Kid Win, struggling to regain control of the situation, commented on the first thing he saw. "Point-Officer Fetladral," he said to Kyle, "what kind of rifle is that? I hadn't seen that kind before."

Kyle dropped the power-pack from his rifle and unloaded the grenade-launcher. "It is a Mauser IIC Infantry Assault System. The base weapon is an extended-range laser rifle developed from the Mauser 960 Assault Weapons System, with an underslung six-shot 25mm Compact Grenade-Launcher, a three-to-six-power telescopic gunsight, and a vibroblade bayonet. It also has a survival kit stored in the stock."

"It looks heavy."

"Twelve kilograms."

"Christ... Is the range good?"

Kyle nodded. "Long-range for the Mauser is seven-hundred meters, but I have seen good hits made at fourteen."

Taylor whistled to get everyone's attention. "As pleasant as this meeting has been, I am certain that there is still business to be done. Kid Win, we remand these gangsters into your custody. Alpha Point, make ready to continue our patrol."

"Star-Captain, before you go, make sure to stop by the PRT Headquarters later; I'm sure there's paperwork they'll want," said Kid Win. "Oh, and leave the backpack full of guns; that's evidence."

"It is isorla, spoils of war, Ward," growled Alexandra. "I seized them by combat; they are mine. But if you truly want them, issue Batchall, and I will meet you in the Circle of Equals for them."

"Huh?" asked Clockblocker.

Taylor reached under her face-mask to pinch the bridge of her nose, murmuring about 'stubborn hardheaded Elementals', and sighed. "She means, if you want the guns, you may issue a formal challenge and she will fight you in a duel known as a Trial of Possession; the chosen ground is called the Circle of Equals. Good day, gentlemen; we will be at the PRT Headquarters later today, you may rest assured."

Last edited: May 21, 2018

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Threadmarks 4: A Name with Teeth, Part 1

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#5

The remainder of the patrol was smooth; apparently five hulking man-mountains and a teenage girl, carrying laser rifles and moving like Army Rangers, was a enough of a hard-target for gangsters to not want a piece of them. The group arrived at PHQ and paused. "Here we are..." mused Taylor aloud. "Follow me, Weapons Hold."

Taylor strode forward and up to the Trooper at the door. "Trooper, I am Star-Captain Hebert of the Wolf Dragoons; Kid Win or Clockblocker will have informed your command that I and my men were coming, quiaff?"

The Trooper quietly radioed for confirmation, then nodded. "You're expected. You'll have to relinquish your weapons while inside, however. They'll be returned after you're done."

Taylor shook her head. "Neg, Trooper; we will not surrender our weapons to you. Point-Officer Fetladral, you will stay here and guard our munitions. If anyone attempts to handle them without my direct authorization, you may use whatever means you feel appropriate, up to and including lethal force."

Alexandra nodded. "Aff, Star-Captain." The others divested themselves of their armaments and stacked them against the wall. After that, another Trooper escorted them inside.

The Trooper leading them turned a helmeted head and said, "Armsmaster and Miss Militia wanted to meet you in Conference Room Three, Star-Captain, Point-Commander. The others I'm to see to."

Taylor nodded, and the Trooper lead them to the Conference Room.

...

The two Heroes were waiting when they arrived, Armsmaster in his blue armor and Miss Militia in her camouflage fatigues. They stood, and Armsmaster spoke. "Star-Captain Hebert, Point-Commander Ward, welcome to PHQ. I'm told you represent a PMC, Wolf's Dragoons?"

"The Wolf Dragoons, Armsmaster. It is a common mispronunciation," replied Taylor. "I am honored, however, that two Warriors of your caliber would deign to meet a humble Star-Captain such as myself."

Armsmaster nodded, and Miss Militia nodded likewise. "Thank you for the compliment. Be that as it may, there are... doubts... about the veracity of your claim to extradimensional status. There are also certain legal documents regarding the formation of a Private Military Contracting company that will need to be addressed."

Taylor nodded. "At ease, Mykel." Ward relaxed slightly. Taylor took a seat at the table and sighed. "While I am quite certain that there are medical tests to show that someone is not from this Earth, and every one of my men are extradimensional in origin, I was born here."

Taylor's datapad pinged audibly, startling her; she pulled it out of her vest as a sound file began to play...

"...Galaxy-Commander Natasha Kerensky; begin message. Star-Captain Hebert, when you have a chance, please locate and send on your mother's backlogged reports; the IlKhan has nearly given them up for lost. Also, you will find attached to this message documents bringing your citizenship up-to-date, per Annette's Will. I know losing her likely hit you hard, but I also know that she would be proud of you. She was the best of all my Black Widows, and I do not doubt that you will surpass her. Galaxy-Commander Natasha Kerensky; end of message."

Taylor stiffened, remembering her mom, but only for a moment. "Please forgive me; I had forgotten that my datapad wasn't silenced."

"Quite alright, Star-Captain," said Miss Militia. It's any easy thing to forget. Your... CO, I take it?"

Mykel spoke up. "The Commanding Officer of Beta Galaxy, of which Alpha Cluster and the First Mobile Star are subordinate units."

Armsmaster frowned. "Star? Cluster? Galaxy?"

Taylor took up the thread. "Units of organization, akin to Squads, Platoons, et cetera. The basic unit in the Dragoons is the Point. Two ground-vehicles or aircraft constitute a Point, as do five Elementals. Five Points make a Star. Two Stars is a Binary, and three a Trinary; Three to five Binaries or Trinaries constitute a Cluster, and five Clusters a Galaxy. There are other, more mission-specific units, also. My current assigned forces are a single Point of Elementals, operating as Light Infantry without their armor, though I have high hopes that that will soon change."

Armsmaster reached for the datapad and Taylor slid it to him. He read over the citizenship paperwork, listing Taylor as a citizen (Warrior-Caste) of Outreach, born in Brockton Bay, NH, Earth-Bet Local Dimension, in the year 3049 (Outreach Local Dimension Calendar). It certainly looked official...

A text message popped up on his visor's HUD. Dragon: Traced the signal; tracks to no known station on-planet and dead-ends in the upper-atmosphere.

As Armsmaster and Dragon pondered the message's source, Taylor and Mykel were processing paperwork with Miss Militia. "So how precisely did a group of adults end up assigned to the command of a teenager?" the Kurdish-American Heroine asked.

"We actually are not adults, Miss Militia," Mykel said, removing his face-mask. "Not by chronological age, at any rate. I and my Point are teens, myself being oldest at seventeen, and the youngest being Point-Officer John Shaw at fourteen, though John is the exception and not the rule, being something of a ristar in his training unit. This is our first assignment."

...

After the paperwork was finished, Miss Militia nodded. "There, done. While we wait on Armsmaster to finish, would the two of you like to join me in the cafeteria for some food? Or perhaps a tour?"

"Actually, Miss Militia, some food sounds good. Thank you," said Taylor. "Afterward, I am afraid I and Alpha Point will have to depart."

"Very well," Miss Militia replied.

Last edited: May 21, 2018

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Threadmarks 4: A Name with Teeth, Part 2

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#6

As soon as they were out of PHQ and re-armed, the Clanners withdrew toward the warehouse. Taylor checked her datapad and typed a short report to Galaxy-Commander Kerensky.

"Well, that was certainly a thing..." Taylor muttered, before closing out the message screen and went to Requistions.

"Point-Commander, I am thinking of requisitioning more troops, and possibly transport. What would be your recommendation?"

Mykel let his rifle hang and pondered. "It would depend on your intentions, strategically. More personnel is of course a requirement to expand, but the issue of transport could be difficult... For now, I would advise requisition of at least two more Elemental Points, with one being Armored, and something like a Svantovit or a Maxim if you insist on using non-local transport."

Taylor scanned over the descriptions for the two hover-vehicles named. "I can see the advantages of them... I can also see the drawbacks. You are correct. But even in an urban environment there might be need of more firepower than infantry alone can provide, so..."

Taylor queued up two Points of Unarmored Elementals, six suits of Elemental Battle-Armor, and also requisitioned one Point of Savannah Master Hovercraft. The screen shifted to an aerial view of the warehouse and highlighted the building before a text-box popped up.

ReqSys said:

Designate Targeted Location as Deployment Zone? Y/N

Taylor hit the 'Yes' button and the box changed.

ReqSys said:

Deployment Zone Set. Rename?

Taylor affirmed and renamed the warehouse 'Den Able'. Ten seconds later, a female voice called over the comms-set. "Star-Captain Hebert, this is Point-Commander Anika Gohcourt, reporting Elemental Point Bravo, under my command, and Elemental Point Charlie under command of Point-Commander Thomas Calvert, are on-station and awaiting your orders."

"Understood, Point-Commander Gohcourt, stand by until we arrive. Also, status on the Point of Hovercraft I requisitioned?"

"Apologies, Star-Captain. This is Point-Commander Erwin, commanding Dog Point, formerly of First Provisional Garrison Cluster's Third Light-Cavalry Star. I thank you for bringing a pair of Abtakha back to the front-lines; I and Holtz were beginning to chafe in a Garrison Cluster."

Taylor laughed aloud. "I have no doubt, Erwin, that you will not lack for action here. Have you been briefed on the local situation?"

"Aff, Star-Captain. It sounds like a bad Chatterweb fiction written by a Goliath Scorpion who has over-indulged on Necrosia, but I can adapt."

...

Taylor pointed Alpha Point toward the crated suits of Armor. "Your Armor, and mine. Point-Commander Ward, Point-Commanders Gohcourt and Calvert, I require your assistance. I have only the basics of knowledge about Elemental Armor, having grown up locally, so I will need training in its operation. Will you assist me in this?"

Point-Commander Gohcourt nodded. "I will, Star-Captain. Though I will admit to surprise; most young Freebirth Warriors dream of being Mechwarriors, not Elementals."

"Cavalry and Air-Power may take ground, but it is Infantry who keep it."

Anika laughed, her platinum-blonde braid bouncing. "Well-said, Star-Captain. Choose your Armor, and we will begin."

Taylor chose her suit, and followed Anika's direction to open it. "Now," said the blonde Elemental, "you should find a folded mesh suit with neurosensors in it; that is your skin-suit, and it functions much like a Mechwarrior's Neuro-Helmet. Strip and don the skin-suit, then enter the Armor."

Taylor did so, using the crate as cover to change into the skin-suit before climbing into the Armor itself, for once mentally blessing the fact that she was so tall, as only a little adjustment was needed to fit the suit to her. "I have entered the Armor."

Anika nodded. "Ward, armor-up. The next step, Star-Captain, is to close the Armor and start it..."

Taylor closed the suit and used the chin-switch to start the Elemental Armor. A few seconds after start-up, an artificial, feminine voice spoke in her headset. "New User Detected. Scanning... Initial Neural Pattern Recorded. User, set Security Challenge and Response."

Taylor, on Anika's direction, spoke. "Set Challenge to the following: 'Like the Creeper that girdles the Tree-Trunk, the Law runneth Forward and Back'."

"Challenge Set. Set Response."

Taylor spoke clearly, completing the quote."For the Strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the Strength of the Wolf is the Pack."

Taylor paused, and then the system-voice spoke again. "Scanning... Final Neural Pattern Recorded. All Systems Nominal." The HUD lit up on the inside of her visor, showing a compass-heading, heat- and battery-charge-levels, ammunition status, weapon-status,and a wire-frame representation of her suit, all in green.

"Give the myomers a moment to warm up, and then you may test your range of motion, Star-Captain," said Anika via comms.

As Taylor was taking her first steps as an Elemental, Alexandra winced and stumbled, clutching her side. When the girl removed her hand, it came away bloody...

"Alexandra? Point-Officer Alexandra Fetladral, what is the matter?" asked Dalton.

"Knife-wound under the edge of my vest, from my fight earlier. I made no mention of it at the time, thinking it minor. I was... apparently mistaken..." Her jaw was clenched and her voice strained.

Taylor growled. "Alexandra, we do not have MedTechs here; we have no choice but to take you to a local hospital, as that wound could easily be life-threatening. Point-Commander Erwin, get your vehicle running and find room for a casualty; Point-Commander Ward, you and I will escort Erwin to the hospital. Point-Commander Gohcourt, you are in command until we return; do what you are able to organize this warehouse as it will be our base for the foreseeable future."

Erwin got his Savannah Master started, the fusion-engine running smoothly, and Alexandra was strapped down on the side of the hull by the cockpit. Dalton and Kyle got the doors open and the trio rushed out. "Erwin, I will guide you; follow my IFF signal."

"Aff, Star-Captain. I will follow your signal."

Taylor sprinted forward and saw Mykel in his armor keeping pace. "Star-Captain, we would make better time by using the jump-jets. There should be an indicator on your HUD, next to the heat-gauge. Focus on it and use the chin-switch to unlock the jets, then jump." He ran forward and leapt, rising swiftly and bounding forward on columns of exhaust.

Taylor followed suit, feeling her stomach drop as she jumped. She bent her legs and spread her arms to stay upright and landed, barely stumbling, then dashed forward a dozen paces and leapt again.

The group had made it halfway to the hospital when a white-clad blur dropped down from the heavens and slammed into Taylor, pitching her over backward. "Get off me!" Taylor shouted.

"No! Who are you?!" shouted Glory Girl. "Tell me!"

Mykel brought his laser to bear. "She is in a hurry, and you are targeted."

"Point-Commander, stand down!" As Mykel swung his laser away, Taylor sat up. "Glory Girl! I am Star-Captain Taylor Hebert of the Wolf Dragoons PMC and you are delaying me. I have a vehicle inbound with a wounded man aboard and a driver who does not know this city! Now move or be moved, Collateral-Damage Barbie!"

Glory Girl bristled, her fists clenching. "Sure, but only because I don't want someone to die who could've lived... Even if they are a merc." She spat the word 'merc' as though it left a foul taste in her mouth.

Taylor stood and glared. "Your merciful nature is appreciated, Victoria Dallon, and will surely be remembered. Ward, Erwin, on me!" They set out again, pushing on to the hospital.

...

When Taylor and the others arrived, they sent EMTs scattering as the hovercraft slid sideways up to the curb and the two Elementals landed nearby from their leaps. Taylor opened the top of her armor and barked at the paramedics, "We have a wounded woman; stab-wound to the abdomen and blood-loss! Erwin, get her loose and help get her on a gurney!"

The medics rushed to help and Alexandra was brought inside. Taylor looked to the others. "Erwin, is there a spare flight-suit in your craft? I need to go inside and my skin-suit would leave me rather... Exposed."

The Abtakha vehicle-pilot just chuckled and tossed the spare jumpsuit from behind his seat to her. Taylor quickly shut her suit down and climbed out, then put on the jumpsuit over her skin-suit. "Stay here," Taylor told them.

She padded inside and up to the front desk. "The young woman who was just brought in, with the stab-wound? What is her status?"

The receptionist stared. "And you are?"

"The one who brought her here, and her CO. Now, her status?"

"Stable, and on her way to Panacea. She had more than just that stab; care to explain how she got that hurt?" Taylor turned to face the doctor who had spoken. "Doctor John Holliday, at your service, Miss...?"

"Hebert. Star-Captain Taylor Hebert, Wolf Dragoons PMC, Doctor Holliday. The young lady is Point-Officer Alexandra Fetladral, and she was wounded earlier today while fighting a group of ABB."

"A PMC? You're awful young for merc-work..."

"I am a legacy; my mother was in the company."

Holliday's radio crackled. "Doc, it's Panacea. Are you in the lobby? If you are, get someone up here who can explain what the Hell it is I'm working on."

Taylor bristled. "May I?" She gestured to the radio mic and Holliday keyed it.

"Panacea, this is Holliday; solid copy, and I have the lady's CO right here with me. I'm putting her on now."

Taylor took the mic. "Panacea, this is Alexandra's CO, Star-Captain Hebert. Kindly clarify what you mean by 'what the Hell'."

"Are you aware that 'Alexandra' or her parents have been genetically modified? She has to have been, extensively-so, since no one naturally grows this large and muscular on their own. Last I heard, human-genome modification was very illegal."

Taylor sighed and produced her datapad. "Panacea, I am handing documentation to Doctor Holliday that shows Point-Officer Fetladral's origins. My parent organization is an extradimensional Private Military Contracting company, and Fetladral did not originate here. She herself was not modified, nor her parents, but she is the product of a long-term, multi-generation eugenics program in her home dimension. She, and the other Elementals under my command, were literally bred to be the best-possible infantry ever."

Holliday accepted the mic back. "The documents check out, Amy. Confirmation markings from Armsmaster and Dragon."

"Your people... You know what? Not my monkey, not my football. She's fixed; her caloric intake will be a bit higher for a day or so to compensate for the biomass I used in healing her. And next time one of your troops decides to fist-fight twenty-five armed gangbangers by herself, call ahead so I can be waiting."

"I will, Panacea. And thank you."

"You're welcome. Doc, next victim!"

...

When Taylor walked outside, her father, Daniel Hebert, was standing by the Savannah Master. "Taylor? Would you care to explain what you've been up to today? I got a call from Principal Blackwell this morning about your locker being vandalized and you vanishing."

"Long story, Dad. Follow me back to base and I can explain there. Did you drive?"

"No; the truck broke down on the way to work; it's in the shop."

"Then hitch a ride with Erwin."

The pilot chuckled. "I will need to get the hundred-mile-an-hour tape out; those dummkopf MedTechs cut my good cargo-straps getting Alexandra free..."

Last edited: May 21, 2018

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Threadmarks 4: A Name with Teeth, Part 3

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#9

"Bullshit." Danny Hebert stated flatly after Taylor had given him the story. As he did so, he was rubbing feeling back into his legs after having been carried back to Den Able slung on the side of a Savannah Master hovercraft with nylon cargo-straps.

Taylor, for the third time that day, slid her datapad over. "It's true, Dad," she said, letting the more-formal diction of Clan Wolf slip in the privacy of her appropriated office. "Her rank passed down to me, though only as a brevet until I prove myself. Those men and women out there? They answer to me, Dad. I'm nervous, and moreover I'm working on a shoestring. My deployment and requisition budget isn't infinite; there's only so much I can get from Command, and while I could recruit locally, it would be entirely on the local economy."

Danny sighed. "My wife was a mercenary from another dimension, and my daughter's a harried mercenary Butter-Bar... Albeit one with more sense than the average Ensign..." He nodded. "Alright. I'll take it on faith that this is legitimate. You said you can recruit locally? I'm in, provisionally. I'm willing to help with hiring and keeping your books. I'm an administrator, not a fighter, not anymore."

Taylor smiled slightly. "I can accept that, but there's one... Tradition..."

The pair stepped out of the office and onto the main floor. Taylor whistled to get everyone's attention. "Gather round! This is Daniel Hebert, my father! He wishes to join us, and thus must be proven! Point-Commander Erwin, Point-Officer Holtz, step forward after disarming!" The two hovercraft pilots shrugged out of their shoulder-holsters and stepped forward. "Daniel Hebert, this is your Trial of Position. You will face two of my Warriors, Erwin and Holtz. You, and they, are unarmed, unaugmented, and you will fight to knockout or submission. Defeat one, and you will join us in the position of my choosing. Defeat both, and you will have your choice of billet. Defeat neither, and you will fail. Are these terms understood?"

Holtz nodded, and Erwin responded, "Aff, Star-Captain."

Danny nodded. "I understand."

Taylor smiled grimly. "Then let Combat be thy Judge, and Victory thy Jury. Begin!"

The fight was fast, brutal, and the combatants held nothing back. Five minutes after the fight began, the last man standing grinned a bloody-toothed grin at Taylor. Taylor nodded gravely at her father and spoke. "The Trial is concluded; Daniel Hebert has won a total victory, and as such, let us welcome a new Wolf to the Pack. In what role would you serve, Daniel?"

Danny wiped his mouth. "I was a Warrior once, but I am well past my prime for fighting. I am an administrator; let me administrate, Star-Captain."

"So be it. You are an Administrator, and your duties will include contracting and liaising with the locals in regard to supplies. Heed me," she said, addressing the others. "I have long experience of Daniel's ability in his chosen field, and in matters of Logistics, his word is second only to my own."

As two of Anika's Point helped the pilots up, Anika herself clapped Danny on the back and laughed. "You fought well, for an Administrator."

Danny blushed. "I served four years in the Navy, before I met Annette. And there were times before and after when fists were the only way to get my point across. It certainly helped that my opponents here were out-of-practice or inexperienced."

"I see..."

...

As Taylor settled in with Calvert to pull maintainance on her Armor, Danny made some phone calls, reaching out to friends and acquaintances in search of contracts. After he'd put feelers out where he could, he walked over to the pair as Taylor was writing something down on a notepad. "Taylor, I have one potential contract already, though the pay isn't much."

The Clanners flinched slightly. Taylor snorted. "He has not been brought up like you all have, nor, as you might recall, have I. A little forbearance regarding the local diction would not go amiss." Taylor closed a panel on her suit's leg. "Among Mom's people, there are some differences in language compared to here. Most notably is the lack of contractions, which are seen as lazy. You said you found a contract?"

Danny nodded. "The Union was actually planning on trying to hire extra security; the Merchants have been pushing into the Docks, and between them trying to 'recruit', and their skirmishes with the ABB, things were getting tense."

"Show me on a map where you want us to patrol?" Danny traced his finger along a line four blocks wide and centered on the already-nebulous border between ABB territory and Merchant territory. "The pay offered?"

Danny sighed. "We can offer eighty-fifty per hour, per man, but no more."

Taylor thought it over. "For six men, an Elemental Point and a single hovercraft, a forty-hour week would be two-thousand-forty dollars... Our price for this contract will be one-thousand-twenty dollars per week and salvage rights from any combat we see. A single Savannah Master and one Elemental Point operating without Armor. The other hovercraft and Elementals to act as a reserve. Agreed?"

Danny nodded. "Agreed." He looked around the warehouse. "In the meantime, now that that's done, I suppose I should get started on managing our logistics here. Other than berthing and essential necessities, what will we need?"

Taylor flipped her notepad to a fresh page and started writing. "I will have to either budget for resupply of the Elementals' SRM ammunition or find a local producer, which will most likely be cost-prohibitive, but I hope to not need to use those often. The primary thing we will currently need will be ammunition for the Elementals' machine-guns; right now each suit of Elemental Armor has four hundred rounds for their MGs. Thankfully even in another dimension's Thirty-First Century certain things remain the same, and the cartridges are a fairly-common caliber, albeit a military one. See what you can do about securing asupply of 7.62x39mm ammunition, milspec Ball and Tracer. Point-Commander Calvert, have I missed anything?"

"Aff; we will need means to recharge the Power Packs for the Mausers, comms sets, and the Elementals. The Elementals are sufficient for a full day's continuous use, but the others will run dry sooner."

Danny frowned. "I see. How are they normally recharged?"

The Elemental closed another panel and stood, wiping his hands. "There are charging stations that can operate off the local power-grid; for operations outside the reach of established power-supplies there are units which run on fossil-fuels, solar-power, or a small fusion-reactor, essentially any sufficiently-powerful electrical generator will work, provided we have the ability to connect the power packs."

Danny paced back and forth as he thought the problem through. "What kind of engine do the hovercraft run on?"

One of Anika's Elementals, a smiling brunette girl named Dana Waters, grabbed Holtz. "Point-Officer Holtz, Administrator Hebert needs your expertise."

Holtz, still nursing a shinier from Danny's Trial, nodded and walked over. "How may I be of service?"

Danny, fully into the task at hand, asked, "What kind of engine do your hovercraft use?"

"Edasich Omni 25 Fusion Engines."

"If we could fabricate a jumper-cable, could your engines recharge power packs?"

...

The next morning, Charlie Point and Erwinset out to begin patrolling, while Alpha and Bravo Points woke early to PT with Taylor, who'd been called in sick by Danny. Anika lead them through calisthenics and then on a short run.

As Alpha and Bravo returned to Den Able, Charlie Point was already having their first run-in with the Archer's Bridge Merchants...

"Say, Wedge, how do you reckon the Dockworkers afforded such big beefy rent-a-cops?" a Merchant said to his buddy, ten more behind him.

"Dunno, Biggs. Musta sold out to the Empire or some shit. They certainly ain't got the money to hire anybody."

"Gotta point there, Wedge. Hell, these assholes don't even look all that tough. There ain't but five of'em."

Point-Commander Thomas Calvert rolled his eyes. "Point-Officer DeVega, Point-Officer Sradac, see them off."

"As you wish, Point-Commander," purred Tiffany DeVega. She stepped forward and grabbed Biggs by his shirt. "You are trespassing on property of the Dockworkers' Union. Kindly leave." She punctuated her request by spinning the druggie around and planting her steel-toed combat boot in his ass, hard.

This humiliation, of course, made the Merchants less inclined to run away and more inclined to fight. Calvert just smiled savagely. "Oh, they insist on remaining. Charlie Point, render compliant."

That pattern was repeated a dozen more times that day, each time with the hapless Merchants ending up tied with their own shoelaces and delivered, beaten unmercifully and sans weapons, to the BBPD...

By the end of the day, the people of the Docks were coming to realize that the 'Wolf Dragoons' was a name with teeth, long and sharp...

Last edited: May 21, 2018

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Threadmarks 5: the Old Wolf, the Young Wolf, and the Jackals

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#10

Two days after the Locker, Taylor awoke in her office at Den Able and rolled off the cloth-covered couch. She checked her datapad for messages and noted that she had none, though there was some witness-speculation on PHO about who they were. "Huh, would you look at that; I guess war really is good for business..."

She dressed in fatigues and walked out to find Bravo Point returning from their patrol alongside Point-Officer Holtz. The three Elemental Points had set up an eight-on, sixteen-off rotation on the Docks patrol, though the hovercraft weren't so lucky, splitting shifts twelve-and-twelve. Alpha were gearing up and Erwin was running a quick pre-trip on his Savannah Master.

Charlie Point came through the bay doors with boxes over their shoulders and Danny behind them. As Calvert had his men stack the boxes, Danny produced a pocketknife and opened one. "Mess Call! Gather Round!" he shouted. "I come bearing breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. The boys at the Union chipped in and bought us a few cases of MREs. Everybody takes three; that's your ration for the day. There will be a box next to these for whatever items you don't want; feel free to pick through it on your free-time if you want snacks."

Taylor nodded. "Excellent, Dad." Taylor requisitioned two more Points of Elemental Armor, and scrolled down the list of equipment until she found the ones she was looking for.

Requisitions said:

... ... ...

Power Pack Recharging Station

-Standard (one-pack)

-Heavy-Duty (five-pack)

-Kinetic (three-pack)

-Fossil-Fuel (three-pack)

-Solar (five-pack)

-Fusion (five-pack)

... ... ...

Click to shrink...

Taylor ordered a Fusion Recharger. "That should at least mitigate our power-pack issues. I am also debating about requisitioning more vehicles, possibly aPoint of Odin Scout Tanks or a Point of Anhur VTOLs, but that can wait for now." The crates with the other Elementals' Armor arrived in the warehouse alongside the crated Recharger. "Charlie Point, you and Holtz get the Charger running, then Bravo and Charlie Points may set their Armor up. Alpha, get ready for patrol, light kit. We can eat on the way."

Taylor pulled on her vest and settled her kit snugly, then fitted the ear-piece of her comm into her ear and the throat-mic around her neck. "Alpha Point, this is Dragoon Actual. Radio check, over."

"Dragoon Actual, this is Alpha Lead; I read you five-by-five. How me, over."

"I read you five-by-five, Alpha Lead, out. Dog Point, this is Dragoon Actual..."

After the radio check, Taylor slung her Mauser and slid her sidearm into the drop-leg holster on her thigh. "Okay, move out." The patrol group set out at a steady walking pace. As they walked, combat knives came out and slit open MRE packs, and breakfast was served...

...

At the same time, PRT-ENE Director Emily Piggot was in her morning briefing. "Alright Armsmaster, let me just see if I heard you correctly. A local teen, one Taylor Hebert, Triggered the day before yesterday, and not only gained access to her late mother's former employers, but also inherited her mother's rank. This employer is not only a PMC, but a PMC from another dimension's Thirty-First Century. And Taylor Hebert has forces under her command here."

Miss Militia nodded. "That's correct, Ma'am, though I suspect the rank is currently only a brevet rank."

Piggot nodded back. "What actions have the local branch of the 'Wolf Dragoons' taken in the last forty-eight hours?"

Armsmaster consulted his timeline. "The day before yesterday, in the morning, Star-Captain Hebert lead her initial troops, a five-man infantry, or 'Elemental', unit she referred to as 'Alpha Point, of First Mobile Star, Alpha Cluster', and who were apparently newly-trained, on a patrol around the Docks, ostensibly to familiarize them with the area. During that time, one of Hebert's troops, a Point-Officer Alexandra Fetladral, engaged twenty-five ABB gangbangers, barehanded, by herself. Not only did Fetladral win, she did so against armed gangsters without killing any ofthem."

Emily's eyebrows lifted. "Impressive..."

Miss Militia nodded agreement. "Even more so considering that none of the Dragoons needed to engage that close. All six Dragoons were carrying not only a combat knife but also a sidearm and a laser rifle described to Kid Win and Clockblocker as the 'Mauser IIC Infantry Assault System'. According to the Dragoons, it has an effective range approaching 1400 meters, a 'vibroblade bayonet', and a six-shot underslung grenade-launcher, 25mm. Fetladral chose to engage barehanded. The gangbangers were remanded into our Wards' custody, and the Dragoons came here."

Piggot was very impressed. "Commendable. Was Fetladral injured?"

"She was, but the full extent was unknown until later," Armsmaster replied. "After leaving here, Star-Captain Hebert's forces expanded to encompass two more Points of Elementals, and one Point of some type of single-person hovercraft, as well as at least two, likely more, suits of powered armor."

"Fetladral's injuries turned out to be worse than thought, and she was rushed to Bay General, with Hebert and her team leader, Point-Commander Mykel Ward, escorting the hovercraft. There was an incident en route. Glory Girl mistook them for Villains and tackled Star-Captain Hebert. The incident was, somehow, settled without further violence, and Fetladral was treated by Panacea."

"Did she give any information?"

"No. Amy Dallon's decided to keep all information, including what injuries were treated, secret, citing doctor-patient confidentiality."

"I see..." Piggot sipped her coffee. "Any further actions?"

Miss Militia nodded, shuffling papers."They've taken on a three-week security contract from the Dockworkers' Union to patrol and discourage Merchant expansion and recruitment in the Docks. They're not charging much for it, either, comparatively-speaking. $1,020 per week, plus salvage-rights after any conflict. Since patrols began yesterday, there were twelve separate calls to BBPD to take custody of Merchant groups in the Docks. In every case, the Merchants were physically beaten but not killed and not crippled beyond repair by Panacea or modern medicine, stripped of all weapons and their hands were tied using their own shoelaces. It's worth noting that the Dragoons left a written list, with signatures, at each pickup-site, that gave type, model, caliber, and serial number for each weapon claimed as spoils."

Emily Piggot laughed aloud. "Someone check and make sure Blasto hasn't made a flying pig; now I can say that I've seen everything. A PMC that's inclined to Heroism... It's like they're trying to give mercenaries a good name. I want that encouraged, even if she won't join the Wards. Stay polite and courteous with her and her men, help them if requested. And tell me, who put her in that locker to start with? I saw the photos."

Miss Militia spoke. "We're investigating; Taylor is a student at Winslow, Shadow Stalker's school. But according to BBPD, there were no witnesses."

Armsmaster snorted. "Which is of course a lie; there were simply no students willing to talk. It implies that either Taylor Hebert was hated by the entire student body, which I doubt, or the actual perpetrator is in some way able to exert influence over them. We are still investigating."

"Good. Keep me posted."

...

Taylor watched Dalton and Kyle run the Merchant 'recruiter' down as he tried to flee, while Alexandra helped the young lady he'd tried to dose up. The Merchant's partners were already down, Mykel and John stripping their bootlaces out for restraints. The two Elementals dragged the Merchant back and held him, arms cranked up between his shoulder-blades. Taylor glared at him, her eyes hard as stone. "You are unwelcome here, as are your people. I would have given you the chance to leave, were it not for the fact that you were attempting to force drugs on this woman. For that, I will skip directly to the 'rendering you compliant' stage of our ROE. But first, you will apologize to the young lady, beg her forgiveness on bended knee."

"F-Fuck you, lady!" Whatever else the Merchant would have said was lost as Taylor drew her sidearm and reversed it in her hand, then brought the butt of her ER-laser pistol down like a hammer across the bridge of the drug-pusher's nose.

"On your knees and apologize, or else I break your knees and make you apologize."

Her comm crackled just then. "Dragoon-Actual, this is Dog Lead; I have an unknown contact on my scope, approaching rapidly on bearing zero-two-zero. My TTS keeps wanting to label it a Mithras Light Tank, in between bouts of calling it a generic Gun-Truck. Estimated arrival zero-three minutes at current speed, over."

Taylor frowned. "Dog Lead, Dragoon Actual. Displace east, then circle around and position yourself to strike at the vehicle's rear if it proves hostile, over."

"Aff, Star-Captain. Displacing now."

The vehicle crested the hill to their north and came into view. It certainly resembled a scaled-up Mithras, Mykel thought. If that Mithras had been designed and assembled by a crew of Goliath Scorpion Sibko brats who'd been at the Necrosia too hard. There were gun-muzzles protruding from all angles and a pair of missile-launcher tubes bracketing the turreted cannon on top.

A high (and high) female voice shrieked over a hood-mounted loudspeaker. "You Wolf-cunts are goin' down! No one but NO ONE fucks with the Merchants!"

The turret rotated and Taylor heard Erwin shout over the comm, "Gott im Himmel, Spike! Spike! Spike!"

The launchers were obscured as a pair of missiles launched, and then the Squealer-tank roared down the hill, spitting gunfire and lasers toward the Elementals as the infantry scattered. "Get the prisoners off the street! All units, weapons free!"

The Savannah Master burst around a corner and side-slipped past the tank's rear, the hovercraft's Medium Laser flashing out and scoring the armor deeply. Taylor took aim with her Mauser from behind a corner, and loosed two grenades toward the approaching vehicle, disabling two of its bow-mounted machine-guns.

The rest of Alpha Point opened fire, lasers and grenades lancing outward. The turret swung around again and the cannon boomed; the shell screamed past Taylor's position and detonated under a nearby car, sending the flaming wreckage of what was once a Ford Pinto bounding into the airwhile Mykel called for reinforcements.

The hovercraft darted out into the open again, laser firing, and retreated back into cover; Taylor shouted into her comm, "Focus fire on the turret; we need to disable that cannon!"

The tank shot past and started to turn, and Alexandra and John made their move. The two Elementals poured grenades into the rear tracks, blasting road-wheels and drive-sprockets to scrap. Then as John suppressed the hull-mounted guns Alexandra rushed forward and climbed the tank to try and disable the turret. A Merchant lifted a hatch on the top deck and the Elemental stomped it shut on his hands before using her Mauser on the cannon's mounting.

The tank thus immobilized, it was simplicity itself to pick off the other guns until Charlie Point arrived in their Armor. Point-Officer Sradac grabbed the handle of the door into the rear of the hull and used his laser on the hinges. When he tore the door away a hail of gunfire poured out, and DeVega, stacked on the other side, answered gunfire with gunfire, hosing the troop-compartment with her MG before Taylor and John made entry, sidearms up and scanning. Taylor shot the lock on the hatch leading into the driver's compartment and pulled it open.

As John started to rush in he was knocked backward by two shotgun blasts to the vest and a thrown hammer to the , running on an adrenaline-fueled autopilot, rushed in and acquired the shotgunner; her laser flashed twice and the Merchant dropped, gut-shot. She was suddenly attacked from behind and reacted by instinct...

When Mykel opened the exterior door into the driver's compartment, a whirling, clawing, shrieking ball of catfight spilled out onto the pavement and resolved itself into the Star-Captain, throwing elbows and knees in between clubbing blows with her pistol-butt; and Squealer, punching and scratching and biting while screeching profanity, until finally Taylor gained the upper hand and slammed the Merchant Tinker's head into the roadway, knocking her out.

Taylor rose shakily and looked around, wiping blood off her lip and feeling her ear where the mad Merchant had bitten it. "All-" She realized her mic was torn loose and hanging by her side on its cord. She pressed it to her throat. "All units, report."

Alexandra reported a laser-burn from a near-miss, and John was seeing double and probably concussed from the hammer-hit, but those were the worst injuries the Dragoons had suffered.

The butcher's bill on the Merchant side, however, was steeper. The tank had had a five-man crew, plus a dozen more in the troop bay DeVega had hit with MG fire. Aside from Squealer there were none un-wounded, and eight of the seventeen Merchants had died.

As police and ambulances rolled in, followed by Dauntless, the adrenaline started to wear off and Taylor shivered, suddenly cold. She mechanically said into her radio, "Erwin, Alpha Point, help see to the wounded. I will assist in a moment..."

She fought to stay upright, stay steady, as she walked over to an alley out of sight and threw up behind the dumpster.

Last edited: May 21, 2018

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Threadmarks Interlude: the Pack at Play

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#11

The Docks were quiet, the scene of the battle with Squealer's tank cleaned up save for scattered scorch-marks and a few new potholes; Erwin and Holtz, with the semi-grudging help of the Elementals and the quite-willing help of several Dockworkers, had stripped out every piece of equipment in the wreck that looked even remotely useful and hauled it away on trucks. The surviving Merchants were in custody, as was Squealer herself, though Point-Commanders Calvert and Ward had strongly recommended Taylor take the Vehicle-Tinker as a Bondswoman.

Now, however, Taylor was faced with a conundrum of another sort entirely; what to wear. Charlie Point had volunteered to pick up the remainder of Alpha's patrol, and Point-Commander Gohcourt of Bravo Point had decreed, with the backing of Danny Hebert, that a night of R&R was in order, especially since the battle had been Taylor's first true taste of combat and she'd by all accounts acquitted herself well. Thus, Taylor was back at her house, freshly-showered, and at a loss wardrobe-wise.

Taylor was still slightly in shock, she thought, especially after seeing the Merchant copilot she'd double-tapped in the gut with a laser-pistol carried out of the tank in a body-bag...

"Anika? What would you recommend I wear?"

Anika Gohcourt looked through Taylor's closet and frowned. "The khaki cargo-pants, and your combat boots, but unbloused, and... Ah-hah, this shirt."

'This shirt', as it turned out, was a tight-fitting black tee. Anika dug deeper and found an OD-green long-sleeve button-up in the very back of the closet. There was an image printed on the back of a combat knife point-down, with knotwork lines in black along the blade and forming a black knotwork heart on the ricasso. Around the knife was a banner proclaiming the motto, 'In hoc signo vinces'.

"And wear that over the tee, unbuttoned. It was your mother's once, I take it?" Anika asked as she moved straight to doing Taylor's hair in a tight single braid.

"Aff, it was. How could you tell?"

Anika smiled. "I read Annette's dossier during my pre-deployment briefing; the design on the shirt references the history of a unit she trained with, the Seventh Kommando. They are Special-Ops troops, raiders, saboteurs, scouts. They are also very proud that they can trace their lineage back to a Pre-Exodus unit of the Star-League Defense Force. The Seventy-Seventh Special-Operations Group, whose motto was 'In hoc signo vinces', meaning 'In this sign we conquer', and whose nickname was the 'Blackhearts'."

After the pair finished getting ready, which left Taylor chuckling at Anika's shirt, a pink Under-Armor sleeveless with a cartoon skull wearing a bow on the front. Just showing on the back of Gohcourt's right shoulder was a tattoo, a neat, orderly set of initials arranged two columns wide by four rows deep.

The pair met Alpha Point, less John who was still recovering from his concussion, downstairs; Bravo Point was with them.

There were Dana and Nicholas Waters, Jackson Tutuola, and Helen Reisch, who was Anika's 2IC. Each was dressed casually, and as Anika and Taylor joined them the blonde Point-Commander handed Taylor five ten-dollar bills. "From Administrator Hebert, for your use tonight. He also received our temporary identification from the PRT this morning."

Taylor tucked the money into her pocket. "Alright, where do you want to go?"

Kyle spoke up. "The troopers at PHQ spoke highly of a coffee-shop and tavern near their building, by the name of the Black Rifle."

Anika and Mykel conferred with a look, and nodded in sync. "The Black Rifle it is," said Ward. "As you know the location, Point-Officer Kyle Fetladral, you shall take point and lead us there."

...

When the group arrived and walked through the metal door that lead into the Black Rifle, Taylor's nose was filled with the rich aroma of roasted coffee-beans and her ears filled with the murmur of conversations and the sound of River Driver by Great Big Sea on the jukebox. They took seats at the bar and ordered. Anika ordered a round of tequila shots for Bravo Point, while Alpha ordered mugs of the 'CAF' blend coffee. Taylor looked over the coffee menu and ordered a mug of the 'Sniper Hide' coffee, not seeing any tea.

The barman looked at the IDs and raised an eyebrow. "You're those Contractors the Troopers have been talking about? The Wolf Dragoons?"

"Aff, we are," said Mykel. "I am Point-Commander Mykel Ward. The local equivalent would be... Corporal, I believe? I command Alpha Point, First Mobile Star. My Point," he said, gesturing to each, "Point-Officers Dalton Shaw, and Kyle and Alexandra Fetladral. My final teammate, Point-Officer John Shaw, is regrettably recuperating from an injury sustained during the fight earlier, against the Merchants."

"How bad?" asked a redheaded woman on Taylor's opposite side.

"Not-especially. He took two loads of birdshot to the vest at close-range and a cross-peen hammer to the face-mask breaching the driver's compartment of Squealer's tank. Bruised ribs that Panacea already healed, and a concussion that she could not heal, Miss...?"

"Sergeant. PRT Trooper Sergeant Jillian Martinez. How about your friends? Mind introducing them, Point-Commander?" Martinez smiled.

Anika introduced herself and her Point, then clapped Taylor on the back and introduced her. "And this is our CO, Star-Captain Taylor Hebert. She is a bit green, but she has potential to be a fine Elemental, in time, and a fine Commander."

The barman, who introduced himself as 'Joe', polished a glass. "Elemental?"

"Our Infantry," said Nicholas. He gestured with a nod of his head to the others. "We are all Elementals."

Joe looked at Taylor and paused. "All of you? Isn't she," he nodded toward Taylor, "a bit, you know..."

Alexandra laughed and responded. "A bit small to be an Elemental, quiaff? Neg, I assure you, the Star-Captain is not small, merely... Highly-Concentrated. Focused, like a laser through a tight lens."

"That so, eh?" said Martinez with a grin. "So, Star-Cap'n, you enjoying our little home-away-from-home? You've been awful quiet..."

Taylor chuckled. "I like it. Very homey. I apologize; I just have a lot on my mind."

"Oh?"

Taylor looked down and into her mug, at a loss for words.

Anika said simply, "Today was her first real battle. She blooded herself today, the shotgunner who hit John. Part of why we came here was to celebrate our victory, and part was to induct our Star-Captain and the young pups of Alpha Point, whose first post-training posting this is, into one of the most ancient of military orders."

Joe slid shots of tequila to Taylor and Alpha Point. "On the house, but it's the only one you get; this ain't a toast you make with coffee."

Anika lifted her shot-glass and spoke, her voice carrying over the conversations, which halted. "To Star-Captain Taylor Hebert and Alpha Point, the newest Members of the Fraternal Order of Pachyderm Watchers."

Glasses were raised as most of the clientele, PRT Troopers and cops, firefighters, EMTs, and veterans, called out as one, "For we have Seen the Elephant."

The Dragoons downed their tequila and Taylor coughed, chasing it with coffee. After they had gotten refills, the men and Helen stood and headed toward the dartboard, and Dana smiled slyly. "Anika, Taylor, Alexandra, Jillian? I issue batchall to you all. A Trial of Possession."

Martinez tilted her head quizzically. "You'll have to explain that one to me..."

Anika looked her teammate in the eye. "What weapons, and what prize?"

Taylor spoke to Jillian. "Batchall is short for 'Battle Challenge', and a Trial of Possession is a formal contest, typically a duel, for possession of a specified prize. Dana, being the challenger, gets to chose how the Trial is fought, and we the challenged choose the ground."

Dana nodded to Taylor. "I offer these terms; a Bidding War, the one with the least-impressive true boast or tale for a given topic buys the next round and the most-impressive chooses the next topic. Agreed?"

Anika nodded. "Bargained well and done, Dana Waters."

Alexandra smiled widely. "Bargained well and done."

Taylor nodded, her eyes bright. "Bargained well and done, Waters."

Martinez laughed. "For the honor of the PRT, bargained well and done. The first topic?"

Dana tapped her fingers on the bar-top. "The best shot or shot-group you've ever made with any ranged weapon, outside combat."

Alexandra nodded. "Five-hundred meters with a Mauser IIC during training, from the standing, ten shots out of ten in the head."

Dana chuckled. "Same distance, same weapon, same stance. Ten out of ten in a two-inch group."

Anika smiled. "My issue sidearm, a Smith & Wesson Military & Police 445 Extended-Range Laser Pistol, at three-hundred meters, extreme-range, four clean headshots on four targets in four shots."

Taylor shrugged, knowing she'd likely already lost the round, went next. "Age eight with a Red Ryder bb-gun with a Tasco 3-to-9-power scope taped to the receiver, from my bedroom window twenty yards down into our backyard, eighteen black hornets shot out of the air in a row."

Jillian stared. "A smoothbore bb-gun with the scope taped on, and you took eighteen one-inch-long hornets on the wing, in eighteen consecutive shots at twenty yards and a downward angle?"

Taylor nodded. "I always chalked it up to luck; I have never repeated the feat successfully since."

Her opponents agreed she won the bidding for that round; Jillian conceded the bidding and bought the round.

Taylor pondered a moment. "The oddest location you have ever woken up in..."

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Threadmarks 6: Strength of the Pack

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#12

Taylor yawned and awoke the morning after her's and the others' night out, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and rolled out of bed. She had yet again slept at Den Able, though Danny's skill and community connections had come through and supplied them with a mix of Army-surplus cots and jungle-hammocks, and sleeping-bags. Taylor stretched and then took her hammock down, rolling it up to store. A quick glance at the clock showed it was a little after five AM, and the teenager smiled.

She donned her fatigues and boots, then walked over to her Armor. Taylor ran her hand over the smooth gray chestplate, smiling gently.

"It is a beautiful thing, quiaff?" asked Thomas from behind her. "Form following Function, as is proper; the simple understated beauty of a well-made tool."

"Aff," said Taylor. "But a tool only truly shows its beauty in the hand of a craftsman skilled in its use, and I am only a rank amateur, yet. Did you sleep well, Thomas?"

The commander of Charlie Point nodded as Taylor turned. "I slept well enough, Star-Captain. The accommodations here are better than quite a few places I have had occasion to sleep in."

"Good. Bravo Point is resting?"

"Aff. All three Elemental Points are on-site, and Dog Point is patrolling. Also, Point-Commander Erwin and Administrator Hebert spent several hours last night dealing with an influx of potential recruits."

Taylor paused. "Oh?"

Calvert nodded. "Twelve, members of the Dockworkers' Union who needed employment. Administrator Hebert instructed them to return here at 0800."

Taylor nodded in return. "I will be here. However, that still leaves me with three hours to fill. Would you mind helping me build up my skill with the Elemental Armor?"

Thomas smiled. "Aff, Star-Captain. I believe you have a good start with movement, but have yet to calibrate the targeting-systems for your weapons. Do you know of a location where we might be able to shoot? Charlie Point is due a training session as well."

"The Ship Graveyard. Wake your Point, and I will prep my suit." As Calvert went to rouse his troops, Taylor donned her skin-suit and rolled her fatigues up, intending to carry them with her in case she had to exit the suit. Once that was done, she unhooked the suit power-armor from the charger and opened it, and climbed in.

The HUD lit up, and Taylor heard the system state the challenge. "Like the Creeper that girdles the tree-trunk, the Law runneth Forward and Back..."

"For the Strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the Strength of the Wolf is the Pack."

"Neural Pattern Recognized. Sensors Online, Comms Online, Weapons Online. All Systems Nominal."

...

As the Dragoons leapt across the Docks toward the Ship Graveyard ten minutes later, Kid Win and Aegis dropped down to pace them. "Good morning, Dragoons!" called Kid Win.

Taylor waved with her manipulator. "Good morning, Kid Win!" she called back as she landed from a ninety-meter leap.

The red-armored Tinker grinned. "Ah, Star-Captain Hebert! I didn't recognize you. I see your troops have gotten an upgrade. What brings you out this early? A patrol?"

"Neg, training. Charlie Point and I are bound for the Ship Graveyard for some weapons-practice. I still have muc-" She was cut off by her comm.

"Dog Lead to Dragoon Actual; I have a pair of... I am entirely unsure as to what to call them, other than vehicles, offering challenge. Please advise, over?"

Taylor held up her hand to stop her men, and they settled on a rooftop. "Dog Lead, this is Dragoon Actual. Describe the vehicles and their challenge, over."

"One appears to be an open-topped hot-rod ground-car with a rocking-chair in place of the driver's seat and a wood-burning stove rear-mounted. Second vehicle appears to be a hybrid of a ground-car and a First-World-War biplane, open-cockpit, with a machine-gun on the nose. Both pilots are... Oddly-dressed, male, and offering challenge to race. Please advise, over."

Taylor laughed aloud. "Dog Lead, I know your challengers. They are a pair of small-time Villains who go by 'Uber' and 'Leet'. They run a video series on the local Chatterweb in which they document their exploits, themed around video-games. The cars are from a game based on a children's cartoon called Wacky Races. The 'Arkansas Chugabug' and the 'Crimson Haybaler', respectively. They are relatively harmless; use your own best judgement as to accepting their challenge, out."

"Trouble?" asked Aegis.

"Our vehicle Point just got challenged to a race by Uber and Leet."

"Ah..."

Kid Win spoke up then. "Would you mind if we came with you? We both just came off patrol, so we're not really on the clock."

Aegis shook his head. "I've got errands to run, Win. You have fun." He took off with a wave and Kid Win mounted his hover-board.

Taylor lead the group on to the Graveyard. Calvert stepped forward. "Now, Star-Captain, we shall calibrate your targeting systems. DeVega, jump out a hundred meters and mark a target."

The Elemental in question used a steel bar to prop a rusted hull-plate up.

Thomas nodded. "The SRM is a guided missile, so that requires no real calibration, but the sights for your arm-mounted weapons do. There is a trigger-switch under your left ring finger; squeeze it twice to arm your Machine-Gun in Simulation-Mode."

Taylor squeezed the switch and heard the MG slung under her wrist click. When she brought her arm up to point at the target, a reticle appeared in her HUD and followed her arm's pointing, displaying a range to the target. Calvert nodded. "Take aim at the target, that patch of bare metal in the center. The firing-trigger is under your left middle finger. One three-round burst; fire."

Taylor took aim and pressed the trigger. The MG clicked thrice and she released the trigger.

Thomas looked at the target and nodded. "It should be displaying a still of the target with the hits marked in red. Adjustment is by voice-command."

Taylor adjusted her sights and fired a second burst. "MG is on-target."

"Good. Squeeze the arming-switch twice to disarm the MG, and squeeze the switch under your right ring finger twice to arm the laser in Simulation-Mode. Calibrating it is the same as with the MG."

Taylor calibrated her sights and then turned back to Kid Win, who had been discussing tech with DeVega. "I apologize for making you wait, Kid Win; I had needed to calibrate the targeting system in my armor."

The red-armored Tinker laughed. "It's not a problem, Star-Captain. I understand needing to make adjustments. So, you said you were training?"

"Aff," responded Taylor. "I think a bit of mock-combat would be just the thing. Do your weapons have a training-mode?"

Kid Win nodded. "They do. Even then, they're designed to be non-lethal anyway. Give me a minute, though." Calvert watched as the boy pulled a toolkit out of a compartment on his armor and started adjusting something in the internals of his pistols. After a moment he closed the casings of his guns and stowed the toolkit. "I adjusted my pistols to mimic the Sim-Mode of your lasers."

Taylor clapped, impressed. "A free-for-all, simulated combat. No missiles. Lowest kill-count after an hour must buy the first round at the Black Rifle on our next R&R day. Agreed?"

...

When Taylor and Charlie Point returned to Den Able, having parted ways with Kid Win after reminding him that he owed them a round at the Black Rifle, they found Danny sitting at his desk in the warehouse, chuckling as Erwin hung a propeller and the firebox door from a wood-stove on the wall near his hovercraft's parking-space. Alpha Point, less John, were patrolling and Bravo were taking inventory of the gear salvaged from Squealer's tank and the various Merchants.

"Good Morning, Dad."

"Morning, Taylor. You were training?"

"Aff, at the Ship Graveyard with Charlie Point." Taylor shut her suit down and exited it, plugging it back into the charger to top off. "Thomas said we have potential recruits?"

"We do. A dozen; I don't think more than one or two are fit for infantry, but they're all decently-skilled mechanics, two are certified welders, four are licenced heavy-equipment operators, and two, James Stewart and Gustav Vasa, are prior-service military. Stewart was a tanker in the Army, and Vasa was in a Marine LAR unit."

Taylor nodded. "Promising; we can always use more personnel on support-duty, and I know we will need to expand our motor-pool as we grow."

Erwin spoke up then. "I had an idea regarding that very thing, Star-Captain. Depending on how many local recruits we take in as vehicle-crew, I might have a way to add more fighting vehicles relatively-cheaply..."

Taylor listened to his idea and thought it through. "This idea has merit, Erwin. How did you think of it?"

"I was... not necessarily a member of the LCAF when I was captured by Clan mercenary crew I was with was small and often short of funds, so we learned to improvise."

"What do you think, Dad?"

"I think I wouldn't want to pit it against a dedicated fighting-vehicle, but for simple jobs it would do fairly-well, I think. You requisition the parts and I'll see about getting a vehicle."

The recruits began to arrive and Taylor watched her father work. Only four of the twelve were looking for combat jobs, including Stewart and Vasa. The others were quizzed extensively by Erwin and Calvert, then told they were accepted as Probationary Technicians pending a proper Trial of Position.

Taylor, meanwhile, opened the requisition program on her datapad and scrolled through to find what she needed. She ordered up a 25-rated fusion vehicle engine and transmission, along with an Infantry Support Laser. After that, she logged onto the internet and searched Craigslist for a vehicle while Danny gave the new recruits a tour. She found a vehicle that was suited to their needs and priced very cheaply due to a cracked engine-block and lack of transmission. "Point-Officer Sradac, I have a task for you and Point-Commander Erwin." She wrote down the address from the ad and drew out five hundred-dollar bills from the unit coffers. "Go to this address; there is a man offering to sell a truck there. Buy it, and have it brought back here; it will need to be towed, as the engine is non-functional. Here is the money for it."

Erwin took the money and got the keys to Danny's pickup. Taylor looked to the four recruits who wanted fighting-wages, all looking to be in their mid-thirties. "Gentlemen, I am Star-Captain Taylor Hebert. You probably know me better as Danny's daughter." She let her diction slip and said, "Here's the deal. I've not met all of you, not properly, so introduce yourselves and tell me what sort of role you want to fill in my unit."

Stewart went first. "James E. B. Stewart, at your service. I was a Tank Driver in the 278th ACR, Tennessee Army National Guard, ten years ago. I was licenced and trained on the M1A1 Main Battle Tank during my time with the 'Third Tennessee'. I moved back up here two years ago after I divorced and Knoxville got to chafing at me."

Taylor nodded. "We don't have any tanks at the moment..."

"To quote the 278th motto, 'I Volunteer, Sir'."

Vasa clapped him on the back. "Yup, a Weekend Warrior, but he's good people, Star-Captain. I'm Gustav Vasa, formerly Sergeant Gustav Vasa of First Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion, the 'Highlanders', First MarDiv. Driver, Gunner, and Vehicle Commander all, at one point or another, in the LAV-25."

The third man introduced himself simply as, "Joe Johnston, no prior-service, no special qualifications, but willing to work, learn, fight, and follow orders."

The fourth was a woman. "Michelle Kurita. I'm like Joe, no prior military service and no special qualifications, but I'll work my ass off wherever you need me and fight to the last."

Taylor nodded. "Consider yourselves Probationary, pending a Trial of Position, a combat test to really check your mettle."

...

An hour later, Erwin and Sradac returned, following a roll-back wrecker with a Ford F-150 loaded on the back. After the truck was unloaded and the wrecker departed, Taylor whistled. "Technicians, gather around!" As the eight recruits gathered, Taylor smiled. "Remember how Dad said you were Probationary pending a Trial of Position? This is your Trial of Position. Point-Commander Erwin, as the one who devised this idea, you will administer the Trial."

Erwin nodded and spoke up. "You see that truck? The engine is dead and there is no transmission in it. Those crates by the wall contain an Omni-25 Fusion Engine and a transmission to fit it, as well as a Support Laser. In my old unit, we could take a civilian pickup like this one, swap engines and transmissions, and mount the laser to make an improvised fighting-vehicle, in four hours or less, in the field. None of you have prior experience with Fusion Engines, so I will be lenient. You have six hours and the use of what tools are available here, including the toolkit from my Savannah Master. Begin!" The Technicians scattered to grab tools and fell on the pickup like a NASCAR pit-crew.

Taylor walked over to Erwin. "I feel vaguely warlord-ish about this, Erwin. Out of curiosity, did your old unit have a name for this type of vehicle?"

Erwin nodded, still watching the mechanics. When he spoke, his Lyran roots were on full display in his speech, so nostalgic was he. "Ja, Star-Captain. We called diese modifizierten Autos, the 'Feldgrau'. The 'Field-Gray'."

Last edited: May 21, 2018

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Threadmarks 7: Strength of the Wolf

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#14

Five-and-a-half hours (and many skinned knuckles) after the Technicians' Trial of Position began, they stepped away from a completed Feldgrau Technical. The Support Laser had been pintle-mounted on a post welded into the center of the bed and had a three-sixty horizontal firing arc, and could elevate to eighty degrees above level and depress to forty-five degrees below level. The power-cable ran up through the post itself after running under the frame to the engine, with a flex-joint connector to enable full range of motion without cable damage. The crew had even worked to make sure all the lights were functional.

Erwin looked it over with a careful eye. "Start it." One of the mechanics reached into the cab and pressed the ignition button; the truck hummed to life. Erwin climbed into the bed and settled himself behind the trigger of the laser, testing its sweep and peering through the reflector-sight on top. "Technicians, do you trust your own work?" he asked.

"Erwin? What are you about to do?" asked Taylor.

"One last test, Star-Captain. Of the machine and their mettle all in one." He flipped the arming-switch on the laser to 'Test' and swung the laser over the Technicians' heads while holding down the trigger.

No shots were fired. No new holes appeared in the wall. Erwin grinned wide and laughed. "Excellent! It worked perfectly. You see?" He swung the laser around to display the indicator lights on the receiver, all green.

"Point-Commander Erwin, you are a madman," Taylor replied dryly. She turned to the Techs and smiled. "Welcome to the Wolf Dragoons, Technicians. Your next task, aside from gaining familiarity with our various systems, is getting this technical painted some color other than Bondo, and getting our unit markings on it. After that, get it registered at the DMV. As well, all of you, be on the lookout for another truck of the same type in case we need another Feldgrau."

...

Taylor and Danny sat down to go over prospective contracts while the Techs read over the manuals for the hovercraft and Elemental Armor.

"Two-month Retainer Contract from Rosewater & Bimstein Bail Bonds for Skip-Tracing, payment ten-percent of the Bond per Skip plus a six-thousand-dollar retainer fee; option to renegotiate after the initial retainer expires?" asked Danny.

Taylor used her datapad to look the Bail-Bondsmen up. "According to their website, Nigel Rosewater and William Bimstein work in close-concert with Quinn Calle's law-firm, as Bail-Bondsmen for Capes. I say we list it as a 'Possible'. Next contract?"

"Three-week contract from Medhall Pharmaceutical to escort shipments from their manufacturing-plant here, to a distribution center in Buffalo, New York. Three shipments, one per week, payment five thousand dollars per shipment plus expenses and option to extend at end-of-contract."

"File it 'Probable', and call them to set up a meeting to work out the details. Fifteen-grand is nothing to sneeze at for three round-trips to Buffalo."

"Five thousand dollars..." Danny trailed off as he looked at his monitor.

"What?"

"Five-grand up-front and guaranteed, for meeting with Coil next Saturday to negotiate a long-term contract with him in person."

"He's a small-time Villain, emphasis on Villain. Tell him we're busy next Saturday, but if he wants to wait we could pencil him in somewhere around the Fifth of Never."

...

That night, Michelle Kurita sat at the bar in a tiny dive on the outskirts of ABB territory nursing a beer. She barely looked up from her drink as a heavily-built man sat down beside her. "Yuki," he rumbled in a deep voice. "You have word of the mercenaries operating in the Docks?"

She nodded. "I do. I joined them today. My word is, I'm out. Full-Stop. And I left the name 'Yuki' behind long ago, Oniisan. Kurita Yuki sank below the waves with Kyushu; I am Michelle Kurita now."

The man snorted derisively. "Such spine, Little Sister. The ABB does not look kindly on turncoats, so think long and hard about your next words. There is no 'Out', except Death. I would rather not have to kill you, Michelle."

"And I'd rather drink turpentine and piss on a brush-fire than stay ABB, Kenta." Michelle placed a twenty on the bar and walked out without another word.

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#16

The morning broke clear and cold over Brockton Bay, and Taylor was returning to Den Able with Alpha Point in tow; John was still officially convalescing from his concussion, but everyone had gotten fed up with the stir-crazy Elemental, so he was on light-duty, if only to keep him occupied.

Taylor paused, seeing a slumped figure against the front wall. Mykel gestured Dalton and Kyle out to either side and Alexandra and John to cover their rear as he and Taylor moved to investigate.

When Taylor turned the limp figure over, she gasped. It was Michelle, one of their new recruits; she was badly-burned, her face marked as though someone had gripped her in a massive burning hand...

Taylor checked her pulse; it was weak but it was there. Her breathing was shallow and quick, and Taylor noted in a descending haze of red that her clothes were torn where they weren't burned...

"Mykel, rouse Stewart if he is inside, or Vasa, and tell them to get the Feldgrau running so we can get Michelle to the hospital. Wake the troops inside and let them know we are in a state of high-alert. I want everyone awake and armed, ready for trouble."

"Aff, Star-Captain. Do you know who did this?"

"Aff. This is almost certainly the work of Lung, the leader of the Azn Bad Boyz." As Ward dashed inside to rouse the Dragoons in the warehouse, Taylor activated hercomm and broadcast to the Point on patrol. "Charlie Lead, this is Dragoon Actual. Set Alert Status Orange; one of ours was attacked, likely by the ABB. We are getting her to medical aid now, but be aware. Confirm? Over."

Calvert's voice came back over the comm. "Charlie Lead confirms Orange Alert. Who is down? Over."

"One of the new recruits, Michelle Kurita. Extensive burns. Dragoon Actual out."

The technical rolled out of the warehouse with Vasa behind the wheel and Joe riding shotgun. Alexandra helped Taylor get Michelle on a stretcher and into the bed, and a blanket was tucked over her. Taylor leapt up and settled in behind the laser, arming it with a flip of the switch. "Elementals, get armored-up and be ready for trouble. I will go with Vasa and Joe to the hospital. When we return, I want all my Bloodnamed Warriors ready for a Council." She didn't wait for a response, but slapped the top of the cab to signal Vasa.

As Taylor scanned with the laser, she changed her comm to the frequency Kid Win had given her the morning before, that was the open freq to The PRT/Wards Dispatch Console. "PRT Console, PRT Console, this is Star-Captain Hebert of the Wolf Dragoons; I am reporting a Medical Emergency, over."

"Star-Captain, this is Triumph on Console; what's your location and the nature of the emergency?" The Ward's voice was solid and steady.

"Female victim, early-thirties with extensive second- and third-degree burns; breathing shallow and pulse thready and weak. I am transporting her by vehicle to Brockton Bay General as we speak, but I would take it as a kindness if you would contact them and let them know not to be alarmed when the vehicle arrives, over."

"Roger, Star-Captain. What sort of vehicle should they expect? Over."

"We will be arriving by technical, Triumph. ETA zero-seven minutes; my driver is under orders that haste is of the essence."

"What caused the burns, Star-Captain?"

"The handprint seared into her face says Lung. Hebert out." As they approached the hospital Taylor powered-down the laser and secured it.

She knelt by Michelle, murmuring to the unconscious woman, "You told me you'd fight to the last, Michelle Kurita; if ever there were a time to fight, this is it. Fight hard, fight your hardest, don't let Death win today..."

...

Panacea herself was waiting at the Emergency-Room entrance when the Feldgrau rolled up. Joe and Taylor dropped the tailgate and got Michelle's stretcher out as the EMTs moved a gurney into place and rushed her inside. Taylor came level with Panacea as the healer laid hands on Michelle. "Second-degree burns over sixty-percent, third-degree over twenty-percent; her throat's swelling! Star-Captain, she's one of yours? I have permission to heal her?"

"Yes, do it!"

The redness and swelling in the Dragoon's throat eased, and her breathing became less labored. "She's stable; I'll finish healing her after I catalog the rest of her injuries."

"No, you won't, Amy," said a female voice from behind them. Standing at the Nurses' Station was Amy's mother, Carol Dallon, also known as the New Wave heroine Brandish. "I thought I'd told you before that you were forbidden to heal Villains or their minions outside Truce situations."

Amy stopped as the gurney rolled onward to the Burn Ward and faced her mother. She gestured and walked outside, Carol following her and Taylor last of all. Taylor stepped to one side and stood by the tailgate of the Feldgrau, her eyes half-lidded and cold. The healer spoke firmly to the lawyer, her voice as sharp as a scalpel.

"I will apply, for the benefit of the sick, all measures which are required... If it is given me to save a life, all thanks. But it may also be within my power to take a life; this awesome responsibility must be faced with great humbleness and awareness of my own frailty. Above all, I must not play at God. I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart, a cancerous growth, but a sick human being, whose illness may affect the person's family... I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm. If I do not violate this oath, may I enjoy life and art, respected while I live and remembered with affection thereafter. May I always act so as to preserve the finest traditions of my calling and may I long experience the joy of healing those who seek my help."

Panacea looked into Brandish's eyes as she spoke. "Do you know what that is, Carol? That's the Hippocratic Oath. That's the oath I swore when I started healing. If someone's sick or hurt, I heal them, if it's in my power to do so. Hero, Villain, Rogue, Minion, Civilian; it doesn't matter. I swore an oath, and I will not break it."

"They're Villains!" Brandish snapped. "Money-grubbing mercenaries without a stitch of honor or decency! What happens when someone pays them to kill a Hero? Pays them to kill Sarah, or Vicky, or me? What then?"

Taylor's temper, frayed nearly to breaking, broke. She strode around the truck to get in Carol's face, and growled. "Today is not the day to be calling me or mine villainous, or to be making erroneous and slanderous statements about our honor and decency, Carol Dallon. One of my troops was brought in here dying and your daughter acted to fulfill her rede as a healer. Who are you, to dictate who she may or may not heal? Who made you God, that you may say, 'This person is inherently Good and may live, but this person is inherently Evil and deserves only death,' Brandish?"

Taylor watched as Carol Dallon wheeled to glare at her. "And what would a mercenary know about honor or decency? The only thing you care for is the Almighty Dollar."

"Carol Dallon, if I were not so focused on the health of the woman in that Burn Ward, and on organizing a response to my people being attacked, I would demand you answer for your insults. But I am busy with those things, and thus I do not have the time to spare on an ignorant pissant like you."

Taylor softened her expression and turnedto Amy. "You have my gratitude, Panacea, for all your efforts. Please let me know when Michelle is ready to come home." Taylor vaulted into the bed and whistled for Vasa and Joe, who came running from the smoking-area nearby.

...

Taylor was headed toward her locker and the skin-suit inside when Danny called out, "Taylor, Armsmaster is on the line; he wants to meet with you at PHQ."

Taylor stripped out of her fatigues and started donning the skin-suit. "Tell him I'm on my way, but first I need to see to our security." She climbed into her suit and started it. "Bravo Point, Charlie Point, secure the building and hold. Dog Point, assist Bravo and Charlie. Alpha, with me; we will meet Armsmaster and then convene a Council when I return."

...

When the six Elementals arrived, Armsmaster was waiting. "Star-Captain Hebert, Triumph told me about your trooper," the Protectorate Tinker stated, getting straight to business. "Brandish told me about your 'discussion' outside Bay General. What are your intentions, Star-Captain? What are the intentions of the Wolf Dragoons?"

Taylor opened the face-plate of her suit. "It is my intention to take council of my troops, if necessary of Command. Forces will be bid, and we will respond to this attack. All that remains to be determined is whether the Azn Bad Boyz will be Absorbed, Abjured, or Annihilated. You have my word, my Rede, that the Wolf Dragoons will do all we can to minimize collateral damage."

Armsmaster frowned. "I was afraid of that... You understand that Lung is not someone to underestimate, correct? He defeated every Hero in this city just after arriving here. He fought an Endbringer alone and survived. I... He's a very formidable adversary."Armsmaster began to say more when Taylor's comm chirped and displayed a text message relayed from her datapad.

Have received report from PtCmdr Erwin re: Rct Kurita. Your intention re: response?

-GlxyCmdr Kerensky

Taylor held up a hand to Armsmaster. "A moment, please? I just received a message from Command." She closed her face-plate for privacy and opened her comm. "System, dictate message to Galaxy-Commander Kerensky. Message begins: Intention is to respond with force, but scope of response currently undetermined. Currently discussing options with local Protectorate Team-Leader, representing Protectorate and PRT. Signed, Star-Captain Hebert. Message ends; send message."

A minute later, a new text popped up on her HUD.

Arrange Vid-Call w/ Protectorate Lead/PRT Director. I want to speak with them.

-Kerensky

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Threadmarks 9: the Widow New

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#34

Taylor stiffened. "Armsmaster, I just received orders from Galaxy-Commander Kerensky. She wants me to arrange a video-call between her, you, and Director Piggot."

"Your CO?" Armsmaster asked. Taylor nodded. "Let me call the Director. Did your boss say why she wanted to talk?"

"Her message said only that she wants to talk to you both."

...

Director Emily Piggot sat next to Armsmaster at the table in Conference Room Three as Taylor, changed into her fatigues, connected her datapad to a teleconference screen. The teen typed a message and sent it, and then stepped back. A few lines of code ran across the monitor before a connection established and the image cleared to show a woman, redheaded and dressed in black leather with red wolf's-head insignia at her shoulders. Taylor saluted. "Galaxy-Commander."

"At ease, Star-Captain Hebert, and introduce us," the woman said.

"Galaxy-Commander, this is Armsmaster, the leader of the Parahuman Law-Enforcement Agency, or Protectorate, local team, designated 'Protectorate East-Northeast'. With him is his non-Parahuman counterpart, Director Emily Piggot of the Parahuman Response Teams East-Northeast. Armsmaster, Director Piggot, my Commanding Officer, Galaxy-Commander Natasha Kerensky."

Armsmaster nodded respectfully. "Ma'am."

Director Piggot took in Kerensky's appearance and nodded as well. This woman... This woman's not one to play with; she's got a killer's eyes...

Piggot spoke then. "Galaxy-Commander Kerensky, have you been briefed on the current situation?"

"I have. One of Hebert's Point-Commanders sent a report to me, as in her haste to act the Star-Captain neglected to do so herself..." Natasha turned an eye toward Taylor, who blushed. Kerensky smirked. "Ah, youth... So eager. Her mother was much the same, at her age. But that is neither here nor there; Star-Captain Hebert informs me she was discussing possible responses with you, Armsmaster?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I understand that she feels a need to respond to this incident, but I also understand the need for moderation. The last thing this city needs is to become a warzone."

"I concur whole-heartedly, Armsmaster. The level of force in response, if a response by force is truly warranted, should be reasonable and proportionate."

Director Piggot picked up the bottle of water by her elbow and drank. "Galaxy-Commander Kerensky, how common are mercenaries in your dimension? And what's the quality of them?"

"Stated bluntly, Director?" said Natasha, "They are a dime a dozen. As to quality, it varies. Some units are known for skill and professional conduct, for example the Wolf Dragoons, the Kell Hounds, the 21st Centauri Lancers. Some are bandits in all but name, like Wayne Waco's Rangers."

Piggot nodded. "Mercenaries are fairly common here, though not dime-a-dozen common. And the last time Earth-Bet had extradimensional visitors it very-nearly started a war. In the past few days Star-Captain Hebert's demonstrated a willingness to work with the law that is sadly un-common among our native sellswords, with or without superpowers, so I've been reserving judgement on her unit. But Lung is a class of enemy much more dangerous than the Merchants, and I'll be damned before I see my city burn over a single casualty and a mercenary's pride."

Natasha smiled a predatory smile. "I see your position, Director Piggot. I can understand your desire to keep your city and its people safe and whole. A response in force may in fact not be warranted. Star-Captain Hebert, is Point-Officer Kurita able to speak?"

"Neg, Galaxy-Commander; she was unconscious when I left her at the hospital. She may be awake now, but I have not heard from her or the hospital yet."

"Are you aware of the exact circumstances of her being injured?"

"Neg, Galaxy-Commander. I and Alpha Point found her outside our base upon returning from PT." Taylor was beginning to feel very nervous, and it showed.

"You do not know if she was ambushed, or attacked openly; you do not know if she answered a challenge or issued a challenge. For all that you know at this time, she may have through word or deed brought her injuries on herself. This is an accurate assessment, quiaff?"

Taylor swallowed thickly. "Aff, Galaxy-Commander. I am currently unaware of the precise chain of events behind Point-Officer Kurita being injured."

"Then until you are aware, you will not act to redress her injury. Speed is an asset, but haste is a weakness, Star-Captain; hasty commanders make mistakes."

Director Piggot privately agreed with Kerensky on that score; speed was good, but getting in a hurry made a person sloppy, and that could get a person, or worse, the people around that person, killed. She cleared her throat. "I think we can table this discussion pending further evidence. You agree, Galaxy-Commander?"

"Aff. We can reconvene when more evidence is presented. In the meantime, Director, Armsmaster, the Wolf Dragoons will not initiate combat with Lung..."

...

Taylor listened as Natasha spoke further with the Director and the Hero, noting the possibility of trade negotiations between the groups, until the talks ended. Truthfully Taylor had zoned out during most of it, contemplating potential methods for striking at Lung.

After Taylor had exited the building and climbed back into her armor, her comm chirped again, voice-only.

Natasha's voice spoke calmly. "Star-Captain Hebert, do you know why I did what I did, in there? The dressing-down?"

"Aff, Galaxy-Commander; I was being hasty, and you checked me in public to keep me from potentially making a mistake."

"There is more to it than that. The Director was on the verge of taking action against the Dragoons; better to concede on a small point, than to make a powerful enemy before we have strength to fight. Her past experience with mercenaries has her justifiably suspicious, however-much your recent actions offset that suspicion. At any rate, I also negotiated a deal with her. Your current base is rapidly growing too small for your expanding forces, and the Protectorate and PRT are willing to entertain talks of ceding a parcel of land outside the city in exchange for some of our tech, with the approval of their respective leaders. Piggot is a sharp one; she reminds me of... Me."

Taylor nodded, remembering part of that topic. "I see. That still leaves Lung, however."

"If he attacks you, destroy him utterly. I only said the Dragoons would not initiate combat. Let him come to you. Understood?"

"Aff, Galaxy-Commander. I understand," responded Taylor.

"Good. Now, since I have you on the comm already, I would like you to give me a more in-depth briefing regarding your recent recruits..."

Last edited: Oct 23, 2017

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Threadmarks 10: Vipers' Nest New

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#45

Taylor strode through the front doors of Winslow High School the day after Michelle's hospitalization as though she owned it. Behind her, Alpha Point was fanned out; all six were... not in fatigues, but also not far from it. Each wore khaki cargo trousers over their combat boots, a gray polo shirt under a black leather jacket, the red wolf's-head of the Wolf Dragoons on the shoulders, and in six left-ears shone six emerald-green dagger-star earrings.

The sextet paused when Emma Barnes stepped out from a group of girls and into Taylor's way. "Taylor! You're back! I thought for sure you'd been locked in the loony-bin."

Taylor smirked and turned her head to address Alexandra. "Alexandra, do you hear something?"

Alexandra smirked back. "Just a dog barking, Taylor. Yappy bitch, too; rather annoying, but inconsequential."

John stepped forward and the surrounding girls stared in awe as the Elemental moved. More stares and lustful murmurs came as the girls noticed the others. John gave Emma a flat stare. "You are blocking our way; we have business with Principal Blackwell. Move."

"Oh my God, Taylor's joined a gang," crowed Madison Clements from the sidelines. "I always knew she'd end up a whore." The Dragoons scowled and started to react, only to be brought up short.

Taylor laughed aloud. "No, Madison, I have not joined a gang. I merely found a job, courtesy of an inheritance from my mother. Girls, meet Alpha Point, Wolf Dragoons PMC. My PMC. Point-Officer Shaw, step back. Madison is nothing but big talk and immature attempts at action, and Emma is a dezgra traitor unworthy of notice, much less the effort it would take to give her the kicking she so deserves. We are Wolf Dragoons; we do not demean ourselves by fighting weaklings." Taylor stepped forward and shouldered Emma aside as though she weren't even there, never breaking stride nor looking back.

When she arrived at the Principal's office, Taylor walked in and retrieved the packet of papers she'd brought with her from the inside pocket of her jacket. "I need these signed," she said simply to the secretary, "by Principal Blackwell."

The secretary started to do to the papers what she'd done to the last set of transfer papers Taylor had brought in, then paused with her hand halfway to the shredder as she saw the headings. They weren't transfers, they were papers withdrawing her from Winslow for home-schooling and a request for her transcripts...

"Today, please. I have a meeting to be at in an hour."

The secretary showed Taylor into Blackwell's office. "Yes, Miss Hebert?" asked Blackwell without looking up from her computer.

Taylor dropped the papers, which she'd taken back from the secretary, on her desk. "I need those signed."

"Halfway through the school-year is not the time to transfer, Miss Hebert."

"Good that I'm not transferring, then; I'm withdrawing to be home-schooled. My father and I have found the quality of education here... Lacking. To say nothing of my previous troubles with certain parties in the student body. So, sign the papers and get me a copy of my transcripts, and I'll be able to bid this vipers'-nest farewell."

Blackwell looked up and scowled. "Mind your manners, Miss Hebert; I know you and I have disagreed in the past but I will not tolerate disrespect."

Taylor nodded. "My apologies. Would you please sign the withdrawal papers and print a copy of my transcripts, Principal Blackwell? I have a business meeting to attend in less than an hour, and I'd rather not be late."

"Business meeting?"

"My company is in negotiations with Medhall to guard several of their shipments; very lucrative."

Blackwell's eyes went wide as she realized the connection. "You're with the mercenaries that took down Squealer? Wolf's Dragoons? How?"

Taylor smiled. "It's a long story, but the short version is I'm a legacy to the Dragoons. And it's the 'Wolf Dragoons', not 'Wolf's Dragoons'. The papers?"

Blackwell signed. Taylor exited.

...

When Alpha Point and Taylor started making their way to the doors to leave Winslow, Greg Veder watched them leave...

Sophia Hess was coming up the sidewalk outside when they emerged. She stopped, wary, and called out, "Hebert. I see you have a crew now. Saw the news; these the ones who took down Squealer?"

Taylor nodded, her hands in her jacket-pockets. "They are. I was with them; it was me who actually caught Squealer."

"You became a Predator."

"What fails to kill you makes you stronger. The Locker failed to kill me, Sophia."

"You survived..."

"I did. Sophia, have you ever read The Jungle Book, by Kipling? Given how you always seemed to act the Lone Wolf, I was reminded of something from it."

Sophia eyed Taylor carefully. "Never read it. Saw the Disney movie, though."

"Trust me, the book's better. From one Wolf to another, let me remind you of the Law of the Jungle, Sophia..." Taylor smiled a thin, predatory smile at her former tormentor and recited.

"This is the Law of the Jungle,

As Old and as True as the Sky;

And the Wolf that shall Keep it may Prosper,

But the Wolf that shall Break it Must Die.

Like the Creeper that girdles the tree-trunk,

The Law runneth forward and back;

For the Strength of the Pack is the Wolf,

And the Strength of the Wolf is the Pack..."

Taylor withdrew a business card from her pocket left-handed and extended it to Sophia, who took it. "The Dragoons' current headquarters' address. So that if you ever want to settle things between us, you know where to find me. Farewell and Good Hunting, Lone Wolf."

Sophia nodded slowly, warily. "Good Hunting, Pack Wolf."

Last edited: Oct 24, 2017

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Threadmarks 11: History New

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Taylor looked herself over in the mirror; she'd grown... Not much; she was still the same height and still thinly-built, but now she could see lean muscle developing and the eternal pudge at her belly was smaller. The daily PT with her Elementals and lugging a seven-kilo body-armor vest and a twelve-kilo Mauser on patrol had worked to tone her up quickly. Maybe a little too quickly...

A Brute rating... Or just me being stubborn? For now I'll leave it; I can always talk to the PRT about testing if it comes up. The same with my tactical-acumen; I'm sure I learned a fair bit reading Mom's 'manuscripts' and 'diaries' a few months back, which looking back were almost certainly copied field-manuals, but even that has limits...

Taylor grinned, thinking about the negotiations with Medhall. Her dad had been in his element all the way through, and the Medhall representative, Mr. Fliescher, had said afterward that he was quite impressed with Danny's skill at the contract table. The first of three loads to be escorted to Buffalo would depart in a week's time, and the five-thousand-dollar paycheck per load would be a great boon to their coffers.

...

Taylor looked up from her math-work an hour later when Holtz informed her that Lady Photon was at the door. "Show her in."

As Taylor set her pencil Sarah Pelham was shown in. "Hello, Lady Photon. Welcome to the Dragoons' current headquarters," said the teen by way of greeting.

"Hello, Star-Captain," replied the white-costumed Heroine. "Thank you for seeing me."

Taylor smiled. "Not a problem at all; would you care for refreshments?"

Sarah shook her head. "No, but thank you. I came to apologize, on behalf of New Wave in general and my sister specifically, for Carol's attitude toward you several days ago. She's..." She trailed off, looking for the right words. "She's very-much an idealist; all of us were, when we started the New Wave concept. She's also slow to forgive, and prone to tarring those similar to those she's holding a grudge against with the same brush."

Taylor listened and nodded. "I gather that she has history with mercenaries, bad blood..."

Sarah sat down at the table and nodded. "Very bad. You're familiar with Ellisburg?" When Taylor nodded that she was, Sarah continued. "After the initial quarantine went up, a group of Ellisburg victims' families pooled their money to hire a mercenary outfit from here, called the Black Flag, to go in and do what the authorities had failed to do, and kill Nilbog and burn his 'kingdom'. They were almost eighty-strong, a mix of unpowered humans with military-grade gear and flamethrowers, and parahumans. The Black Flag took the money from their employers, and then ran."

Sarah's face scowled. "The Black Flag's leadership claimed it was too dangerous to go after Nilbog, and when the families demanded their money back the mercs laughed in their faces. One of the family-members drew a pistol and shot the Black Flag leaders; in the ensuing fight the others with the shooter were killed. We, the PRT, and the BBPD responded. One of the Black Flag Capes was a Chemical-Compounds Tinker who went by Stim; he had the unpowered mercenaries so full of combat-drugs that nothing we did seemed to stop them; it turned into a bloodbath. Carol, all of us, were forced to..."

Taylor nodded. "I see."

"There were innocents who were caught in the crossfire, and between that and having to kill, Brandish... She's hated mercenaries ever since, and the riot itself dealt a hard blow to the reputation of the PMC industry."

"And you? Your team?"

"I can't speak for the others' opinions, really, but me? I figure it's like any other business; there are good companies, who act in good faith and professionalism, and there are fly-by-night crews who aren't any better than Villains. I judge based on conduct, case-by-case."

Taylor smiled slightly. "And how would you judge the Wolf Dragoons, Lady Photon? Based on our conduct?"

The blonde Heroine chuckled. "It's too early, and your group too new, to really tell, but so far you seem decent."

Taylor reached across the table to offer Sarah Pelham her hand. "I accept your apology on behalf of New Wave, Lady Photon, but not on behalf of Brandish. It was her who gave insult; let it be her who makes apology for it."

"I see," said Sarah, shaking Taylor's hand. "That might take a long time to happen..."

"I can wait."

Sarah stood and made her goodbyes, then left. Taylor turned back to her school-work and finished the last few problems before pulling out her datapad to compile a preliminary list of tech for trade with the PRT and local Law-Enforcement...

"Hmm... According to this, I have a few crates of Intek Laser Rifles I could get for trade, or a few crates of Federated-Barrett M61As..."

Last edited: May 21, 2018

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Threadmarks Interlude: Training New

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#97

"With respect, Star-Captain, your form is atrocious."

Taylor paused in her workout and looked over from the heavy-bag toward Jackson. "Will you help me improve it, then?"

"Aff." The Elemental stepped up, and settled into a fighting stance. "Stand like so. Spread your feet a bit more, and bend your knees slightly. There, feel how balanced you are? Now, punches start with a proper fist. Tuck your thumb under like this, not inside your fist. Fists up, arms in and guarding your torso. We will start with the jab..."

Taylor listened and watched, then threw a jab in imitation of Point-Officer Tutuola's. At his instruction she repeated the jab a dozen more times until he was satisfied she had it learned. "Next, the straight, or cross. The power behind this punch is the rotation of your hips and torso, throwing your body-weight behind the strike. Watch me..."

...

Taylor was practicing her punches and strikes the next day when Tiffany stopped to watch. "Your striking-form is improving. Care to spar?"

"Sure," said Taylor, nodding.

The spar ended quickly; Taylor's form was improving but it hadn't improved much and the more-experienced Warrior demonstrated that fact easily. The politest way to describe the spar was that Taylor had her ass handed to her.

She stood and wiped the blood off her split lip, smiling at Point-Officer DeVega. "Best two out of three?"

...

Taylor ducked under Alexandra's right-hook and drove two hard hooks of her own into the Elemental's belly before stepping aside and out of range of her counter-punch a week later. Fetladral darted forward abruptly and laid Taylor flat with a low kick that took her legs from under her.

"You are doing better, Star-Captain; you lasted twice as long. Bravo." She smiled proudly as Taylor rolled upright, then tossed the teen a training-knife and grinned. "Now, the knives..."

...

Taylor parried her opponent's punch off her forearm and stepped into the ABB thug's guard, driving a jab at his nose and then a right-left pair of crosses into his face that whipped his head from side-to-side. The burly gangbanger staggered back and drew a switchblade from his pocket, then lunged at Taylor in a thrust.

Taylor sidestepped outside him and her left hand slapped his knife-wrist away, as she rotated her hips and torso to bring her full body-weight behind the straight right punch she threw.

The impact was terrific and jarred all the way up her arm; the gangster's nose shattered under her fist and the combination of her momentum and his own caused the gangster to fall back as if he'd been clothes-lined.

Stewart, who'd been watching from the Feldgrau, remarked, "Winner and still cham-peen..."

Joe snorted from his place on the gun. "Cham-peen, Hell; the first part of that poor fucker to hit the ground was the back of his head..."

Taylor picked up the gangster's knife and closed it, then started stripping his shoelaces to tie him with. "I guess all that training paid off."

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Threadmarks 12: The Trade New

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#118

Taylor rolled her neck and adjusted her jacket, tugging it back straight as she and Danny exited his truck, Erwin and Gustav straightening their own uniforms.

They were meeting Director Piggot and Armsmaster to iron out the trade deal with the PRT and Protectorate, and Taylor had decided that a professional image was warranted, so they were all in Service-Uniform, white shirts under Wolf-Gray jackets with rank at the collar-points in branch-color, unit insignia on the left shoulder and combat insignia on the right. Each Dragoon with prior military service wore their ribbons. Taylor wore a pencil skirt that matched her jacket and the men wore trousers, and each wore a gray beret with the Wolf Dragoons emblem on the badge.

Director Piggot met them once more in Conference Room Three, and the quartet of Dragoons nodded in greeting. "Director Piggot. My father, Administrator Daniel Hebert; Point-Commander Erwin Wolf, of Dog Point; and Point-Officer Gustav Vasa, of Fox Point. Gentlemen, Director Emily Piggot, PRT-ENE, and Armsmaster, Protectorate ENE. Director, I hope you both have been well?"

Piggot nodded. "We have. Yourself?"

"I am. So, the Chief-Director and the Triumvirate have authorized trade?"

Armsmaster nodded. "We've been authorized to negotiate with the Wolf Dragoons for trade. On our side, we have a hundred-acre property one-point-five miles due west of the city-limits available to trade, in whole or in part."

Danny nodded and looked over the aerial photographs of the property that the Tinker slid to him. "It looks good, though we'd have to actually see the property before making a final decision. On our side, we're willing to trade Intek and Federated-Barrett laser rifles, S&W M&P 445 ER-Laser pistols, plus power-packs, sonic stunners, and engines, both Hydrogen Fuel-Cell and 25- or smaller-rated Fusion. The majority of our goods are still in the Dragoons' native dimension, and may take a while to assemble for transport to this one, but due to some quirk of the dimensional-transport technology that I haven't the slightest clue how to explain, the goods will arrive functionally-instantaneously on this end."

Armsmaster tilted his head, well-used to the vagaries of Tinkertech and similar. "I see." He took the documentation on the offered goods and read the specifications. "I don't see any clauses about how we would arrange maintenance with you..."

"That's because we would have one of our men come in to teach your Armorers how to maintain them, or else have your Armory staff come to us for instruction," said Danny. "The equipment on offer is fairly easy to keep in good repair after a few days' lessons, a few weeks at most for the Fusion engines."

As her dad and the Tinker continued negotiating, Director Piggot said to Taylor, "This is likely to take a while; if you'd wish, I could have Miss Militia give you the tour?"

"Will my presence be required? I trust my father to negotiate fairly, but I do find negotiating tedious, Director."

Piggot called for Militia, who escorted Taylor around the building, showing her the various areas.

...

They finished with the Wards Lounge. When the door opened, Taylor stepped inside and looked around. Clockblocker was at the Console, and Triumph in the kitchenette heating a bowl of soup. Shadow Stalker was in a corner doing maintenance on her crossbows, and Aegis was playing Mario Kart against Gallant while Kid Win and Vista worked on homework.

"Hey, Star-Captain," said Kid Win looking up from his notebook. "How are you?"

Taylor smiled. "I am well, Kid Win. You?"

The red-armored Tinker smiled back. "I'm doing alright, aside from this Algebra homework. Math's... not my strong-suit. So, you just here for the tour...?"

"To trade. The Protectorate and PRT are swapping some land outside town for some equipment from the Dragoons' home-dimension. Vehicle engines and some laser- and sonic weapons."

Shadow Stalker snorted. "Your boys are what, Thirtieth, Thirty-First Century? 'Bout like trading guns to the natives, isn't it?"

Taylor chuckled. "Maybe so. But what we are offering for trade are older weapons, so I suppose the analogy could be made of trading you smoothbore muskets and keeping the rifles for ourselves."

Stalker laughed aloud. "I'm sure."

Kid Win pouted. "And here I was hoping to get one of your Mauser IICs..."

Taylor nodded. "If you really want one, there is always Trial of Possession, Kid Win."

He raised his hands and smiled. "I don't feel like fighting you for a rifle."

"I do."

Every head turned to face Vista. "I'll fight you for one of those Mausers, Star-Captain Hebert." Her face was serious under her green visor.

"You're not serious, Vista; she's a hardened mercenary," said Triumph, aghast.

"She'll eat you alive," said Shadow Stalker.

Miss Militia was struck silent and about to gather her voice when Taylor held up a hand. "Let her speak. Ward Vista, you are issuing challenge to Trial of Possession? For what prize?"

Vista grinned. "For one of your Mauser IIC rifles, and ammunition for it, a day's combat load."

Taylor smiled predatorily. "You, as challenger, choose the weapons. I, as challenged, choose the location, and I may demand a prize of equal value should I win."

Vista looked at the laser pistols laying near Kid Win's elbow and grinned. "Pistols. I choose pistols in a marksmanship contest. Tightest group, best two rounds of three?"

"That is a fair choice. If it is free, we could conduct our Trial here at the PRT range."

Vista nodded. "What would you want for a prize, Star-Captain?"

Taylor looked to Triumph. "Vista offered batchall; do you support her challenge, Triumph? Will her teammates support her challenge?"

The other Wards nodded, though hesitantly. Taylor smiled brightly then. "I believe a prize equal to a single Mauser and a full load of power-packs would be..." She met Vista's gaze. "For the most-experienced member of the Wards East-Northeast to train with the Wolf Dragoons for one week. Agreed?"

Vista grinned savagely. "Agreed."

Taylor matched savage grin with savage grin. "Bargained Well and Done."

Last edited: May 21, 2018

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Threadmarks 13: Pistols New

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#138

The Wards, Miss Militia, and Taylor trooped down to the PRT Headquarters indoor shooting range to conduct the Trial of Possession. Once they'd arrived, Taylor unbuttoned her uniform jacket and hung it on a nearby hook, revealing the holstered laser pistol at the small of her back. "The terms were tightest group, best two of three rounds, quiaff?"

Vista nodded, and stripped a pistol from Kid Win's holsters. "Tightest ten-shot group."

Taylor nodded back and Miss Militia ran two targets out to twenty yards. Vista went first, aiming the laser pistol in her hands carefully and firing steadily.

Taylor drew her M&P 445 and squared up on her target, firing five controlled pairs before dropping the power-pack from the pistol and slotting in a fresh one.

The targets came back and Miss Militia used a ruler to measure across the widest portion of the groups. "Vista, ten hits center-mass, two-and-one-eighth inches. Star-Captain Hebert, ten hits center-mass, two-and-one-eighth inches. Tied round."

The other Wards watched in silence as fresh targets were hung and run out. Vista shot again, her face tense with concentration. Taylor once more shot controlled pairs, her expression blank save for a small smile. The targets came back, and the groups were measured. "Vista, ten hits, one-and-a-quarter inches," said Militia. "The Star-Captain, ten hits, one inch even. Star-Captain Hebert takes this round."

Vista grinned wide and watched the targets roll out. "Good shooting, Star-Captain."

"You shoot well yourself, Vista."

Shadow Stalker's eyebrows lifted under her mask. "I'll be damned; Vista's holding her own..."

Gallant smiled and felt the glow of pride from his teammate...

The Ward took aim at her target, and fired, stretching out her power to tighten her group.

Taylor fired her string and then swapped out her power-pack before holstering it.

The targets came back and everyone crowded round. Miss Militia measured the groups. "Vista's group, three-quarters of an inch. Star-Captain Hebert's group, one inch even. Vista wins this round."

"The score is tied; how should we settle our Trial, Vista?" asked Taylor.

"You won one round, I won one, and we tied one... Extra round?"

Taylor nodded. "We could do that. Or we call it a draw, and a Trial well-fought, you get your prize and I get mine?"

Vista smiled brightly. "How did you say it earlier, Star-Captain? Oh, yeah... Bargained Well and Done."

Shadow Stalker piped up. "So, you just call it a draw and give her the rifle? And one of us has to train with you for a week?"

Taylor smiled. "She earned it. And not just one of you has to train with the Dragoons. Vista does; she is the longest-serving member of the Wards ENE, the most-experienced Ward in Brockton Bay. Training with her will give my men valuable practice in working both with and against Capes, it will build closer ties with the PRT and Protectorate, and just as we would learn from Vista, so too would she learn from us. A win-win." Taylor picked up her comm and turned it on. "Point-Officer Holtz, retrieve my Mauser and the power-packs for it from the Feldgrau and bring them to the PRT range, please."

...

Holtz brought the rifle, and Taylor presented it to Vista; the youngest Ward tried to hold it, but eventually just set the twelve-kilo laser rifle butt-down at her side. Taylor nodded respectfully. "You have school tomorrow, quiaff? After that is over, be at this address." She handed Vista a corner from a paper target, the address for Den Able written on it. "I look forward to training with you, Vista."

Vista nodded sharply. "I look forward to training with your men as well, Star-Captain Hebert. I'll be there."

After the Star-Captain had headed back to the trade negotiations, Aegis asked Vista, "Are you sure about this, Missy? I mean..."

"Two things, Carlos," replied Vista. "One, I gave my word and I meant it. Two, did you see how she looked at me, how she treated me? It was as an equal, as a fellow warrior; not as a little kid. Star-Captain Hebert saw Vista the Veteran Ward, not Vista the Preteen Girl. So yeah, I'm sure. I'll be there right after school." She smiled. "In the meantime, Chris, come here; I got a present for you..."

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Threadmarks 14: Vista's Training New

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#157

The next day, Vista arrived after school at Den Able, in costume and ready to train. When she knocked on the door, it was answered by a small, unassuming young woman. "Vista?"

The Ward nodded. "Yes, Ma'am. I'm here for training, as agreed with Star-Captain Hebert."

The woman smiled. "Point-Officer Michelle Kurita, Fox Point, at your service. The Captain is on her way back from a patrol with Alpha Point right now, but I can introduce you to the others and Alpha will be back shortly. Come in." Vista was ushered inside and introduced to the other Dragoons.

Missy was looking over the racked weapons that had been taken as spoils when Michelle asked her, "I do hope there wasn't much trouble with your command over this training, Vista."

"There was a little, but Director Piggot and Armsmaster were watching the Trial over the security cameras, so they heard the Star-Captain's reasoning. Now, the Youth Guard Rep threw a fit over it. They take the slightest accusation of 'child-soldiers' very seriously. They really didn't want me here to train with you."

Erwin laughed. "I imagine they would have an apoplexy at meeting some of the Trueborn Warriors I have known."

"Trueborn?" asked Vista. Erwin beckoned her over to his Savannah Master and started telling her about some of the Clans', and his own, history...

...

Taylor arrived with Alpha Point a half-hour later, and found Vista and the others already training. The young Ward had appropriated a whiteboard and a marker, and was lecturing the Dragoons on the various Power-Classifications. "... Tinkers are a type where their actual ratings are very fluid, since with the right tech they can mimic almost every other Power-Category; for example Squealer's vehicles and Kid Win's hoverboard have them both categorized as Movers, and Kid Win's pistols also have him classed as a Blaster."

Anika saw Taylor enter and barked, "Attention on Deck!"

"At Ease!" called Taylor. "As you were. I see Vista has begun with theory. Good; her knowledge will help us. Vista, I apologize for not being here to greet you myself, but the Merchants have been growing bold again, and the ABB have been probing."

Vista nodded. "I understand, Star-Captain. I was going over the Power-Categories with your men while we waited for you to return. Was there a particular thing you wanted me to work with the Dragoons on?"

Taylor shook her head. "Neg; I trust your judgement on what would be best. My overall objective was to acclimatize them to working alongside Capes as well as against them."

"I can do that, I believe. Working with Capes would have to be tailored to their capabilities, but in general it shouldn't be difficult to establish a baseline SOP." Vista was all business, pacing slightly.

Taylor nodded. "The PRT and the Wolf Dragoons have reached an agreement about our trade; I was about to go visit the Dragoons' new property. Do you think a patrol out to there would be a suitable field-test for integrating Parahuman personnel into our Order of Battle?"

Vista smiled. "That might-well work, though if I go armed it'll have to be something small and subtle, or else I'd have to go in mufti."

Taylor nodded. "Let me send Bravo Point out to the Docks and brief the others. I believe Charlie Point, with Dog and Fox escorting the Technicians, should do nicely. You can ride as a dismount in Fox Point's Feldgrau, along with Kurita." Taylor turned to Michelle and told her to draw a comm-set and basic load for Vista, and uniform if the Ward wished to operate in anonymity.

Vista was soon kitted out, in black jeans and sneakers from her bag, her costume torso armor under a web-gear harness with her comm and ammunition pouches for the power-packs that fed the sleek Intek laser-rifle she'd been issued for the patrol, a Dragoon ballistic-mask over her face and the throat-mic on her neck. Michelle talked with her on their way to the vehicles. "The Intek is a good rifle; according to the others, it's very energy-efficient. Twice the shots, though at the expense of half the stopping-power, and the range is better than any other non-sniper rifle in their dimension."

Vista laughed. "It's also a lot lighter than the Mausers, I see. How on earth does the Star-Captain hump hers around, plus her other gear?"

James and Gustav chuckled as they and Joe finished prepping the Feldgrau. "We're pretty sure it's raw stubborn, some days. Hell, maybe she had an Elemental or two on her mama's side," quipped Stewart.

The group mounted up, Vista sitting in the back-seat of the truck with Kurita. Taylor came over the comms. "Charlie Point, Dog Point, Fox Point, we will be convoying from here to the new property outside town, in order to check it before we officially take possession. The Technicians are coming with us; Fox, you and Dog are their escorts. Vista, during this patrol, your callsign will be 'Coyote-One'. Charlie Point will operate forward of the convoy. All clear?"

The convoy, consisting of the Elemental suits out front, followed by the two Savannah Masters, the panel-van carrying the eight Techs, and the Feldgrau at the rear, moved out.

Ten minutes into the trip, the call came over the radio, "Coyote-One to the front." Vista dismounted from the truck and darted forward to the Elementals, throwing a gray poncho over herself to hide her armor. The preteen used her power to shorten distances and hop lightly onto the roof of an abandoned building, then across to the one where Taylor crouched in her armor.

"Yes, Star-Captain?"

Taylor nodded toward their front. "See the van ahead? In the alley, left-hand side of the street three blocks up?"

Vista looked and nodded. "I do."

"I have a bad feeling, especially since I recognize the driver as an ABB member; Point-Officer Alexandra Fetladral broke his arm the first day they were deployed here. Find a good spot for overwatch while we pass him; if he makes any aggressive moves, disable the van."

Vista nodded again. "Right here is good." She braced her Intek on the roof's edge and focused on the van as Taylor jumped away to rejoin the other Elementals.

The convoy rolled forward, and Eric Li watched, ready for the signal. At last, Jackie Tong gave the order and the van rushed out to block the street; the side-doors were already sliding open and the gangsters inside were raising their weapons...

Vista saw the guns and reacted by instinct. A twist of her power shortened the distance between herself and the ABB vehicle, and her first two shots with the Intek took out both front tires. The next use of her power widened the distance between the gangsters and the convoy and twisted it to deflect gunfire into the ground, even as she heard one of the Elementals call out 'Contact Front'. Vista saw the driver and gangbangers exit and try to run, and decided to act. She put two bolts into the ground just ahead of them to stop their flight, and the Elementals dropped in around them, roaring orders to kneel and place their hands on their heads.

Vista heard the all-clear and hopped down on the back-side of her perch, then walked out onto the street, her head moving and scanning and her rifle slung across her chest.

"Good job, Coyote-One," commented Point-Officer Hoskins. "Excellent shooting." Vista only nodded, staying silent to preserve her anonymity. Hoskins walked the line of bound ABB with Vista a half-step behind him. "Do you see anything you would take as spoils of war?"

Vista tilted her head and looked at the gangsters and their gear, before reaching toward the driver's belt and drawing a pair of ivory-handled daggers from their scabbards. She held them up, and Hoskins nodded slightly. She slipped the blades into her web-gear and replaced the power-pack in her rifle with a fresh one.

Taylor came alongside Missy as the Elementals began shoving the van out of the road. "Good shooting, Coyote. Bravo Zulu."

The rest of the trip, sped along by Vista shortening distances, went smoothly and without further incident, and the property was inspected...

...

The next day, when Vista arrived, Point-Commander Gohcourt was waiting with two rifle-cases. "Good afternoon, Vista. The Star-Captain regretfully is occupied with the Dragoons' upcoming move, but she did direct me to have you train with Bravo Point today. I have a pair of ballistic rifles, AR-10s, Point-Officer Stewart called them, captured by the Dragoons, with scopes fitted to them. The rest of Bravo Point are already waiting at the new HQ site with targets and rifles of their own."

Anika grinned. "I am going to teach you how to weaponize mathematics."

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Threadmarks Interlude: Vista's Debrief, Initial New

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#164

After the Dragoons and Vista had returned from their inspection of the new property, Taylor sat Vista down on one of the cots and passed her a canteen-cup filled with soda. "Firstly, good job out there, Vista. You did quite well. Now, more is the pity, comes the boring part of business, the after-action debrief. There were enough witnesses that a full blow-by-blow is unnecessary, thankfully. I would, however, like to hear any thoughts or suggestions you may have regarding integrating Capes into our company."

Vista sipped her drink while she marshalled her thoughts. "Like I said earlier, the fine details would be dependent on the individual Cape. But in general, I could see Movers, especially flyers, being well-suited to scouting or skirmishing..."

The pair sat and spoke, Taylor taking notes, interrupted only by a brief video-call from Natasha, until Vista had to leave...

...

Vista, changed back into her full costume, sat down in a chair in Interview Room 1, and Armsmaster and Triumph sat down across from her. The blue-armored Tinker started a recording-device and said, "Initial Debrief of Ward Vista, Wards East-Northeast, regarding her training with PMC Wolf Dragoons. Armsmaster, Team-Leader Protectorate East-Northeast, Debriefing Officer; Triumph, Team-Leader Wards East-Northeast, Witness. Now, Vista, according to your earlier report, Star-Captain Hebert was not present when you arrived at the Dragoons' HQ?"

"She wasn't there; I was met at the door by one of their local recruits, Point-Officer Michelle Kurita. She escorted me inside and introduced me to the other Dragoons after explaining that the Star-Captain was returning from patrol with Alpha Point. While I waited, I spoke with one of her Point-Commanders, Erwin Wolf, of Dog Point..."

...

On the other side of the one-way glass, Caryn Ives, the local representative of the Youth Guard, watched alongside Director Piggot. "I don't like it, Emily. This city's dangerous enough, and your Wards team already too familiar with combat, and you allow your youngest Ward to train with mercenaries?"

Piggot glared at Ives. "I allowed my most-experienced Ward to honor an agreement she made in good faith, with the leader of a Private Military Contracting Company who have, to date, done nothing illegal."

"To date, Emily. Give them time; you'll see."

Piggot glared harder, but didn't speak. Your bias is showing, Caryn... But then, I only lost teammates and my health in Ellisburg; you lost a son, and the other in the Black Flag Riot...

...

Armsmaster listened to Vista as she recounted her part of the ABB ambush the Dragoons had blown. "When I saw guns, I shortened the distance between my perch on the rooftop and used the Intek to blow out the front tires of their van, then lengthened the distance between the ABB and the convoy to protect them from gunfire. I fired two more warning shots into the roadway to discourage them from fleeing, and the Elementals came in to render the gangbangers compliant. I descended then, and under cover as a Dragoon I claimed the two bone-handled daggers in my locker as spoils..."

After she finished, Armsmaster nodded. "All in all, Vista, what are your thoughts?"

Vista shrugged. "Speaking frankly? They're a potential asset. Setting the whole 'extradimensional' issue aside, their leader here is a local by birth, and she's doing what she can to look after her troops, providing them with the training she thinks they need, by whatever means possible, and they are... Okay, they're hardasses, but no better or worse than the Troopers here at the PRT. They're soldiers, nothing more and nothing less and they don't hide that fact."

As Armsmaster processed that statement, Triumph asked simply, "Do you think the YG Rep will allow you to continue training with them?"

Vista snorted. "I made a deal and I'll honor it; I'll teach the Wolf Dragoons what I can, learn from them what I can, and if Caryn Ives, Youth Guard Representative, has a problem with that, she can go hang." The blond Ward reached out and stopped the recording.

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"Weaponize math?" asked Vista of Point-Commander Gohcourt as the pair stepped inside Den Able. Vista quickly changed into the same web-gear and mask she'd worn the day before and climbed into the cab of the Feldgrau.

"How much do you know of ballistics?" Gohcourt responded, answering a question with a question.

"Objects in flight arc, as opposed to traveling straight."

"Precisely. You began our training yesterday with theory, so I shall do the same. There are several variables that affect a projectile in flight; gravity, air-resistance, wind-speed, wind-direction, and more. If one knows the characteristics of their projectile, they can compensate for these variables..."

Vista raised an eyebrow. "Sniping? My powers and reflexes aren't quick enough to affect projectiles in flight."

Anika grinned. "Aff, but if you know how the environment will affect your shot, you will be able to use your power to affect the environment between the rifle and the target and drastically simplify the process. I imagine drastic uses of your power are more taxing than small uses; a small adjustment at the muzzle would suffice to produce large differences at the target."

"I'm listening."

...

Taylor looked at the empty fields on the Dragoons' new property. A hundred acres of rolling hills with an abandoned airstrip and facilities on the eastern side of it...

"This is going to be fun, I think. At least now we have room to expand..."

...

"Range, seven-five-zero meters. Wind, two miles per hour, left-to-right, full value."

Vista adjusted the scope on her rifle, a bolt-action in 6.5mm Creedmoor, since the AR-10 and its.308 cartridge was too rough on her shoulder, and snugged it into her shoulder. "Eyes on target," she said, mimicking the Elementals who had been shooting with her.

Anika, who was peering through binoculars, said simply, "Send it."

Vista let her breathing slow, and listened to her heartbeat; when the pause between breaths matched the pause between beats, she squeezed the trigger. The rifle cracked and the bullet slammed through the paper target and into the hillside they were using as a backstop.

"Hit, throat dead-center. You aimed for the T-Box?" Vista nodded. "You hit four inches low. Adjust and re-engage."

Vista adjusted the elevation on her scope and aimed again. "Eyes on target."

"Send it." The Savage barked. "Hit, T-Box. You remember the adjustments? Try using your power to hit the next target over, now, same distance."

Vista cranked the scope back to her 300-meter Battle-Sight Zero and took aim, concentrating on the minute tweaks to the eighteen-inch space just forward of her muzzle. First adjust the flight-path up for the range, then left just a touch to account for the wind, hold it, breathe, breathe...

CRACK.

"Hit, T-Box."

...

Taylor watched as the Dragoons' Technicians rolled up to the airstrip to begin setting up the utilities. Meanwhile, she opened her datapad's requisition program. "Hmm... Not yet."

...

Three days later, Vista was on her way out of PHQ and headed to the Dragoons' compound, looking forward to the exercises planned for that day, when Caryn Ives stepped in front of her. "Miss Biron, just where are you going, young lady?"

Vista shifted her backpack higher on her back and met the YG Rep's gaze. "I'm going to the Wolf Dragoons' compound, Miss Ives. The same way I've been for the past few days. I have training to do there."

Ives shook her head. "No. I put up with it this long, but no longer; those mercenaries are not a good influence on an impressionable young girl, and your parents agree with me. I have a signed order from your parents barring you from contact with the Wolf Dragoons from here on out."

Vista snarled. "Oh? Really? You got my divorced parents, who hate each other to the point of trying to use me as a way to hurt one another, to agree on something? I should be calling Master/Stranger Protocols on you, Miss Ives, if only because the smell of ConFoam is enough to mask the smell of your bullshit."

"You will not take that tone with me, Young Lady, nor use such crude language! As the Youth Guard Representative, I have the authority and responsibility to do what's best for the Wards, and I am putting my foot down! You will abide by mine and your parents' decision or be pulled from the Wards entirely!"

By this point, several Troopers and the rest of the Wards ENE had gathered, watching the confrontation.

Vista dropped her pack, stood ramrod-straight, and nodded. "Caryn Ives, I have been a Cape since I was eleven years old. I have logged more hours as a Ward, than any two others on the team combined. I am, by the numbers, the most-experienced member of the Wards ENE, at the age of fucking twelve, and yet none of that experience matters to you because of my age."

Vista advanced on Ives and put a finger in her chest. "Do you know why Star-Captain Hebert specifically requested me to train with her men? Not just to be trained by them, but also for me to train her men? It's because she values my experience and sees me as a peer and a fellow professional. The Dragoons don't coddle me, don't talk down to me like a child, and when I'm with them they hold me to the same standards they hold themselves."

Ives snapped back, her composure cracking. "But you are a child, and you deserve better than to become a trained killer at the hands of hired thugs! I'm doing what's best for you, you insolent brat!"

Vista shook her head. "No reasoning with a fanatic..." She stepped back and picked up her pack. "You said if I don't quit training with the Dragoons you'll pull me out of the Wards? Do it; I can go independent like Shadow Stalker did before joining, and not have to deal with you trying to hobble me."

As Caryn Ives gaped like a landed trout, Vista shouldered her pack and flexed her fists. "Now, to borrow a phrase from the fifteen-year-old leader of those 'hired thugs', move or be moved."

After Missy Biron had walked out of PHQ with her head held high, Emily Piggot looked at the Youth Guard Rep. "You just cost us a Ward, Caryn. Moreover, you and your high-handed tactics just cost us a Ward who is not only a PR darling, but also a very powerful Shaker, and who is on friendly terms with those same mercenaries you have such a dislike of."

"Congratulations, you've driven her right into the Wolf Dragoons' arms."

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Taylor rolled out of her bunk at the airstrip three days after the move from Den Able to the hundred-acre property that the Dragoons were jokingly referring to as 'Castle Brockton', and that was officially named 'Camp Kerensky', and stretched. She checked her datapad and grinned; she finally had enough room to expand properly...

She brought up the requisition screen and brought three more Points of unarmored Elementals over, then tabbed over to requisition a Point of Odin Scout Tanks, and a Point of Svantovit IFVs. Her final requisition was for a Point of Anhur VTOLs. Between the Infantry Fighting Vehicles and the VTOL craft, she now had rapid-transport capability for four Points of Infantry, plus fire-support.

Taylor walked out to the runway and saw the vehicles and troops. "Report!" she barked.

The Elementals reported first, a pair of women and a dark-haired man stepping forward. The first woman, green-eyed with fire-red hair, saluted. "Point-Commander Sheryl Dannvers, Delta Point, reporting all present and ready for duty, Star-Captain."

The second woman, identical to Sheryl save only for her shorter, faux-hawked hair, spoke next. "Point-Commander Carol Dannvers, Echo Point, ready for tasking."

The man was last; his blond hair was buzzed to the scalp and his eyes ice-blue. "Point-Commander Jonathan Tarr, Golf Point, reporting."

Taylor nodded, returning each salute in turn. "Welcome aboard. Get your troops set up in the barracks behind me and then find my Executive Officer, Point-Commander Gohcourt, for further tasking."

She turned to the vehicles and smiled. The crews stood by their machines, and the Point-Commanders reported. The first was Wilbur Ward, driver of Coyote Point's lead Odin, and Hound Point, the Svantovits, were commanded by Nathan Wolf. The VTOL Point, Jackal Point, was lead by Point-Commander Georgia Cuffe.

"Welcome to the Dragoons. The Ground-Vehicle Hangar is there, and the Aerospace Hangar is next to it," Taylor said, pointing out the buildings. "Park your vehicles and get your gear set up in the barracks behind me. Further tasking will follow, but for now, settle in."

...

That afternoon, Taylor was putting together a plan with her ground-vehicle commanders for the Medhall contract when her comm chirped and Vista's voice came to her ear. "Dragoon Actual, this is Vista; can we talk, Star-Captain?"

Taylor excused herself from the planning and stepped away from the table. "Hebert here; go ahead, Vista."

"I'm on my way to Den Able right now, but I was hoping you had an extra bunk for the night? I had a run-in with the Youth Guard Rep and words were said; she claimed to have a signed order from my parents forbidding me from contact with the Dragoons or you. She said either I abide by their decision or I get pulled from the Wards, and... Well, I need a place to lay my head tonight while everyone cools down and I figure out if I'm a Ward still, or an Independent Hero."

Taylor winced. "Aff, you can certainly bunk here at Camp Kerensky, or at Den Able, for the night, but I will also contact Director Piggot so she is aware of your location. Agreed?"

"Agreed. I'm nearly to Den Able now. I should be at Castle Brockton in a fe-" The last of her conversation was cut off by a rolling thunderclap explosion and the snarl of gunfire. "Shit! Contact, Contact Right!"

Taylor stiffened, then sprang into motion. "Vista? Charlie Point, Fox Point, Sitrep!"

"Star-Captain, Fox Point's vehicle just took what looked like an RPG, and I'm pinned on the roof of Den Able with Charlie Point! They're busy fighting, but we're pi- Tank!" The comm-chatter went silent.

Taylor snarled and changed frequencies. "Alpha and Bravo, armor up and get to the tarmac; Charlie needs reinforcement! Delta, Echo, load up on Hound Point's IFVs and get rolling! Jackal Point, get your aircraft ready to take off!" The teenager rushed to her armor and heedless of the open door stripped to don her skin-suit and start her Elemental suit.

By the time she returned to the runway, the other two Points were loading onto the VTOLs. Taylor pounded across the tarmac and into the same Anhur as Alpha Point. As they lifted off, Taylor radioed the PRT. "PRT, PRT, this is Star-Captain Hebert; I have forces under fire and pinned down in the Docks, corner of Tiller and Second! Enemy numbers unknown, with vehicle support confirmed on-site! I have reinforcements inbound by vehicle and by air, over!"

"Star-Captain, this is Dauntless; roger your last, and we're dispatching Miss Militia, Assault, and Battery now, over."

"Roger that; Hebert, out." Taylor switched to Charlie Point's freq again. "Charlie Point, this is Dragoon Actual; Sitrep, over!"

"Dragoon Actual, Charlie Actual; Merchant infantry attacking with automatic weapons, estimate Binary Strength, supported by one Star armored vehicles armed with lasers and machine-guns. Squealer, Trainwreck, and Mush are on the field; say again, Squealer, Trainwreck, and Mush are in play, over." Point-Commander Calvert's voice was deceptively calm over the radio.

...

Point-Commander Thomas Calvert aimed and shot, his Mauser flashing. Beside him, Tutuola and Hoskins lobbed rifle-grenades at the tanks below while Sherbow and DeVega held Mush back with a fusilade of laser-fire.

Vista, who'd been scanning the rooftops for whoever had launched the rocket that took out the Feldgrau, checked the ground and saw the Merchants closing in on the destroyed technical.

Calvert called to his Point, "Reinforcements are inbound from the Star-Captain and the Protectorate!"

Vista spotted movement from the corner of her eye and turned, then dove, shoving Calvert aside as the Merchant shooter on the rooftop behind Den Able fired. "Behind us!" she shouted, and Hoskins drilled the shooter with a shot center-mass, before a withering volley of return fire forced the Dragoons into cover.

Mush used the opportunity to rush the building, and Trainwreck, across the street on another rooftop, used a steam-powered weapon attached to his power-armor to launch a hail of railroad spikes...

DeVega fell, clutching her leg where a spike had hit her. Vista was at her side in an instant, applying pressure even as the blood spurted from Tiffany's thigh. Tutuola and Sherbow poured laser-fire and grenades out to cover Vista and Calvert as they dragged Tiffany under cover...

...

Taylor held onto a hand-hold in the bay of Jackal-One. She opened a comm-channel to Alpha and Bravo Points, and to Jackal Point. "When we arrive, Bravo Point will dismount onto the rooftop with Charlie; Alpha Point and I will drop straight into the street. Jackal, once we dismount, fall back and stand by." She saw the ready-light above the hatch turn from red to yellow. "Ready? Point-Commander Cuffe, bring us as low as you dare."

Georgia dropped low and passed over the gangsters' heads; Taylor saw the light go green and leapt from the Anhur, riding her jump-jets to slow her drop...

Last edited: May 21, 2018

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#248

As the Anhur passed over the swarm of Merchants at rooftop-level Taylor leapt from the hatch and rode her jump-jets down, landing in the street and immediately facing a knot of shooters. Bullets pinged off her armor as she lifted her left arm and raked a burst of fire across the gangsters with its underslung machine-gun. "Weapons free! At them!" Taylor roared over her comm.

...

The second VTOL descended to disgorge Bravo Point onto the roof where Charlie Point crouched. "Calvert, Sitrep!" shouted Gohcourt as her men fanned out and started laying down suppressing-fire.

"DeVega is wounded, arterial bleed, and the Merchants had us pinned; Tiffany needs medevac now!"

Reisch radioed for Jackal-Two to come in a pickup, but when the Anhur came around it was driven back by lasers from the tanks...

...

Taylor speared a group of Merchants down with her laser, and saw the rest of Alpha Point fighting throughout the mob; they'd dropped straight into the middle of the swarm and their ferocious and immediate attack from within the enemy's heart was sowing disarray.

"Target the vehicles! We have critical wounded and the Anhur is unable to land for medevac due to triple-A!"

Taylor jumped and repositioned, swung to target one of the kit-bashed tanks, and the moment she got good tone her thumb stabbed down on the firing-stud for her suit's SRM-2. The missiles leapt from their tubes over her shoulders and slammed into the side of the vehicle; as fuel began to burn and ready-ammunition within started cooking off inside the tank, Taylor was already moving to bring down another vehicle.

Mykel and John landed atop their chosen targets and silenced the tanks by tearing hatches open before pouring machine-gun fire through the openings before leaping away; Alexandra clung to the front of a converted semi-tractor and stitched the interior with laser-fire through the driver's vision-slit...

...

Miss Militia gunned the throttle of her Jeep, rushing toward the sound of gunfire with Assault and Battery in tow. When they arrived, the trio of heroes sprung into action, joining the fray...

...

Jackal-Two dodged and wove to avoid enemy fire; the pilot, Point-Officer Jeremy Tarr, swore a blue-streak as his gunner, Wade Waters, used the chin-mounted lasers to slag down the tank shooting at them. Jackal-One, Point-Commander Cuffe's bird, used its lasers to murderous effect on a group of over-bold Merchants and covered Tarr's approach. Jeremy landed and Charlie Point rushed DeVega aboard and Jeremy lifted off quickly, headed toward the hospital...

...

Taylor saw Miss Militia disable the last Merchant tank with an RPG to the treads while the teen hunted Squealer down. Assault and Battery were in amongst the Merchants, Assaulting and Battering, meanwhile, and the drug-addled target of Taylor's rage appeared from the cupola of a tank ahead of her. Taylor hurled herself forward and up onto Squealer's tank and ripped the Tinker bodily from the turret, flinging her into the street.

A volley of LRMs raced overhead as Hound Point's Svantovits came into range and fired, Delta- and Echo Points piling out and adding their Mausers to the hellish cacophony of the battle. As Taylor advanced on Squealer, she could hear Dalton over the radio reporting that he had Trainwreck disabled; Jackson called out that Mush was dead, and the Merchants broken and retreating.

"Mop them up, secure prisoners," Taylor huffed into her radio. "All units, report."

"Alpha Point reports all clear, no major injuries, but Dalton's suit took damage putting Trainwreck down."

"Bravo Point is clear, no injuries, no damage. Moving to secure Fox Point's wreckage now."

"Delta and Echo are clear and moving to assist Bravo."

Jackal Point reports clear skies and scuffed paint, but we are still flying."

"Hound Point, undamaged and on-station."

"Charlie Point reports one WIA, Point-Officer DeVega, who is in Critical Condition. Vista is with us and acquitted herself well; she accounted for five enemies herself before applying aid to Tiffany."

Taylor nodded and changed frequency. "Protectorate team, this is Dragoon-Actual. Thank you for your assistance; it is greatly appreciated."

"Dragoon-Actual, Miss Militia; just doing our jobs. Ambulances are en route," responded Militia. "This street looks like a warzone now..."

"They attacked us without warning, without challenge, with lethal force. We responded in kind. I prefer not having to kill, Miss Militia. I truly do. But when someone tries-" Taylor was cut off by paramedics suddenly rushing past her toward where Dana Waters was pulling Michelle out of the burning Feldgrau...

...

After the wounded were seen to, Taylor and Miss Militia addressed a particular issue. "We had given Squealer to you; how is she back on the street?"

"She was being transported to prison pending her trial and the transport was attacked by Skidmark and Trainwreck; they got her free. That was two days ago."

"I do not like it, Miss Militia..." Taylor commented lowly. "I do not like it at all."

The pair approached where the two Merchant Tinkers knelt, next to the bagged corpse of Mush. Taylor nodded to Mykel and Anika, who stood the prisoners up. "Squealer, Trainwreck," said Taylor. "Your men attacked mine. They killed three of my men, and two more are fighting for their lives in the hospital right now. I have little patience under the best circumstances, and none right now, so you will listen and listen well. If Skidmark comes to break you out, or anyone else tries to free you, you would be best-served to tell them to fuck off, because prison is the safest place for you right now. If either of you come after me or mine again, I will take special pains to kill you both. Am I clear?" Silence was her only answer, until both Merchants nodded and were led away.

"You meant that?"

"Every word of it, Miss Militia." Taylor sighed and closed her eyes inside her Elemental suit, then spoke, her voice mechanical. "I have duties to attend to. The prisoners are yours." Taylor opened a channel to her men. "Delta Point, Echo Point, you and Hound Point will take over patrol from Charlie. The rest of us will return to Camp Kerensky." She changed frequency again and radioed Erwin, who had been the Acting-Commander of Fox Point. "Erwin, please have my uniform ready when I return, and be in your own. We... We have families to visit."

Last edited: Nov 3, 2017

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Threadmarks 18: Fallout, Part One New

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#272

When Taylor returned to Camp Kerensky, Erwin was waiting for her in his Service-Grays. "Who?" he asked simply.

"Stewart, Vasa, and Johnston, from Fox Point. Kurita is in Critical Condition, as is DeVega from Charlie Point. Give me a moment."

Taylor stepped into the headquarters building and found Danny. "Dad? I need you to help me. I'm certain the PRT and others will be all over us shortly; skirmishes are one thing but I deployed Armor and Aircraft inside a city today, and I doubt that can be ignored. Do what you can to smooth things over and stall; Erwin and I have to inform the families."

"I'll do what I can, Taylor."

"Thank you, Dad."

...

Christine Vasa lived on the outskirts of Brockton Bay; her house was the last one Taylor and Erwin visited. Taylor checked her reflection in the rearview mirror and rubbed at the fading handprint on her cheek from where Eloise Stewart, James' widow, had slapped her. She and Erwin stepped out of Danny's pickup and walked up to the door, and Taylor knocked...

...

Emily Piggot watched her boss, Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown, over a videoconference monitor. The Head of the PRT was anything but a happy person.

"Emily, just what the Hell happened today? You'd mentioned that this new PMC had skirmished with the Merchants prior to today, but this? This was no skirmish; this was a God-Damned battle! For God's Sake, there were tanks deployed on both sides!"

Piggot started to speak but was silenced with a glare. Rebecca sighed, calming herself, then spoke. "The Defense Department, and the Justice Department, are launching an investigation. I am under orders to cooperate fully, and to direct both you, and the representative of the PRT I send to the Bay as part of the investigation, to do likewise. Within the week, expect company."

Piggot frowned but nodded; when the Chief Director was 'under orders', that generally translated to 'Someone is about to Be Shat Upon from a Stratospherically-Great Height'. "Who are you sending, Chief Director?"

"I'm sending Tagg. As well, and this is from DOD, the Wolf Dragoons are to suspend all operations and recall all forces until such time as the investigation has ended. I'll trust you to relay that message to the Dragoons' CO."

...

"I understand, Director," said Danny. "I'll let Star-Captain Hebert know when she returns to base. We aren't restricted to the base, are we?"

"Not as yet, Administrator Hebert. But those of your forces who leave Camp Kerensky are advised to not be armed. Also, I was told Vista was present for the battle?"

"She was, Director Piggot. She's currently on-base here, resting. She's unharmed."

"Good. Let her rest for now."

...

That night, Alpha-, Bravo-, Charlie-, and Dog Points, Taylor, and Vista entered the Black Rifle. Taylor spoke quietly to Joe the Bartender, and a round of beers for those of-age was served, and coffee for those too young to drink. Taylor sighed before raising her mug. "Absent Friends."

"Absent Friends."

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#335

The day after what PHO was already calling the Wolfpack Fight, Missy Biron sat in the Mess Hall at Camp Kerensky eating a bowl of oatmeal and drinking a cup of coffee, surrounded by Bravo Point. She'd slept the deep, dreamless sleep of the exhausted the day before and woken ravenous.

"Do you think the Star-Captain will let me sign on with you?" she inquired of Anika between bites.

Gohcourt shrugged. "I could not say, Vista. On the one hand, you are an experienced and accomplished Warrior in your own right, and we here have fought alongside you. On the other, your parents would no doubt be... cross, about you joining us."

Vista snorted. "Only because it would lose them a tool to hurt one another with; there's a reason I logged so many hours as a Ward, and it's mostly because it kept me away from my parents."

Her cellphone began to ring and Missy checked it. "Speak of the Devil..." She answered it and stood, walking out onto the tarmac where it was quiet. "Hello, Mom..."

...

Emily Piggot stood ready as the helicopter from DC came in for a landing on the PRT helipad. As The rotors wound down, several individuals stepped out and walked toward her.

The first to introduce himself was a lean man in his forties, dressed in a suit that screamed 'G-Man'. "Director Piggot? I'm Special Agent Forrest Bondurant, ATF. It's a pleasure to meet you." Piggot shook his hand and returned the empty platitude.

The next to play the 'Happy-but-Not-Really to Meet You' game was a lightly-built woman in a crisp suit. "Director Piggot," she said, nodding politely. "Special Agent Joanne Watson, Federal Bureau of Investigation."

The next two people to approach were both in uniform, and both moved with the same air of restrained violence as big cats. One wore Army Service-Alphas with the tan beret of a Ranger, and the second was in Navy Service-Khaki with a gold SEAL Trident on his broad chest. The Army officer spoke first. "Good morning, Ma'am. I'm Lieutenant-Colonel Beckwith, seconded to USACIDC from USASOC, and this is Commander Marcinko, seconded to NCIS from DEVGRU. We'll be the Department of Defense's representatives in this investigation."

The final person to approach Emily was Tagg. "Emily."

"James."

...

Taylor walked out onto the tarmac just in time to see and hear the end of Vista's phone call. "Yeah? Well fuck the both of you!" Vista stabbed the 'end' button on the cell and nearly flung it away before stopping herself.

"Do I want to know who has aroused your ire, Vista?" Taylor asked.

"My mom. Turns out Ives wasn't lying when she said she had signed orders from my parents to stop me training with you, and she wasn't bluffing when she threatened to pull me from the Wards. I'm officially not a Ward anymore, at least until I 'come to my senses and stop associating with the wrong crowd'. As if that's gonna stop me." She sighed and tapped out a text to Kid Win, asking him to get her things from the Wards area at PHQ and bring them to Camp Kerensky.

After she pocketed her phone, Vista looked at Taylor. "I don't suppose you're hiring, are you?"

Taylor frowned. "We are, and we would certainly consider you, but there might be difficulties regarding your age. No offense is intended but you are a minor, and under the law we cannot bring you into the Dragoons until your eighteenth birthday."

"You're not eighteen either; neither are any of Alpha Point."

Taylor nodded. "We were granted leeway due to my mother's and Alpha Point's extradimensional origins and our citizenship... Wait..." Taylor smiled a bit. "I just might have an idea. What would you be willing to do to join the Wolf Dragoons, Vista?"

Vista smiled back. "Right now? Anything."

"Follow me to my office; we have a very long-distance video-call to make..."

...

Three hours later, Director Emily Piggot was informed by her secretary that she had a phone call on Line One, from Star-Captain Hebert. Emily picked up the phone and spoke. "Director Piggot speaking, Star-Captain."

Director Piggot, I am calling to extend an invitation to you, and such others as you deem worthy, to come to Camp Kerensky tomorrow at noon in order to witness a rather momentous event; one of our prospective local recruits, a former employee of yours, has opted not only to join the Dragoons, but to also undertake a Trial of Position for citizenship with my mother's people. They specifically requested I invite you to witness their Trial, and if successful, their induction."

Piggot had a sneaking suspicion she knew who that 'prospective recruit' was... "I would be honored to witness your recruit's Trial of Position; Vista spoke much of what she learned from your men about the history and culture of your mother's native dimension. What would be appropriate attire?"

"Dress Uniform, or equivalent."

Last edited: Nov 5, 2017

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#360

Emily Piggot watched out the window as the PRT UH-60 she was riding in circled the airfield at Camp Kerensky. "Kerensky Tower, this is PRT helicopter Echo-Four-One-Niner, requesting landing clearance, over," spoke the pilot over the radio.

"E419, this is Kerensky Tower; you are cleared to land on Pad Three, over."

"Roger, Tower; landing on Pad Three. E419 out."

The helicopter dropped lightly onto the helipad and the rotors spun down. Emily stepped out of the aircraft, followed by Armsmaster, Gallant, Triumph, Shadow Stalker... and Caryn Ives. Behind them, Kid Win and Aegis, the team's flyers, landed. Each Cape was wearing a PRT dress-uniform, modified for Cape-wear by replacing the PRT insignia with Protectorate or Wards symbols and allowing wear of costume headgear or black Domino Mask. Piggot wore her own PRT dress-uniform, and Ives wore a suit in a tasteful snuff-brown.

"Welcome to Camp Kerensky," said Point-Commander Gohcourt from the HQ building's door. "Star-Captain Hebert is waiting inside, as are the others. Please, follow me."

The group entered and were soon inside Taylor's office. "Ah, good, you have arrived. The Trial of Position is almost ready to begin," said Taylor as she stood, greeting them. "The participants are in position, and I am expecting a call from Galaxy-Commander Kerensky any moment to confirm that she and the others are watching."

"The others?" asked Aegis.

"A Formal Trial of Position such as this, and the induction that follows, are significant things, and so the other factions of my mother's people will be watching the Trial, and participate in the induction ceremony after. I trust Vista has told you of the Clans?"

Emily nodded. "She did, though only in brief. Seventeen Clans, descended from an army, yes?"

A voice from behind them spoke. "Aff, Director Piggot. Though there were twenty, at the beginning." The group turned to see Galaxy-Commander Natasha Kerensky herself standing in the doorway. "Two were Absorbed into other Clans; Clan Mongoose was Absorbed by Clan Smoke Jaguar, and Clan Widowmaker by Clan Wolf. The other, we do not speak of."

Taylor snapped out of her surprise and saluted. "Galaxy-Commander; I was unaware you would be attending in person."

Natasha returned the salute casually. "At ease, Star-Captain. I could not merely sit and watch through a monitor, not after such a spirited batchall, so I decided to attend in person. The others are watching via teleconference."

Taylor nodded and gestured for the group to follow her; they made their way to the next building over from the headquarters, an empty hangar slated for conversion into a gym/recreation area. Taylor ushered her guests to their seats and Taylor watched as Alpha Point, unarmored and armed only with wooden batons, entered from one side. From the other, dressed in black gym shorts and a sleeveless athletic shirt, and armed with a baton of her own, entered Vista, or rather, Missy Biron, for she was unmasked.

When Taylor spoke, her voice carried throughout the hangar. "Missy Biron, you have issued batchall and your Challenge has been accepted. This is your Trial of Position, to be fought here within this Circle of Equals as drawn by those who have answered your Challenge, with the weapons as chosen by you. Your opponents are Alpha Point, of the Wolf Dragoons First Mobile Star, Beta Galaxy. You will face each Warrior in succession, until you or they are defeated, either by submission or knockout. They will not be holding back."

Caryn started to protest when Anika laid a hand on her shoulder. "Do not interfere; her challenge was freely made and freely accepted, and if you interfere in her Trial of Position you not only dishonor yourself, but also dishonor your organization and insult Missy, by your interference saying you think her weak or foolish. Do that and your safety could not be guaranteed." Her grip tightened until Caryn sat back.

Taylor, meanwhile, continued. "Defeating one opponent will be considered a Partial Victory, and you will be inducted into the Wolf Dragoons upon the moment of your eighteenth birthday. Defeating three or more will be considered a Complete Victory, and you will be inducted today, as well as inducted into Clan Wolf and granted Citizenship on the planet Outreach, with all rights and privileges thereunto pertaining. Combatants, stand you ready?"

"Aff, Star-Captain."

"Then may Combat be thy Judge and Victory thy Jury. Begin!"

...

Missy pointed to John Shaw with her baton, and he loped forward, his baton ready. The preteen darted forward to meet him, and her baton came around hard and fast toward the Elemental's right knee. John blocked and struck at her ribs, and Missy jumped back before stepping quickly back in and around John, hammering a pair of blows into her opponent's kidney.

John winced and stiffened, but when he whirled to strike the girl had slipped back out of his reach. He settled back into a fighting stance and watched his foe intently. Missy moved; John saw her blow coming and parried the strike with his offside forearm and exploited the opening in Missy's defense by striking her left thigh.

The strike didn't do as much damage as anticipated due to Missy rolling with the blow to lessen its impact, but the viewers could still tell it had hurt from the hitch in Missy's step when she moved. She stepped in and around John, and drove the end of her baton into the same kidney she'd struck earlier, then brought the baton around two-handed into the Elemental's knee, buckling it.

John yelled with pain from the kidney-punch and fell to his knees from the leg-strike. He felt her hit him across the wrist two-handed and he felt his baton drop from nerveless fingers before a strike crashed into his cheek. "I yield," he said from the floor. "I yield."

Vista backed away, picking up John's discarded baton. As Dalton and Kyle brought John back to their side, Alexandra stepped forward, smiling. "Good show, Missy. But now you face me." Fetladral charged, and Vista sidestepped her rush, then ducked under a strike at her head before thrusting her left-hand baton into Alexandra's solar plexus. When the Elemental stumbled back coughing, Missy pressed forward with a flurry of strikes at Alexandra's head and body.

The Wards were watching in awe, Ives in horror, and Piggot in interest. "She's fighting smart, using her size and speed to advantage and keeping her opponent off-balance," she commented to Armsmaster.

Fetladral managed to force Vista away and went on the offensive herself. Vista leaned and twisted away from strike after strike until one connected across her upper back and drove her face-down onto the floor.

Missy stood slowly and rolled her shoulders, wincing as they hurt to move, then attacked with a primal scream. Vista flexed her power, stepping in from yards away with a single step and striking at Alexandra's face; the Elemental blocked and Vista's second baton whipped up and around the block into the side of Alexandra's head.

Once more, Alexandra Fetladral stumbled, but Vista's power warped space and sent her into a corner, just before Missy got a knee into Alexandra's gut and doubled her over.

The next thing Alexandra felt was a pair of arms snaking around her throat and tightening before everything went black.

...

Missy turned to look at the other members of Alpha Point after she'd released her choke-hold on Alexandra. Her breath came in huffs, and she had dropped one baton; there was a wild, raw light in her eyes as she stared them down. "My leg's sore. My shoulders are sore. Somewhere in her last few attacks Fetladral clipped me in the ribs and I think one might have cracked. I'm ready to get serious, so how about we just settle this now? Eh? Who's next?" She brought her baton up two-handed and glared.

Dalton stepped forward with cautious steps, then abruptly darted to his right, snatched up Vista's dropped second baton and hurled it at her before stepping in to strike.

Vista leaned to her right and warped space; the baton flew past to her left. She parried Dalton's strike aside and turned as he stumbled past her, off-balance as the floor seemed to shift underneath him. Missy stepped back and ahead of Dalton and swung her four-foot wooden baton with all her might. A broken piece of baton spun into the air; Dalton Shaw hit his knees and then fell flat, his scalp bleeding.

Taylor watched as Mykel checked his XO. The leader of Alpha Point nodded and smiled. "Out cold. Kyle, do want to face Missy next?"

Kyle Fetladral laughed and waved his hands. "Neg, Point-Commander. I can see her mettle from here; I have no need to test it. Do you wish to face our little Coywolf?"

Mykel shook his head. "Neg; I would prefer not getting my head stove in. I yield me."

Taylor clapped, and so did the others save for Caryn Ives, and Natasha who had slipped out quietly just after Kyle surrendered. "Missy Biron has won her Trial of Position with a Complete Victory. Come, let us retire to let Missy clean herself up before her induction. Point-Commander Ward, see to your Point and see to it Missy arrives."

...

When Missy had cleaned away the sweat and checked her ribs, she was escorted to the HQ and told to go to the Mess Hall for her Induction Ceremony. She stepped into the Mess and found it pitch black inside, though she could still hear breathing near the walls.

A light snapped on and she saw a figure ahead of her. In that single beam of light a figure stood, dressed in ceremonial garb. The massive Elemental wore tight shorts and tunic of gray leather, sandals laced to his feet, thick leather gloves on his hands, and a mantle of gray fur about his shoulders. But what truly drew Vista's gaze was the mask of lacquered wood that covered Thomas Calvert's face; it was black as midnight, with red-tinted eyes and gleaming fangs of silver. He extended his hand to her silently and beckoned her forward...

To one side, Emily watched as Missy ran the metaphorical gauntlet, three Dragoons striking at her from the darkness with sabers and each being blocked by Point-Commander Calvert. And meeting the Point-Commander was a treat; he looks nothing at all like my former teammate...

She had at least been forewarned by Kerensky and Hebert about how much... Ceremony... This ceremony entailed...

...

Missy stepped into the final, wider beam of light, where stood Natasha Kerensky, dressed in the same leather shorts as Thomas, tall leather boots, and a vest-like leather jerkin and gloves, wolf-fur mantle, and mask.

"Trothkin, seen and unseen, near and far, living and dead," Natasha intoned, her voice carrying. It seemed as if she were reciting a formula. "Witness the passage of this candidate that stands before us now!"

She paused as though waiting, but silence was her answer. "I am the Oathmaster. All will be bound by this conclave, until they are dust and memory, and then into the time beyond all reckoning."

"Seylah," spoke the voices of the Wolf Dragoons, and more, from the darkness.

"Those that follow the Way of the Wolf understand the way of the warrior," Natasha continued. "Those that fail to see the wisdom of the Wolf are doomed to failure. Who will voice doubt that this pup is worthy to live the Way of the Wolf?" Her tone was mocking at the last, as if daring someone to speak.

A monitor snapped to life at the edge of the light revealing a woman wearing a red jumpsuit with black leather trim. Black riding-boots and a red-and-black horse-head mask completed her ensemble. The Warrior removed her mask to show a grave face in her mid-twenties.

Natasha nodded. "I recognize thee, Rhona of the Hell's Horses.

"I ken death on the field for this pup. Aye, it is death I see."

Vista stiffened, and the Galaxy-Commander spoke. "Who among the Wolves would deny this vision?"

On the other side of the circle from Rhona's monitor a figure stepped forward, dressed in a similar jumpsuit in Wolf colors and mask. He removed his mask to show his lined, weatherbeaten face.

"I recognize thee, Erwin of the Wolves."

"Oathmaster, it is my ken that this pup need fear nothing from the battlefield," the transplanted Lyran said. Rhona and Erwin replaced their masks, and Erwin stepped back into the darkness while Rhona's monitor faded to black before a thin man appeared on it, dressed in a form-fitting body-suit of white and mantled with white feathers, he wore a bird-mask that reminded Missy of a crow, or a...

"I recognize thee, Liam McKenna of the Snow Ravens." Vista saw the man's ruddy face when he lifted the mask.

"I ken death from the skies for this pup. Aye, it is death I see."

"Who among the Wolves would deny this vision?" Out of the darkness stepped a woman dressed in a gray bodysuit and a half-cape of wolf fur, wearing a helmet with the visor fashioned like a howling wolf. She tipped the visor up, showing blue eyes and blond hair, and Natasha intoned, "I recognize thee, Cassandra Mehta of the Wolves."

"It is my ken this wolfling need fear nothing from the skies; nay, not from the skies." He and Liam donned their masks once more and faded into darkness before a third monitor snapped to life, revealing the hulking form of an Elemental, dressed in jade-green leather with a pectoral of nephrite feathers and an open-beaked helmet shaped like that of a falcon. Natasha nodded when the Elemental removed her helm. "I recognize thee, Turkina Mattlov of the Jade Falcons."

"I ken death by the hand for this young pup. Aye, it is death I see."

"Who among the Wolves would deny this vision?"

Out of the darkness loomed a figure dressed as Calvert had been, but female; Missy could by the way she moved who it was, even before she saw the long blond braid or the Warrior's face when she removed her mask.

"I recognize thee, Anika Gohcourt of the Wolves."

Anika spoke with a feral pride when she said, "Oathmaster, I ken this pup need fear nothing from the hand, nor from anything within our domain." Both Elementals masked their faces and faded into the shadows.

Natasha Kerensky faced Missy. "Three times you have been challenged, and three times defenders have risen to meet those challenges. Sponsored by the Wolf, warded by the Clan, all is in order. Present your right hand." Missy extended her hand and Kerensky drew a long fighting-dagger from her belt, its grip wrapped in leather and silver wire, reversed it, and closed the new Wolf's hand around the grip...

...

Unbeknownst to all save Gallant, Caryn Ives had slipped out of the hall and made her way outside. Dean, sensing emotions from her that were not good, followed her quietly. He found her outside, speaking into her cellphone, but she hung up before he could overhear. Apparently she liked what she heard, because her emotions had shifted upward into satisfaction...

...

Natasha smiled. "Missy, you may not have been born a Warrior, but you have a Warrior's heart, and mind, and soul. The Wolf has seen this. I, the Oathmaster, proclaim this truth. This is your honor-blade. You will keep it." Natasha raised her voice and cried out, "Let us rejoice and let pride sing out! There is a new wolf in the pack!"

...

"Kerensky Tower, this is Hound-One; bogey closing from bearing zero-one-five, six cherubs. Warbook ID says Uniform-Hotel-Sixty-Mike, but their IFF is not squawking. ETA our airspace two mikes, over."

"Hound-One, Kerensky Tower. Maintain tracking, Sensors Passive, Weapons Tight, over." The Technician manning the Airfield Tower then broadcast in the clear. "Unidentified Aircraft approaching Wolf Dragoons airspace, your IFF is inactive. Please identify yourself and turn on your Parrot, over."

After a few seconds without a response, the Tower broadcast, "Unidentified UH-60M on bearing 015, you are entering restricted airspace; identify yourself or be considered hostile." The Tower changed frequency and radioed to Hound-One. "Hound-One, Jackal-Two is spinning up now, ETA your posit one mike. Go Sensors Active and spike the bogey. Maybe that will get his attention, over."

"Roger, Tower. Hound-One going Sensors Active, Birds Affirm, out."

Point-Officer Joseph Lager, the Gunner on Hound-One, switched his TTS to Active Mode and watched to see how the approaching helicopter would react...

Last edited: May 21, 2018

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Threadmarks 20: Low Friends in High Places New

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#386

"Dragoon Actual, this is Technician Burrows in the Tower; Hound-One has a bogey approaching on bearing 015, a UH-60M coming in very low and without IFF. The Blackhawk has not responded to hails; I directed Hound-One to spike them with active sensors to try and get their attention, and Jackal-Two is en route now, over."

Taylor pinched the bridge of her nose. "Tower, Dragoon Actual; roger that. Keep me posted. Out."

...

"Director, Armsmaster, Triumph, I think Ives is up to something; I picked up a bunch of negative emotions from her during the ceremony, and followed her outside. She was on the phone to somebody, but I have no idea who, and her emotions spiked straight to satisfaction after she hung up. I've got a bad feeling."

Piggot snarled and bit back a curse. "Ives, you fool, what have you done?" she thought aloud. "Find her. Quietly. Bring her to me so we can figure out what's going on."

As the Wards spread out around the now-lit Mess Hall, Piggot found Vista conversing with Natasha. "Vista, congratulations on your induction into Clan Wolf. Or should I say, congratulations, Point-Officer Biron of the Wolf Dragoons. Your parents will no-doubt be livid."

Missy smiled. "Let them be; my joining the Dragoons is all above-board, Director Piggot. You and the PRT, through the Chief Director, set a precedent when you treated Star-Captain Hebert and Alpha Point like adults based on their extradimensional citizenship. I just took advantage of that precedent."

"I see..." said Emily. "Very clever."

...

"We're being hailed, Smith; they say our IFF isn't transmitting."

"Bullshit, Jones; the panel says we are. Radio back to them and identify ourselves, and tell them their gear's malfunctioning."

"There a problem, son?" asked Commander Marcinko from his seat in the troop-compartment.

"No problem, Sir; the Air-Traffic Control Tower is claiming we're not broadcasting IFF, but our instrument panel is green and I verified with the mechanics before takeoff that everything was good."

"Smith, they ignored my transmission and they sound really twitch- Shit! We just got spiked; someone has us in their gunsights!"

Commander Marcinko heard the copilot's exclamation, as did Lieutenant-Colonel Beckwith and the Federal Agents riding with them in the Blackhawk. Marcinko took charge immediately. "Put us on the fuckin' ground, now! Tagg, gimme your cellphone if it's got service!"

...

"Tower, Hound-One; bogey has ceased closing and landed. I do not have eyes on, say again, I cannot see the bogey at this time. I still have them on sensors, over."

"Tower, this is Jackal-Two; I have visual on our bogey. UH-60M with PRT markings, landed in a field approximately one-triple-zero yards due east of my posit. No movement; other than the bird itself my scopes are clean, over."

"Kerensky Tower to Jackal-Two; maintain monitoring, Weapons Tight. Out."

...

"Miss Ives?"

Caryn turned to face Aegis and Clockblocker; Aegis smiled a friendly smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Yes, Aegis?"

"Director Piggot asked us to find you; I think she wants a word."

"Of course, Aegis. Do be so kind as to let Emily know I'll be right with her."

Aegis shook his head. "Director Piggot gave the air of the matter being urgent; here, Clock and I will escort you right to her." He offered her his arm, and Clockblocker fell in on her other side...

...

Director Piggot's cellphone buzzed and she checked the caller-ID. "What the devil? Why's Tagg calling me?" She stepped into the corridor and answered it. "James?"

"Director Piggot, it's Commander Marcinko. I need you to get in touch with Star-Captain Hebert; there's a situation that needs dealt with."

"A situation?"

"The G-Men, Charlie, and I were inbound in one of your choppers to meet with the Star-Captain and the tower hailed us saying our IFF wasn't broadcasting; according to the instruments we were. The tower ignored our attempts to hail them, and then we got lit up by a targeting-radar. We're parked in a field thinking very peaceful thoughts until we can get this cleared up."

Piggot nodded sharply, her tone steel. "I'll talk to the Star-Captain, but be advised her CO is on-deck, Dick, and other ED-VIPs present by telecomm. You almost interrupted a formal event."

"You did tell her we'd be by at some point, right?"

"I took it for granted that you'd give advance notice before coming by. I'll call you back." Emily hung up and went in search of Taylor.

Taylor and Emily found each other and stepped back into the corridor. "Director, we have a situation," Taylor began.

"A Blackhawk with no IFF? I just got off the phone with one of the passengers on that bird; the investigators were going to do a surprise visit. They claim the instruments indicated an active IFF and that your tower ignored their hails by radio before targeting them." Piggot watched Taylor go still.

"The Technician manning the tower and the crew of the Svantovit IFV that spiked them claim an inactive IFF and that the helicopter ignored hails; the radar-spike was to get their attention. Something is not right here, Director..."

Piggot nodded. "No, something isn't right. The Blackhawk's landed and the crew and passengers are, to quote Commander Marcinko, 'thinking very peaceful thoughts' until we can get to the bottom of this."

Taylor nodded. "I have a VTOL in the area; I can have Jackal-Two pick them up, then I will talk to Technician Burrows. You will talk to your people?"

"I will."

...

Piggot felt her phone buzz after informing Marcinko about the pickup, and saw a text from Armsmaster saying Aegis and Clockblocker had Ives. She texted them all three to bring her to their helicopter out on the tarmac.

Piggot arrived just as the others did. "Get in, Caryn, Armsmaster. Aegis, Clockblocker, stand by the building and watch for a Dragoons VTOL; the investigators from DC are on it." she said simply. When the two Wards had walked away, Emily slid the door shut on the helicopter. She leveled a basilisk glare at Ives. "Caryn, what did you do?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Emily. What do you mean, what did I do?" the YG Rep asked.

Piggot glared harder. "Right now, there's a PRT helicopter sitting in a field on this base after an emergency landing, which was caused by an IFF- and radio malfunction. Do you know what that is?"

Ives glared back. "No, I don't."

"IFF stands for 'Identification Friend/Foe'; it's a transmitter that does exactly what the name says. Without that transmitter working, it's impossible to tell who a bird belongs to without actually seeing it. Add in that the tower claims this helicopter of ours ignored attempts to contact them by radio, and the pilot claims the tower ignored contact-attempts, and this begins to look like... Armsmaster, what's the word I'm after?"

Colin 'Armsmaster' Wallace spoke levelly. "Sabotage. The word you want is 'sabotage', Director Piggot. Miss Ives, during the Induction Ceremony, you were observed leaving the building and followed by Gallant. He observed several negative emotions from you prior to your leaving, and saw you on the phone with someone; he then observed your emotional state change to reflect deep satisfaction."

Ives flushed. "I was on the phone with my boyfriend, if you must know!"

"According to my helmet's systems, that was a lie. Who were you talking to?"

"I was talking to a friend!"

"Truth."

Piggot picked up the thread. "Who is this friend of yours, Caryn? What were you talking about?"

Ives began to sweat. "He's a systems-tech at the local Youth-Guard Office. I was lamenting to him about how you all seem taken-in with these... barbarians! How I felt like the only sane person in the room! Dave said he agreed with me, and that clearly something wasn't right. He said he'd get a friend of his who's a hacker to check the Dragoons' systems and try finding signs of wrongdoing."

"Armsmaster?"

"All true."

Piggot shook her head. "Caryn Ives, you deluded fool..." She met the woman's gaze. "You are under arrest for Conspiracy to Commit Cybercrime, Accessory to Hacking Government Systems, and Conspiracy to Commit Murder; you have the right to remain sil-"

"Murder?! What are you talking about?!"

Piggot snapped the cuffs on Caryn's wrists. "The PRT chopper that had IFF trouble landed because in the confusion they were almost fired on. There are two PRT pilots and two crew-chiefs, three Federal Agents and two Field-Grade Military Officers who nearly died."

Ives paled, then blustered, "You can't arrest me! You don't have a warrant and I wasn't Mirandized before you started interrogating me!"

Piggot nodded and smiled at Caryn. "Point. However, your uncharacteristic and irrational behavior these past few days does give me reasonable suspicion of Parahuman Influence, and thus probable cause to detain you for Master/Stranger Screening, and of course we'll have no choice but to thoroughly investigate your contacts in order to ferret out this insidious Cape... We're just doing what's best for you." Director Piggot's fist lashed out and knocked Ives unconscious. "She resisted arrest."

Armsmaster nodded. "I'll see to it she gets back to PHQ and into an M/S Cell."

Piggot climbed out of the helicopter and sighed. "I'm getting too old for this shit..."

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#463

Commander Richard Marcinko, United States Navy, stepped off of the Dragoons Anhur and onto the tarmac to find Piggot, Hebert, and a tall red-headed woman dressed in black and red waiting. Behind them stood Triumph, Vista, who had put on a set of Dragoons fatigues, and a tall man dressed in similar attire to the redhead.

As Beckwith walked out beside him and Tagg and the other Feds got their gear together, Dick watched as Emily nodded in greeting and Star-Captain Hebert saluted. "Good afternoon, Commander Marcinko, Lieutenant-Colonel Beckwith. I am Star-Captain Taylor Hebert, Commanding Officer of the Wolf Dragoons. Welcome to Camp Kerensky, Gentlemen, though I wish it were under less... interesting circumstances."

Beckwith and Marcinko returned the salute reflexively. "I agree; it was certainly 'interesting', in the Chinese sense of the word. Though I'm curious about the salute; you're not US military," said Beckwith.

Taylor nodded. "Partly it was because the Dragoons are technically considered a Clan Wolf formation, if only a second-line one, so my rank is a military one; Star-Captain is roughly-equivalent to Major or Lieutenant-Commander, so you both outrank me and military courtesy says I salute you." She smiled and chuckled. "And even if you did not outrank me, I would still give you both that respect; it is not every day that I get to meet the founding COs of the United States Navy's SEAL Team Six and the Army's First Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, Richard 'Demo Dick' Marcinko, and Charles 'Charging Charlie' Beckwith."

The redhead cleared her throat and Hebert stiffened. "Gentlemen, my Commanding Officer, Galaxy-Commander Natasha Kerensky, CO of our parent unit, Beta Galaxy. Galaxy-Commander, Lieutenant-Colonel Charles Beckwith, US Army, and Commander Richard Marcinko, US Navy." The officers saw the four red stars on her rank insignia and saluted, and she returned it.

Kerensky smiled grimly. "Gentlemen, I am sure you have many questions and little time in which to ask them; let us ask and answer them somewhere other than out here on the runway."

Hebert spoke. "My office is yours, Galaxy-Commander. I still have Technician Burrows and the crew of Hound-One to speak with regarding the IFF incident, but I should be able to join you shortly."

Meanwhile, Tagg, Watson, and Bondurant were speaking to Director Piggot. "We were told you have a lead on what happened to the helicopter, Emily?" asked Tagg.

She quickly brought them up to speed, ending by saying, "I sent her back with Armsmaster and PRT Pilot Rawley aboard E419; she should be going into an M/S Cell any moment. Without definitive evidence of her being Mastered I can only hold her for ninety-six hours, however, so Armsmaster and Deputy-Director Renick have orders to work quickly. One thing pointed out to me, by Rawley's senior crew-chief, was that there is literally no way to remotely hack the IFF- or radio-systems of our Blackhawks."

Watson winced. "That means it was physically sabotaged. The PRT handles aircraft maintenance in-house?"

Piggot and Tagg both nodded. "We do. The mechanics are trained and rated on the UH-60 by Sikorsky, but they're all PRT personnel," said Tagg. "Emily, you have a mole."

"It seems so. In the meantime, there's still your original investigation to conduct, yes?"

The Agents nodded. "I'll handle things with the armory," said Bondurant. "Joanne, you and James start with the files and interviews."

Vista stepped forward. "Agents, I can show you where to go; Point-Commander Gohcourt, the XO, suspected you'd want to see the reports and the armory; she's waiting in the armory and Administrator Hebert, the Star-Captain's dad, has the reports and files in the briefing-room. If you'll follow me?"

...

The Youth Guard Brockton Bay Office was an unassuming two-story in Downtown, four blocks from PHQ. A pair of PRT plainclothes officers walked inside and up to the front desk, and asked politely for the location of a computer-systems technician named David Powell. When they arrived at Cubicle 4F, in the PR Department, they found him setting up his laptop. "David Powell?"

"Yeah, that's me. Gimme a minute to de-louse Miss Priestley's computer again, since she forgot to keep her antivirus up-to-date again."

"We're going to have to insist that you speak with us now, Mister Powell, regarding a co-worker of yours, Miss Caryn Ives."

Dave sat up. "Caryn? What's up with her; did something happen? Also, who are you two?"

The lead Agent spoke. "I'm Agent Magnusson and this is my partner, Agent Miraborg, PRT-ENE Investigative Division. To answer your question, she's currently been detained for Screening under Master/Stranger Protocols due to her recent erratic behavior giving cause to suspect Parahuman Influence. We're going to need you to come to PHQ with us."

Powell recoiled visibly. "Why? I'm not a Cape, and Caryn's not been Mastered; she's been under stress because of those mercenaries and one of the Wards."

Miraborg held up her hands in a conciliatory gesture. "We need to be certain; that's why we're investigating. Please, come with us, Mister Powell."

"Am I under arrest?"

"No, not at this time. We just want to speak with you, since according to her phone records, you were the last person she was in contact with before her detention."

Fuck Fuck Fuck, thought Dave, Did Caryn spill about Clovis? He hasn't even tried getting into the mercs' network yet! Fuck, they're onto me! Dave took a breath and sighed. "I'll come with you then, and we can get this cleared up."

Magnusson turned to lead the way out and Dave suddenly bolted, sprinting for the fire-exit door. Miraborg caught up to the pudgy computer-tech in three long strides and bore him down to the floor. "The front door's the other way, Mister Powell. Now you're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent; anything you say..."

...

"Hey, Top, got a minute?" asked Carol Rawley from the door to the PRT Maintenance Hangar at Brockton Bay Regional.

Augustus 'Top' Busch looked up from his inspection of a parts shipment. "Sure, Foe Hammer. What's the situation?" The middle-aged former-Nightstalker walked over to her where the noise of the mechanics working was quieter, his pace slowed by the limp in his right leg.

"Smith and Jones are out at the Wolf Dragoons' base but they asked me to get in touch with you; they were bitching about a hiccup in their bird's electronics on the way in and wanted me to ask you, politely, to see which wrench-benders they needed to tie to the rotors and spin-cycle over it."

Busch nodded, his eyes suddenly icy-cold as he recognized the code-phrases in Carol Rawley's explanation. 'Hiccup' meant 'Severe Malfunction', and 'asking politely' for the 'Wrench-Benders' was code for 'suspected sabotage, mechanical'. The remark about tying them to the rotors was to let him know that there were Agents from ID outside waiting to take the mechanics into custody. "Let me check which yahoos I had assigned to Bravo-Two-Two-Three. Might help save some ass-chewing later if I knew what went tits-up with that bird?"

Rawley recognized the coded 'message received' in Top's first sentence and answered his question. "Their Parrot wasn't squawking even though the panel read green, and for some damn reason their radio would receive but not transmit."

Busch winced. "That's not cool; I'll bet whoever was in the tower at the Dragoons' airfield had a fun day. Ah, here we are; the ones Smith and Jones are looking for are Tate, Oliveiros, and Christensen. They just stepped out back to the smoke pit five minutes ago for lunch."

Rawley signalled to the ID Agents, who passed through the hangar to the fenced-in smoking-area behind and found all three mechanics gone...

...

Tate, Oliveiros, and Christensen waited in the parking-garage for the woman who'd 'hired' them, nervous and looking around. "I hope like Hell she's as good as her word," remarked Alex Christensen.

"Oh, I am," remarked a female voice from behind them. They turned and stared into the cold lenses of a mask. I told you that your payment for sabotaging that helicopter would be your freedom, and I don't go back on my word."

Will Tate smiled hysterically. "Then you'll take them out? Right?" His face fell into a look of horror when the masked woman smiled and shook her head.

"I said I'd free you, not that I'd remove the devices. Besides, boys, Death is just Freedom from Life."

The three luckless mechanics barely had a chance to scream before the miniaturized concussion charges implanted in their chests activated, pulping their hearts and lungs.

The woman shrugged and walked away back to her car. As she did, she pulled out a burner-phone and dialed. "Yeah, it's done and the loose-ends tied up. Tell your boss to have my money in my account by tomorrow." She ended the call and pocketed the burner, then withdrew a second one that had started ringing. "Hello? Yeah, Boss, I'm on my way back now. I just had to do some parts shopping, Lung, that's all. I'll be back in ten."

As Bakuda tossed her costume's jacket and mask into the back seat of her Jeep and drove off, she mused to herself, "Planting them over the heart worked, but if I went for the head..."

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#511

It had been three days since the IFF Incident, and two since the bodies of the three aircraft mechanics were found, and the investigation into the incident well-underway. Thankfully, the investigation into the Dragoons' battle with the Merchants was far-enough along that the Dragoons' vehicles were free to go back to work.

Hence, the Odin Scout Tanks of Coyote Point found themselves rolling up I-90W, escorting a pair of Medhall tractor-trailers hauling experimental drugs bound for Buffalo, New York. Medhall had a distribution-center there, and the drugs were slated for shipment from there to third-party labs for testing before going into full production.

The crews of both tanks were bored; this was a milk-run...

"Felix? Kindly pass that packet of jerky," said Point-Officer Britney Tinn, Driver and Commander of Coyote-Two, to her Gunner, and Sibkin, Point-Officer Felix Tinn.

"Aff, Britney. Here you go." He handed her the jerky and opened the cooler strapped to the bulkhead next to his seat, withdrawing a glass bottle of Coca-Cola. "Soda?"

"Neg; I still have a half-mug of coffee. Thank you for offering, though."

...

"We have a match! The recovered components from the mechanics' bodies are a match to the concussion-bombs used by the Cornell Bomber, built smaller!" crowed Dragon over the speakers in Armsmaster's lab.

"The Cornell Bomber?" asked Bondurant. "I remember that incident; the perp Triggered over an As-" The Virginian cut himself off before he misspoke; all of them were running on short sleep and near-lethal levels of caffeine, and it sometimes did odd things to his Brain-Mouth Filter... "You're certain it's her, Dragon?"

"97-percent certainty, plus-or-minus 2-percent. It's her."

Watson smiled wide. "I'll get started on the warrants; Dragon, can you track her? In-costume and out-of-costume?"

"I can, though the Unwritten Rules..."

"Are Unwritten and Informal, and thus carry no legal weight," responded the FBI Special Agent. "She nearly got Government Agents killed, nearly started an interdimensional war, and according to evidence, murdered three PRT mechanics. The gloves come off; find her."

...

"Well, Emily, am I free of Mastery?" asked Caryn Ives sarcastically as she was brought out of her M/S Cell.

"You are, and we also found no evidence to suggest your involvement in the sabotage of our helicopter," responded Director Piggot. "However, two of your associates, David Powell and Clovis Fletcher, had some interesting things to say about your plan to try and hack computers that aren't yours. They spilled everything, Caryn." Two BBPD officers stepped forward and started reading the still-handcuffed Ives her Miranda Rights.

...

Bakuda dialed a number on one of her burners, listened to the tones and dialed a key-code in to encrypt the line, and then waited for the man on the other side to pick up. When she heard him answer, the Bomb-Tinker snapped waspishly, "Where's my goddamn money, Han?"

"You were promised your money for a successful task, Bakuda. You were tasked to spark a conflict between the Wolf Dragoons and the Federal Agents. All you have accomplished is to drive them closer, and kill three fools who were as useless as you yourself seem to be."

Bakuda barked into the phone in Cantonese, "Listen here, you inbred spawn of a drooling ape, I did the job now where is my money?! Either pay me what I'm owed or prepare to be destroyed!"

Han responded flatly in the same tongue, "You would do well to remember to whom it is you speak, Girl. We are not the petty, power-obsessed lizard you kowtow to in that cesspit city. But, I suppose that one more opportunity might be granted you..."

"It'll be done, you condescending CUI bastard; just have my fucking money ready." Bakuda hung up.

...

Taylor stretched after her morning run and smiled. Natasha had gone back to her own dimension the day before, but not before bringing in, on her own authority, a MASH Truck. The Doctors and Medtechs had begun to settle in, and for the moment, all was well...

"Good morning, Star-Captain," called Vista as she trotted past, on her way to the Gym.

"Good morning, Point-Officer," Taylor called back. The teenager walked back inside and grabbed a cup of tea from the Mess, then sat down in her office to look over reports. Merchant activity was down; the Wolfpack Fight had not only seen two of their Capes captured and one killed, but had also gutted the gang's unpowered ranks. The Archer's Bridge Merchants were vastly weakened and all the signs pointed toward them being absorbed, at least in part, by the Empire-88 within the near future...

Tiffany and Michelle were out of the hospital, having finally been seen to by Panacea...

The funerals for her three fallen Dragoons were the next day.

...

The phone-lines between Brockton Bay and DC were ablaze with activity; teams were in motion and readying for action.

"Special Agent Bondurant," said Dragon, "a complication has arisen."

"Define 'complication', please, Miss Dragon?" asked the ATF Agent.

"I'm into her phone records, and there have been a lot of heavily-encrypted calls made from her locations to a man named 'Han'; voice-print analysis returns a ninety-eight-percent match to Han Ji-Song. He's on INTERPOL's Watch-Lists as a suspected trafficker in people, arms, and black-market Tinkertech, and he's also suspected of having ties to the CUI and Yangban." As she spoke, the monitor with her avatar split and the relevant information appeared on-screen.

"When it rains, it fuckin' pours..."

...

Taylor read the... strongly-worded... emails from the parents of Vista that graced her screen, and grimaced. Missus Biron was accusing the Dragoons of kidnap, Mister Biron was accusing them of brainwashing his daughter, and both were accusing the other of gross incompetence as a parent while demanding their daughter back.

Taylor sighed and started drafting a response...

...

Vista pulled her harness out of her locker that afternoon and shrugged into it, then started checking the setup of its pouches in preparation for her scheduled patrol with Bravo Point that evening.

"Let's see..." she murmured aloud as she checked her kit. "Ammo-pouches, four, with three power-packs per pouch, plus one in the Intek and one in the M&P." She giggled slightly at the alliteration. "Two grenade pouches, one red smoke grenade and one green; I'll swap those out and make room for an IR-strobe and a few chemlights... Combat knife hilt-down on my left chest, dump-pouch on my left kidney, comm on my right kidney, and IFAK at the small of my back; Camelbak on the back with the tube over my right shoulder. All set."

"Getting ready for your patrol, I see," said Amalthea Hazen from the door. The burly black-haired Elemental walked over to her footlocker and opened it, digging out clean fatigues to replace her sweaty ones; as she dug, a worn leather gauntlet fell out of the locker.

"Aff; I just want to make sure my gear is all in order. Oh, you dropped a glove." Vista hopped off her bunk and picked it up, handing it to Hazen.

"Thank you. It is a falconry gauntlet from my former Clan. Clan Jade Falcon is named for the actual Jade Falcon, and when I was younger I had one of my own for a partner. My ancestress, Elizabeth Hazen, was the First Khan of the Jade Falcons and the first to tame our namesake raptor. I named my bird after her bird, and I would like to think I trained my Turkina well..."

The two sat for a while, Vista cleaning her rifle and Amalthea reminiscing about Turkina, released into the wild on Eden just before Operation: Revival; Missy told her friend about the beagle-puppy she used to have, before her dad's job and her mom's allergy to dander forced her to give Snoopy up for adoption during the divorce...

...

That night, Vista was prone on a rooftop overlooking a warehouse and the panel-van that had pulled up in front of it. "Bravo Actual, this is Coywolf; I have eyes on ten, say again one-zero ABB in front of Warehouse One-One-Bravo, corner of Whaler and Docklands. Arms a mix of pistols and improvised melee. Wait one; possible Cape on-site. Female, five-five or five-six height, straight black hair, ABB colors and a gas-mask, and bandoliers with grenades, over."

"Coywolf, Bravo Actual; hold posit, maintain monitoring. I will kick this up the chain, out," radioed Anika from a few blocks back.

Anika radioed to the PRT console. "PRT Console, this is Wolf Dragoons Bravo Actual; my scout has eyes on a possible Cape, can you identify? Over."

"Bravo Actual, this is Miss Militia on Console; send your traffic, over."

"Individual is female, approximately five-feet-five inches tall, straight black hair..."

When she'd finished, Miss Militia responded. "Bravo Actual, that description matches Bakuda, a newly-recruited ABB Cape. She's a Tinker-6, Specialty Explosives. Do not, say again do not engage at this time; the Federal Agents want her taken alive if possible in connection to the IFF incident at Camp Kerensky, over."

Anika huffed, but acknowledged. She called Vista. "Coywolf, Bravo Actual. Possible Cape confirmed as ABB 'Bakuda', Rating Tinker-6, Explosives Specialty. The PRT request we do not engage; the Federal Agents have prior claim to her, over."

"Roger, Bravo Actual. Coywolf displacing west two blocks, out."

Missy took her Intek's sights off Bakuda's knee and quietly moved west across the roofs; the ABB Tinker never knew Missy was even there...

Last edited: Nov 11, 2017

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#550

The Wolf Dragoons returned to Camp Kerensky after the funerals of Johnston, Vasa, and Stewart, and Taylor immediately threw herself into training, starting her Elemental suit and setting out for a running patrol of the property...

Missy, needing a distraction of her own, went with Delta Point to the range, her bolt-action in its case across her back. When they arrived, the youngest Dragoon unzipped the case and laid it flat for a shooting-mat, unfolded the bipod mounted to the fore-end of the Savage 10 BA Stealth, and went prone.

The Elementals were shooting an eclectic mix of local firearms to familiarize themselves with the weapons of potential enemies. Hazen had a Ruger Mini-30, a variant of the Mini-14 Ranch Rifle chambered in 7.62x39mm instead of .223, and Isaiah Jennings and Elijah Torc were firing an AR-15 and a Winchester Model 94 .30-30, respectively. Hector Moran, Delta Point's 2IC, loaded 7.62x39 into magazines for the AKMS slung across his broad chest. Sheryl Dannvers, the Point-Commander, went prone behind a Winchester Model 70, using a spare pack as a rest for the scoped .308.

Everyone donned their eye- and ear-protection, and Missy slotted a ten-round magazine into her rifle before running the bolt forward to chamber the first cartridge...

...

Commander Marcinko and Special Agent Bondurant watched the newly-arrived teams get ready for the raid on Bakuda. Three four-man teams, one each from the ATF, FBI, and PRT...

...

That night, Delta and Echo Points were on the Docks patrol, in armor; Taylor was with them, and Missy was out forward of them scouting.

"Dragoon Actual, Coywolf; I have eyes on Bakuda, same location as last night. Looks like a parts-shipment coming in; two vans and I see lots of electronics-boxes, over."

"Coywolf, Dragoon Actual; Roger. Leave her be for now, over." She checked her HUD and saw it was nearly midnight. "In fact, Coywolf, rendezvous with Delta and Echo at the Waffle House on Canal; tonight's Mid-Rats are on me. How copy, over?"

"Solid Copy, Dragoon Actual; en route now, out."

...

The teams had assembled and their support was standing by; they moved in, guns up and scanning. The first quartet, the ATF Agents, stacked on the door at the rear of the warehouse; the FBI team took the front door, and the PRT strike-team readied to enter via the alley-door. As each team got in position, they radioed to the command-center in PHQ Conference Room Four.

"ATF reports ready."

"FBI, ready-op."

"PRT, ready to hop and pop."

"Backup Team in position," reported Armsmaster.

The word went out to the teams. "Green light; go!"

Bakuda's warehouse was suddenly a riot of light and noise as doors were breached and flashbangs hurled inside to disorient those within. The three teams swept inside, taking stunned gangbangers down and cuffing them, and found Bakuda in her lab.

The Bomb-Tinker lunged over her table and came up on the other side with a remote in her hand. "Try it, you motherfuckers! I dare you! See this? See the little green light? That means the bombs are armed. Now you just let me walk away, and I'll disarm them once I'm clear. Nobody needs to get hurt, eh, boys?"

The Feds froze, then one of them brought his MP5 up. "Drop the detonator, Bakuda; drop it and we won't shoot you."

The Tinker sneered under her mask. "You fuckahs won't shoot me anyway; I've got a deadman's-switch implanted on my haht. Kill me and they all go off." Her Boston accent started coming to the fore as she backed toward the windows.

One of the PRT Agents near the door quietly radioed, "Backup, do you have eyes on?" when he got a two-click 'affirmative' over his radio, he said, "Execute Contingency Green, say again Contingency Green."

There was a coughing sound from the rooftop that overlooked Bakuda's lab-window, and the ABB Tinker slumped bonelessly to the floor, a dart protruding from her neck, its payload of Tinker-made tranquilizer delivered and acting instantly to render her unconscious.

The lead PRT Agent turned to the others. "Okay, standard Tinker-Takedown Procedure; search her, strip her of tools and gear, and get her loaded and Foamed."

...

Taylor had just exited the alley by the Waffle House, having just gotten back into her armor and relieved Point-Officer Bekker from Echo Point, to let him change out of his armor and into fatigues. She had eaten, and now she'd watch the gear while Bekker ate. Taylor used her suit's jump-jets to boost up and onto a roof above the alley where the others' suits and Missy's Intek and harness were, and settled in to keep watch...

Ten minutes later, she heard sirens drawing nearer and switched to the police-frequency on her comm.

"...turned north on Canal. Shit! Shots fired, shots fired!"

A tan Ford tore around a bend a few blocks up the street, and behind came two Suburbans that screamed 'Fed', lights and sirens going. A thin man leaned out the passenger-window of the Ford and ripped a burst off at the lead Suburban with a machine-pistol. Taylor grinned. "Agents in pursuit of the tan Ford Taurus, this is Star-Captain Hebert; I have eyes on your runner, and I am intercepting now, over."

Taylor pounded forward across the roof and leapt, firing her jump-jets to gain more height and steer her course just-so...

The brothers William and Richard Oda were scared absolutely (and literally) shitless when Star-Captain Taylor Hebert, in her one-ton Elemental Battle-Armor, executed a flawless and devastating Death-from-Above attack onto the hood of their car. The car died right there, the engine totalled and the front axle snapped.

Taylor knelt on the ruined hood and covered the pair with her laser and MG. "I would advise you not to go anywhere, gentlemen."

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#595

Taylor woke and stretched, then checked her datapad for the plan of the day. The past week had been quiet; she'd found out from the Federal Agents after DFA-ing the Oda brothers' car that the pair were trying to warn Lung about Bakuda having been arrested. Taylor found it no end of funny that for all people claimed it took Capes to fight Capes, the mad-bomber Tinker had been brought low by unpowered teams from the FBI, ATF, and the PRT's New Orleans Office, with only a little help from Armsmaster's Tinkertech tranquilizer-darts.

The Dockworkers contract had ended the night before; the Union had seen an up-tick in jobs of their own, repairing damage from Cape-Fights, but things were still tight enough that a contract renewal was unlikely. On a brighter note, there were members of the Union willing to sign on with the Dragoons as Techs, and some looking to draw fighting-wages.

The Merchants, already gutted by their ill-fated attack on the Dragoons, were no more. Whirlygig had defected to the Protectorate, and Skidmark had ended up killing himself with an overdose of methamphetamine. Without their two remaining Capes, the Merchants were rapidly absorbed by the Empire.

...

Taylor looked over her newest requisitions and nodded. Two Bandit hovercraft, the Clan-tech version with a five-ton Infantry Bay, sat in the hangar, ready for their crews. "Michelle," Taylor said, "I give you the new vehicles of Fox Point. Talk to Nathan and Bjorn from Hound Point about training and select crews from the new recruits. As of right now, you are Point-Commander Kurita; your Point's performance will determine whether or not you remain so. Understood?"

"Aff, Star-Captain. So, I notice the weapons are different on the Bandits."

"Aff. They are Omnivehicles; the weapons and equipment are modular. The left-hand Bandit is in the Clan-'B' configuration, and the other is configured to mimic the 'A' variant used with the Inner-Sphere copies produced by Blackwell. I felt that having something with a bit more 'oomph' than the LRM-5s of Hound Point was in order, if only because I have a strong suspicion that your brother's boss will be on the warpath soon enough. If need be, they can be reconfigured."

Kurita nodded. "I'm still surprised you didn't hold that against me."

Taylor shrugged. "You saw an opportunity to get free of Lung and took it with both hands. You haven't fed the ABB any info, or acted in any way disloyal. Kurita Yuki died in Kyushu and Michelle Kurita the ABB spy died in the alley where Lung dumped her; all that's left is Michelle Kurita the Wolf Dragoon Point-Commander."

...

"Missy, fetch Taylor; she's going to want to see this," said Danny after reading the newest message to come in for the Dragoons.

Missy and Taylor arrived moments later. "Yes, Dad?" asked Taylor.

"I just got an offer from the Defense Department, signed off on by Lieutenant-Colonel Beckwith. They want to negotiate a possible equipment purchase from us, and a contract to train their people on the purchased systems."

Taylor looked over Danny's shoulder at the monitor. "Power Armor? That is no small purchase..." Taylor looked over the files on her datapad. "Elemental Armor requires adjustment for use by non-Elementals... Ah, here we are. It seems there are almost a Trinary's worth of captured Inner-Sphere Standard suits in stockpile, almost-new, and the price-tag will net us a fair bit of coin."

Missy tilted her head. "How much is a 'fair bit', Star-Captain?"

"According to the data, they value at four hundred-thousand C-Bills per suit, new. Call the exchange rate... seven dollars American to the C-Bill for argument's sake, so that would be two-point-eight million dollars per suit. That sounds reasonable, quiaff?"

Danny ran some searches; the cost was reasonable from a certain point of view, true-enough. "They might go for it. That said, the per-suit price is only one million and change cheaper than the per-unit cost of an M2 Bradley IFV."

"We can only negotiate, and see what might come to pass."

...

"Jin, what have you learned of Bakuda's status?" rumbled Lung.

"So far as anyone's heard, she's still in a holding cell awaiting transfer, Lung-sama."

"Lee, when she is transferred, bring her to me. I wish to know why she decided to antagonize people well-above her weight." The oni-masked killer nodded mutely and collapsed to ash.

...

"Star-Captain Hebert; it's Kid Win. Are you free today? I was hoping we might be able to meet up. As I recall, I still owe you and Charlie Point a round at the Black Rifle, and I wanted yours and their opinion of some modifications I did to the Mauser that Vista gave me."

"Aff, I'm free for most of the day. If you come here first, we can look over the Mauser and test it, then go to the Black Rifle after."

"Sounds fair. I'll see you soon."

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Kid Win circled the airfield twice before landing, the Mauser in a case slung across his armor's back. "Good afternoon, Star-Captain," he said cheerfully. "How are you?"

Taylor grinned under the bill of her patrol cap. "I am well; yourself?"

"I'm doing pretty good. Oh, here's the Mauser." He opened the case and removed the rifle.

Taylor could tell it had been worked on extensively. "You removed the grenade launcher..."

"I needed to lighten it a bit. But look, see this section on the side? It's an access-panel to the internals. Right now, it's a basic laser rifle." He twisted a dial on the capacitor power-feed. "I made the power adjustable; it can be dialed up or down depending on need. I had other ideas, too, but..."

"But?" asked Calvert.

"The truth is I'm not sure where those ideas will go. I have a bad habit of starting projects but not finishing; I keep ripping parts out of old projects to start new ones. It's frustrating because I can't seem to figure out my specialty."

DeVega and Tutuola both nodded in sync. "Hmm... Your specialty..." murmured Tiffany. "Perhaps as we walk we can help you brainstorm. Fresh eyes, quiaff? You say that you keep cannibalizing your creations for parts? What projects, and what parts?"

The group walked down the runway toward the vehicle hangars and the red-armored Tinker answered. "All my gear runs on the same kind of power-cells; I used capacitors from my first laser-pistols to build a laser-rifle and the same capacitors and emitter to build my second laser-pistol. There are anti-gravity emitters from my spare hover-boards installed on my Alternator-Cannon prototype... The list goes on and on."

Taylor scratched her chin. "Do you have to modify the parts much when moving them between platforms?"

"Not at all, actually; the connections are all fairly-standardized."

Calvert laughed aloud. "Omnimechs I have seen, and Omnivehicles, but now I can say I have met an Omni-Tinker."

Kid Win paused. "Omni..."

Taylor opened the hangar. "You see those two hovercraft?" She pointed to Fox Point's vehicles. "They are Omnivehicles; the weapons and equipment are self-contained pods with standardized connections called Omni-Pods. Unlike vehicles whose weapons are hard-mounted, these are modular. With a competent crew of Technicians, you could have the weapons off one of those and new ones installed within an hour." She looked at Kid Win, who was mutely staring at the Bandits. "Kid Win? Are you alright?"

Kid Win snapped out of his stupor and snatched a notepad out of a compartment on his armor, then started sketching designs...

When he came out of his Tinker-Fugue an hour later, Kid Win was grinning from ear-to-ear. "I don't know how to thank you; I found my specialty!" In his exuberance he grabbed Taylor and kissed her cheek, to the hoots and whistles of Charlie Point. Taylor's face blushed crimson, as did Kid Win's...

...

Taylor woke the next morning and set out for her usual PT; when she returned, she found Missy looking at the armor-suits that had been requisitioned for demonstration to the DoD. Taylor had three suits, one each of Inner-Sphere Standard, Gray-Death Standard, and Nighthawk Mk. XXI. "They're..."

"Cruder-looking than Elemental Battle-Armor?"

"You said it, not me, Star-Captain."

"Aff. The demonstration is scheduled for two weeks from tomorrow; hopefully we impress the military..."

Missy grinned wistfully. "I wish I were bigger; I like the look of the Nighthawk suit and I think it would be fitting for me, being a scout."

Taylor nodded. "I imagine so. Unfortunately, your physical size hasn't quite caught up to your fighting-spirit; give it time, much as I imagine you hate hearing that."

"It sucks, but I know what you mean, Taylor. So, the plan for the day?"

"Training. Fox Point are training on their new vehicles, the Elementals are practicing airborne insertions with Jackal Point, both with armored and unarmored, Coyote Point are doing vehicle-maintenance, and Hound Point and Dog Point are on a grocery-run with Dad."

Missy nodded. "And you?"

"Business. Other than the Medhall contract, we are between jobs, so I planned to look at prospective contracts." Taylor checked the time. "If you want in on the insertion training, Missy, you had best get your gear and head to the hangar. Unless you want to help me read through paperwork?"

They both laughed when Missy gave a theatrical shudder.

A half-hour later, Missy stood in the bay of Jackal-One as the Anhur streaked across the training-area just above the trees; the VTOL reached the designated LZ and circled tightly, sweeping the edges of the clearing with simulated fire from the chin-mounted lasers, then flared. The copilot, Point-Officer Mehta, called back, "In position!"

Carol Dannvers picked up the coiled rope by the hatch and flung it out. "Rope ready! Go, go!" The Point-Commander suited word to deed and was the first out, grabbing the nylon in her gloved hands and fast-roping down. Next out were Point-Officers Eric Fletcher and Mykel Bekker, then Sabine Connors, then Missy. The preteen flexed her fists and made sure her gloves were secure, then grabbed the rope and stepped out.

She landed at the bottom and moved quickly out of the way while stripping the heavy leather welding gloves off, then brought her Intek up to cover her sector of fire. Last out of the bird was Garth Saline, and the rope dropped after him as Mehta unhooked it. The Elemental coiled it up around his torso and whistled. Point-Commander Dannvers signalled everybody to rally on her. "Alright, the objective is to reach this point," she pointed to another clearing on her map, "designated 'LZ Albatross', for pickup. As you can see, we are here, at 'LZ Bluebird'. We have three miles to cross between here and there. Form up, single-column; mind your spacing and watch your fields of fire. Biron, take point."

"Aff, Point-Commander." Missy found her bearing and they set out...

...

Things proceeded smoothly over the next week and a half; the Medhall contract ended and was renewed, and a contract was being negotiated with the local National Guard command to have the Dragoons act as aggressors against several units, including Charlie Battery, 3rd of the 197th FA.

Taylor leaned back in her seat aboard Jackal-One as Jackal Point descended toward Campbell Army Airfield in Kentucky. Taylor and Delta Point were aboard one VTOL with the Nighthawk armor, while the other suits were loaded on Jackal-Two with Echo Point and Danny; they'd been airborne since late the previous night and needed a break.

The Dragoons landed, and Taylor stepped off to meet the Captain who approached her. "Good afternoon, Star-Captain!" he called out over the din. When they finally met, he extended his hand to shake. "Captain Wolcott, 101st CAB."

"Star-Captain Hebert, Wolf Dragoons. Thank you for letting us land here, Captain; I doubt we will stay for long." Taylor shook his hand firmly.

Wolcott smiled. "I understand. Your flight-plan said you're headed to Arizona?"

Taylor smiled back. "Aff, we are. We have three suits of Battle-Armor aboard for demonstration at Yuma Proving-Grounds. Speaking of that," Taylor turned to look over her shoulder at the Elementals, "Point-Commanders Dannvers, set up a rotation to keep the suits under guard." Wolcott raised an eyebrow at the sight of the two women. "They are twins. Sheryl Dannvers commands Delta Point, and her sister, Carol, has Echo Point."

Captain Wolcott chuckled. "Alright, then. If you'll follow me, I'll show you to the Mess and the PX..."

...

The Dragoons landed the next day at their destination; Lieutenant-Colonel Beckwith was waiting alongside the CO of the Testing-Center.

Beckwith smiled and returned Taylor's salute. "Welcome to Laguna Army Airfield and Yuma Proving Ground, Star Captain."

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#658

Taylor and the others settled into the Transient Barracks and prepared for the demonstration. Taylor had asked for three volunteers from the Proving Ground garrison, so as to show that the armor wasn't usable solely by hulking Elementals. These three she and the Dannvers twins now addressed. "Gentlemen, greetings. I am Star-Captain Taylor Hebert, and these are Point-Commanders Sheryl and Carol Dannvers; we will be training you on the operation of the battle-armor suits that the Wolf Dragoons are offering for sale. Corporal Olivier, you will be in the suit on the far right; it is the Inner-Sphere Standard." The wiry former-Quebecois moved to stand by his assigned unit. "Corporal Doherty, you are in the middle suit, the Gray-Death Standard. Sergeant Rutledge, you have the Nighthawk suit." The stocky Irishman and lean African-American took their places.

Taylor nodded. "First, open the suits; the latches..." After walking them through opening the armor and letting them don the skin-suits within, Taylor had them climb into the armor. "Let us know if the fit needs to be adjusted. No? Good. The next step is starting them and setting the security."

After the suits had been activated and the operators' security pass-phrases set, she made sure Olivier and Rutledge had their suits' jump-jets locked and lead them out of the hangar. "Now, while Carol and her sister find a humvee, I want you all three to look at your HUD. Corporals, verify that the weapons on your suits are safed." She waited while Olivier verified the Small Laser on his suit's right arm was on-safe, and Doherty checked the laser in his suit's right arm and the SMG in the left-arm Antipersonnel Mount. "Sergeant Rutledge, your suit has no integral weapons, but it does have integral ECM; please deactivate that. Now, five laps of this runway to get better-accustomed to moving in the armor. Sergeant Rutledge, Corporal Olivier, after this the two of you will need training with your suits' jump-jets."

The trio of soldiers set off at a run, and by the time they'd finished, Carol was back with a humvee and a driver, and Sheryl was in her Elemental suit. "Rutledge and Olivier, come with me for jump-training."

Taylor climbed into the humvee and stood in the ring-mount on the roof. "Corporal Doherty, there should be a navigation waypoint appearing on your map now. Point-Commander Dannvers will accompany you and the others there."

...

As the Nighthawk suit and IS-Standard arrived at the weapons range, Taylor was waiting. "Good; I see you have begun getting used to using the jump-jets. Next, the Point-Commander will walk you the process of calibrating your targeting-systems. Sergeant, as the Nighthawk Mk. XXI has no integral weapons, you will instead be using the M240B and the M1919A6 on the table there, and sighting-in the ACOG attached to the M240."

Taylor departed, leaving the soldiers to train. She exited the vehicle outside a command bunker, where sat her father and Beckwith, alongside three Generals, watching the soldiers via camera. "Gentlemen, as you can see, the soldiers have learned how to operate their respective suits quite quickly, though only to a rudimentary level thus-far..."

...

Four miles outside the Brockton Bay City-Limits, an FBI vehicle lay in the roadside ditch, having come to rest there when its occupants were knocked unconscious by Oni Lee; its sole passenger, Bakuda, was gone...

Missy stared through the thermal-scope at the warehouse where she'd seen Oni Lee and Bakuda enter; the Dragoons had gotten word of the Bomb-Tinker escaping custody earlier that day, and of the bounty posted for her.

"All stations this net, this is Coywolf; I have Bakuda on-scope. She's entered warehouse 4-Charlie on Canal. I have her on IR; over."

Missy displaced from her rooftop and found another, with a clearer view inside. Missy watched as Lung paced up to Bakuda...

...

"Bakuda, tell me, why did you decide to target the mercenaries?"

"They were a potential threat, Lung."

"To antagonize the Federal Agents?"

"They were pawns in the plan."

"You lie," said Lung with a growl, dropping a copy of her interrogation transcripts on the floor at Bakuda's feet. "You were paid by the CUI, by the Yangban. You know my history? I was held for a year by them as they tried to break me and make me one of theirs. They failed. But, Bakuda," the Dragon of Kyushu spoke, "I can forgive you for this transgression... For a price. Come here..."

Bakuda stepped forward, slowly, and flinched when Lung laid his hands on her shoulders. She braced herself for the pain of being burned; she gasped when his calloused fingers instead traced feather-light up her neck. "You are not unattractive, Bakuda... You are beautiful, in fact..."

The Bomb-Tinker couldn't help herself when she nervously replied, "You... You think I'm-?" She squirmed, scared and yet also...

Lung nodded. "I do..." He tenderly removed her gas-mask, then his own metal dragon-mask. "The price of your being forgiven... is a kiss." The ABB leader's mouth curled up in an easy, wry smirk; Bakuda never noticed how the smile never reached her boss's eyes...

"I'm yours, Lung..." Bakuda felt herself being held, pressed close to the warm, tattooed chest of Lung, his scent like woodsmoke and English Leather aftershave filling her nostrils; he pressed his lips to hers, his breath hot...

Vista watched as the two Villains embraced; at first it was passionate, but then Bakuda began to struggle and fight, still pinioned by Lung's arms with his lips pressed to hers. On the thermal scope, Bakuda went from orange to yellow, to white...

Lung dropped Bakuda's corpse, smoke still drifting from her charred mouth and from his own lips. "You are forgiven, Bakuda." He dropped a sandwich-bag containing three dollars in dimes on her unmoving chest and walked away...

...

Taylor watched as the Generals smiled, the day after all the demonstrations were finished; they had been impressed, and would strongly recommend the purchase of both Nighthawk and Gray-Death Standard suits to the Department of the Army. She shook hands with each and watched as her men boarded the Anhurs.

"I'm looking forward to getting home; how about you?" asked Danny as they took off.

"I am. I think I'll enjoy a nice, peaceful few days, Dad."

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Taylor listened as Anika briefed her on what had happened while the Star-Captain had been in Arizona. "Bakuda is dead?"

"Aff, Star-Captain. Point-Officer Biron witnessed it with her own eyes. It was, to say the least, not a good death."

"I imagine not. Burning is..." Taylor shuddered. "But no matter. Are we prepared for our next contract?"

Gohcourt nodded. "Aff; we are prepared to train against the first National Guard units next weekend. Also, Star-Captain, the doctors say you are overdue for a physical."

Taylor nodded. "I will attend to that. In the meantime, Point-Commander, carry out the plan of the day. Dismissed."

After Anika left, Taylor walked out to the MASH truck that served as the Dragoons' medical center and spoke with her doctors. The quintet of sawbones hadn't had proper last-names when they arrived on Earth-Bet, but they'd certainly taken to the ones Danny suggested based on their given names.

There were four men and one woman who made up the Wolf Dragoons Medical Section; two Benjamins (the younger answered to 'B.J.'), a Henry, a Margaret, and a John. Taylor laughed aloud when she saw the newly-painted banner around the red medical-cross on the truck's side that proclaimed 'Best Care Anywhere'. They'd really taken to Danny's suggested last-names...

...

An hour later, having been poked, prodded, scanned, and declared fighting-fit, Taylor changed into fatigue-trousers, tee, and Annette's old Blackhearts shirt, tucked a combat knife into her right boot and her M&P 445 into a holster at the small of her back, and headed into town...

...

Taylor had just left a coffee shop on the Boardwalk when Sergeant Martinez walked up beside her. "Afternoon, Star-Captain. How've you been?"

Taylor smiled. "I have been well, Sergeant Martinez. Yourself?"

The redhead shrugged. "Well enough, I think. You hear about Bakuda?"

"Aff, I did. A decidedly-unpleasant way to die, that. You are off-duty?"

Gillian sipped from her water-bottle. "Off-duty and trying to help a cousin find work. Victoria's just mustered out of the Corps, and I promised I'd help her look for openings."

Taylor sipped her chai as they walked. "What was her MOS?"

"0372; MARSOC Critical Skills Operator. She served with Fourth Raider Battalion at Camp Lejeune."

Taylor paused, her cup halfway to her mouth. "Fourth Raiders? That is a PARACOM unit. She is a Cape?"

Martinez smiled. "She is. Changer 8, can turn herself into any type of feline, extant or extinct. Her callsign was 'Sabertooth', and three guesses as to why."

The pair sat down on a bench overlooking the sea, and Taylor asked, "The next big question is, why did she muster out? I can tell you are angling to have me hire her, but I need to know if hiring her would be buying someone else's headache."

Gillian sighed. "Victoria got out with a General under Other-than-Honorable Conditions Discharge for 'Pattern of Misconduct'. The which is a fancy way of saying she received three Non-Judicial Punishments in the span of a year for having liquor in her barracks room against regs and for getting into fights while in her cups."

Taylor's face fell. "A drunkard."

Gillian nodded. "We all have our coping mechanisms, some healthier than others. She's a good pers-" She was cut off by the sound of a gunshot and a woman screaming on the beach below them. She and Taylor ran to the railing and saw a tall, muscular man with sprinting up the beach with a purse in one hand and a smoking pistol in the other, and a wounded woman laying on the sand.

Taylor vaulted over the railing and dropped six feet, rolling as she landed. "Martinez, help the woman! The shooter is mine!" the Star-Captain barked as she began to run after the mugger.

Taylor had been running every day since before the Dragoons, but her prey was longer-limbed and had a head-start; he was pulling away steadily. Taylor was debating whether or not she could make a shot at his legs with her pistol, when the man neared a pier and a tawny blur erupted from the shadows underneath, bearing the mugger to the ground. Standing over the man was the massive bulk of a Smilodon Fatalis, a saber-toothed cat. Taylor walked up slowly. "Sabertooth?" The cat looked up at her, keeping one clawed forepaw on the mugger's belly. Taylor nodded to the mugger. "Good catch. Hold him still for a moment?" She used a length of rope from atop the pier to tie his ankles and wrists, and the cat stepped away.

Taylor took in the Sabertooth's appearance, then spoke. "You can turn back, Victoria, if you please." The cat nodded and stepped back into the shadows out of view, and after the sound of clothing being hastily put on, a heavyset woman in her mid-twenties emerged, dressed in cargo-pants and a green tee, under a well-worn duster, carrying a pair of Doc Martens in her hand.

She brushed her long blonde hair out of her eyes and extended a hand to shake. "Victoria 'Sabertooth' Creed, late Corporal of Marines in Fourth Marine Raider Battalion, at your service."

Taylor shook the offered hand. "Taylor Hebert, Star-Captain with the Wolf Dragoons PMC. Again, good catch, Corporal. I hear you have need of work?"

Creed nodded. "I do. Your outfit hiring?"

"We might be. Ask your cousin, Sergeant Martinez, for the address of Camp Kerensky; be there at 0800 tomorrow." Taylor looked over her shoulder at the approaching cops and smiled. "Ah, Officer Riggs, Officer Murtaugh; good afternoon, gentlemen!"

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At eight the next morning, Victoria Creed stood at the gates of Camp Kerensky with her cousin beside her, and watched as a hovercraft pulled up and disgorged Star-Captain Hebert and her XO. "Corporal Creed, Sergeant Martinez, good morning," the tall teen said, nodding to them. "You are ready, Corporal?"

"Ready for anything, Star-Captain."

Taylor smiled. "Good; you are confident. This is your Trial of Position; consider it an aggressive job-interview. This property spans one-hundred acres, and somewhere on this property is your target, Point-Officer Missy Biron, callsign 'Coywolf'. You have until sundown to find her, and strike her. You need only draw blood to win, but be warned, just because Coywolf has no ranged weapons does not mean that your task will be easy. Point-Officer Biron has almost two years' experience with combat, and she is a Cape, Shaker-Class, with orders to incapacitate you if and when engaged. Stand you ready?"

Sabertooth nodded. "Ready, except, what's she look like?"

"You will know her by the green-eyed wolf-insignia on the shoulders of her armor. Now, you have until sundown, starting... Now."

Sabertooth darted into the bushes a woman and emerged a puma, and set out hunting. Taylor nodded to Jillian and invited her into the Bandit hovercraft. "Come; we can watch the trial from HQ on the security monitors."

As the vehicle glided away from the gate, Michelle Kurita at the controls, Martinez looked at Taylor and took in her expression. "Why do I have a feeling you're not making this easy on Victoria?"

"Because I am not. What real Trial is not hard-fought?"

...

Victoria crouched in the brush, her ears flicking as she listened; she hadn't seen hide nor hair of her target all day, but the Marine had felt as though she were being hunted for hours now...

The wind shifted and a scent crossed Sabertooth's nostrils from behind; the Changer whirled in time to see a thin figure slip behind a tree.

Victoria changed, going from a puma into a house-cat, and stalked silently forward into the trees, seeking her prey...

There! Just ahead, by the maple! Victoria moved slowly, silently, stealthily, making her way toward where the armored girl crouched, looking away. Sabertooth leapt, claws out for the strike...

Missy wheeled and her arm came up, the palm of her gloved hand catching Victoria under the belly and tossing her away; the Marine landed gracefully and charged, changing into a lioness mid-stride.

Missy sidestepped and jabbed Victoria with an electric stock-prod; the Marine yowled from the shock and stumbled, her form twisting as she tried to maintain her shape. Sabertooth rose and saw the girl running away...

...

The battle raged across the property as a series of skirmishes, Victoria trying to close with Missy only to be redirected or dodged, laid low with hits from the hotshot, and forced to watch as her prey escaped again...

The sun was almost to the horizon when Victoria found Missy again; the girl was leaning against a tree and panting with exertion, the hotshot on the ground by her feet. Victoria stalked as close as she could, then rushed.

She was four steps away from Missy when a voice rang out over the loudspeakers. "Cease the Trial; the Trial has ended. Point-Officer Biron, please pop smoke and await pickup with the Corporal."

...

When the pair arrived at HQ and Victoria had changed back and dressed, Taylor smiled. "Congratulations on a hard-fought Trial, Corporal Creed. You lost, but I am still quite impressed."

Missy chimed in. "You almost had me more than once, Corporal, and you ran me ragged all the way."

Creed chuckled. "By the end of it I wanted to tape the button down on that damned hotshot and kick it up your ass, Coywolf. That shit fuckin' hurt." She turned back to Taylor. "So, did I make the cut?"

"You very nearly did, but no. However, Sergeant Martinez tells me that you had given thought to the Protectorate as well; feel free to list us as a reference, and try us again in six months."

Creed nodded. "I'll do that, Star-Captain. Thank you for letting me make the attempt."

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#758

Three weeks after Victoria Creed, who was now a Protectorate Hero (and according to PHO speculation, dating Velocity), had tried joining the Dragoons, Taylor and Anika sat down in a booth at Somer's Rock across from a slim, bespectacled man whose every attribute screamed 'forgettable'. "Good morning, Star-Captain, Point-Commander," he said with a smile.

Taylor nodded to him. "Good morning, Sir. I received word via Lieutenant-Colonel Beckwith that you had a job offer for the Wolf Dragoons?"

The man nodded. "I do. Or more specifically, the US government does, with me only being the agent. I'm Special Agent Smith, with Joint Intelligence Task-Group Thirteen out of Fort Meade."

Taylor raised one eyebrow. "You don't give off the air of someone from, as Commander Marcinko would put it, 'No Such Agency'..."

Smith (which Taylor doubted was his actual name) smiled slightly. "That would be because I'm from, as Dick would put it, 'Christians In Action'."

Taylor nodded sharply. "You have my attention. You have a vehicle? Deaf waitstaff aside, I feel this tavern too public for our purpose."

Smith nodded and stood, leaving a tip. "I have a car circling the block. Ladies?"

Once all three were ensconced in the back of a nondescript Ford Explorer, Taylor broached the topic on her mind. "So, Special Agent Smith, what task would the Central Intelligence Agency have the Wolf Dragoons set to?"

Smith handed her a folder. "The CIA and JITG-13 are operating in concert with the Defense Department for this." Taylor opened the folder and viewed aerial photographs of a river valley and several areas apparently surrounding it. "Are you familiar with the concept of a 'Proxy War', Star-Captain?"

Taylor nodded. "Two powers for whatever reason cannot or will not face each other directly, so they seek to damage their foe through third-parties. Soviet support of North Korea and North Vietnam against their respective southern counterparts, who were backed by the United States; the CIA funneling weapons to the Afghan Mujahideen to use against the Soviet Army..."

Smith nodded. "Just so. The Chinese Union Imperial and its military Parahuman arm, the Yangban, are looking to expand. The United States wishes to curb that expansionism, particularly as the Yangban have no apparent qualms about impressing other Parahumans into service." Smith took his glasses off and polished them. "The issue is that they're being subtle about it; they're operating via cutouts and deniable assets, and taking pains not to overtly antagonize us. As it stands, if we declare war on the CUI, the political repercussions would do us more harm than good, and the Chinese Union Imperial has no intention of declaring war on us."

Anika spoke, her voice quiet. "Thus, a proxy war. We are to be that proxy, quiaff?"

Smith nodded. "Yes, Point-Commander. Those maps are of the Khalkh River area in Dornod Province, Mongolia; it borders Manchuria. Mongolia as a whole is a somewhat... debatable... area, at present, particularly the border regions."

Taylor looked at the operation name on the folder. "I take it 'Operation Armstrong' is not named for the first man on the moon?"

"No, it's named for a different Armstrong. John Armstrong, of Gilnockie."

Taylor added the pieces together and spoke. "You want us to be Border Reivers, base ourselves in Mongolia and launch raids across the border into China."

Smith nodded. "It is felt that such raids, in combination with covert operations by conventional- and Parahuman Special-Operations personnel, will serve to either check the CUI's expansionist tendencies, or else force a response that allows the United States a legitimate, open casus belli. That said, if you accept this contract, you'll officially be 'bandits' and the US government will loudly and publicly disavow you if you are captured."

Taylor thought it over in silence for a long while. "I believe we can negotiate further, Agent Smith..."

...

Missy Biron was sitting in the shadow of an oak by the main gate, cleaning her Intek while she and one of Fox Point's men, Nikolai Zhukov, pulled a shift on guard.

"Coywolf, vehicle approaching, three-hundred yards and closing," said Zhukov as he brought a set of binoculars up to his eyes. "Ford sedan, champagne; woman at the wheel, blonde, sour expression."

Missy snarled and stood, slinging her rifle across her chest and audibly inserting a power-pack. "Just great; that's my mother's car. Nikolai, radio for Danny while I try to deal with this."

Nikolai nodded, and the burly Russian expat keyed his radio while Missy walked forward and raised a hand to stop the car.

The vehicle stopped and Elise Carlisle stepped out. Before she could speak, Missy held up her hand. "What are you doing here, Mother?"

Elise adopted a look of concern that Missy saw through in a heartbeat. "I'm here to take you home, Missy."

The former Ward laughed. "I am home, Mother, and I wish you would get that through your head. Your house and Father's house haven't been home to me since before your divorce; the dorms at PHQ were more of a home to me, and my corner of the barracks here at Camp Kerensky is my home now."

Elise scowled. "Young lady, I am your mother, and you will stop this mercenary nonsense and come home with me right this instant."

Missy scowled right back. "You're the one who gave birth to me, but me calling you 'Mother' is a courtesy only. The moment I completed my Trial of Position you lost what little authority you had over me."

"You're only thirteen, Missy Biron, and still a minor; now come with me!" Elise grabbed Missy by the arm and froze when Missy pressed the muzzle of her sidearm into her sternum, and Zhukov racked the charging-handle on the MP5K-PDW he carried and brought it up.

Missy's voice was quiet, but hard as steel. "Let. Go. Now."

Nikolai nodded. "I would listen to her, were I you, Zhenshchina. Our Little Wolf has big fangs, and she's apt to bite if she's pressed."

"I agree. Miss Carlisle, kindly take your hand off of Point-Officer Biron's arm," said Taylor as she stepped out of an SUV behind Elise's car, "and explain why you are here. As I recall, Missy has made it abundantly clear prior to now that neither you nor your ex-husband are welcome."

Elise stepped back. "She's my daughter, and a minor; I'm exercising my right as her parent and taking her home; if you try to stop me I'll have the cops on you for Kidnapping."

Taylor met Elise's eyes coolly. "Let me explain something. The Wolf Dragoons are not only a PMC; in the Dragoons' native dimension we are listed as a Second-Line formation in the Clan Wolf Touman, or military; we are a reserve unit, and that means we are legally a military unit of a foreign power, if the Clan decides to activate us. Missy voluntarily requested a Trial of Position, not only into the Dragoons, but into Clan Wolf, as is her right under Clan Law as a Warrior, and she won her Trial."

Taylor watched as Elise Carlisle stared at her in confusion, then continued. "Missy holds the rank of Point-Officer, which it has been agreed between the Wolf Dragoons and the United States military is roughly equivalent to the rank of Chief Warrant-Officer. Between that and her gaining citizenship in Clan Wolf, it more than fulfills the stipulations of Chapter 8 US Code, Sub-Section One-Four-Eight-One, Paragraph Three-B. By joining the Dragoons Missy voluntarily renounced her US Citizenship, and is thus considered, legally, a foreign national. The current Status-of-Forces Agreement between the Dragoons and the US is very informal, but Camp Kerensky is considered Clan Wolf territory the same way an American military base overseas is considered American territory, and is under Clan Law."

Taylor nodded toward the sign a hundred yards behind Carlisle's car. "Now, that sign marks the edge of the property, which means you, having been warned before of your not being welcome here, are trespassing. You have two minutes to leave before facing charges of Criminal Trespass and Attempted Abduction of Military Personnel, starting now."

After Elise left, Taylor told Missy, "Point-Officer Biron, head back to HQ; one of Bravo Point's Elementals will take over here at the gate. I want all my Point-Commanders in my office within the hour, along with you, Doctor Pierce, and Administrator Hebert. We have a new contract, and an operation to plan."

"Aff, Star-Captain." Vista saluted and bounded away, warping space to travel faster.

...

Taylor and Anika walked into her office, and Taylor dropped a folder onto her desk. "Ladies, Gentlemen, this is the initial briefing-packet for our latest contract; it is also our largest to date, and our first contract to take us overseas. The US government calls this 'Operation Armstrong', after a famous Scottish Border Reiver. We are to base ourselves out of the Khalkyn Gol region of Mongolia and from there launch raids into the CUI province of Manchuria, as part of a proxy war between the CUI and the United States to curb CUI expansionism in the region. There are American Special-Operations and Intelligence units operating covertly in the same theater to weaken and destabilize the CUI from within, and other PMCs in other border provinces."

"The preliminary contract pays us twenty-five-thousand dollars per week, plus full equipment-salvage rights barring WMDs. We will be operating as black-assets, however, which means in the event of our capture, Washington will, to quote the Special Agent who brought this contract to us, 'loudly and publicly disavow' us. Dad, your task is to fine-tune the contract details and start on the logistics. The rest of you, inform your people to begin prepping for deployment, and then we have a campaign to plan..."

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#793

Danny smiled the next morning as he sat down at the Mess Hall for breakfast. "What has you so chipper, Dad?" asked Taylor.

"I finished negotiating the contract with Agent Smith. I'll say this much, the pay is a lowball rate, but it's the best we can get for now, being relative unknowns."

Taylor looked it over, and smiled. "Seven thousand per man, per day, plus ten-percent of the total added for hazard-pay, and full salvage rights sounds good to me. After breakfast, I need your Techs to start repainting the vehicles and readying them for transport." She turned to face Michelle. Michelle, have your crews assist the Techs in reconfiguring one of your units; keep the 'A' as-is, but configure the other to a 'C' or an 'A'. Your Bandits will have to be loaded on separate birds due to weight, and I want both ready to fight as soon as they arrive. Our supply-lines will be long, so energy-weapons are to be prioritized."

"Understood."

Taylor finished her tea and stood. "Well, no rest for the weary or wicked. Dad, see me in my office later so we can draft up a load-plan. I need to go and acquire our transport."

...

Two hours later, Taylor, Anika, Danny, and the two pilots of the Dragoons' newly-requisitioned Longhauls, convened in her office to draw up load- and flight-plans.

"Good Lord; six hops?" asked Taylor after looking at the map.

Wilbur Wright, the lead pilot, nodded. "You said you wanted to avoid Russian airspace where possible. This is the fastest route within those constraints that does that."

Taylor sighed. "Alright, so let me just recap. From here to Casablanca, Morocco; from there to Izmir, Turkey; Tashkent, Uzbekistan; Almaty, Kazakhstan; Ulaanbatar; and Choibalsan; then convoy overland to the operational area. That is a lot of sky to cross, and not all of it especially friendly..."

...

The next week was a blur of preparation as the Wolf Dragoons made ready to deploy. Vehicles were repainted and loaded onto the aircraft; weapons and gear were packed, and seating arranged. Taylor was taking every current member of her combat personnel, the MASH Truck, and eight Technicians, leaving Danny with eight Techs and the authority to recruit as needed in her absence.

Danny had chuckled at Taylor's surprise when she found out what planning a long-duration op entailed, supply-wise; they planned to source food in-theater locally, at least in-part, but there were still over two-and-a-half tons of MREs to be loaded, enough to supply each person with two weeks' rations plus extra.

Everyone was keyed-up with anticipation; the night before they deployed, Taylor called them together in the Mess Hall and addressed them.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Trothkin of the Wolf Dragoons, tomorrow is a special day. Tomorrow we depart to undertake the first major contract in our unit's history here; tomorrow we truly begin writing the history of the Wolf Dragoons in Earth-Bet. For History is Written by the Victors, and I know it in my heart of hearts that we will be victorious. I will not lie to you you, my Packmates; this operation will be dangerous, and some of us may yet fall before it ends. Our foes know nothing of Zellbrigen nor of Honor; they are bandits in all but name. There will be no batchalls, no Trials of Possession with them. Take nothing for granted, and fight your hardest, and we shall show them how Wolves fight. Tonight, we celebrate our lives; tomorrow, we Wolves go to claim our prizes, and see what Tame Dogs would defend them! Point-Commanders, take charge of your Points and rendezvous at the Black Rifle! Fall out!"

...

AN: Edited the cargo birds based on more up-to-date tech-data; many thanks to y'all who pointed that out.

Last edited: Dec 4, 2017

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#817

Taylor awoke the morning of the Dragoons' scheduled departure feeling like nine miles of bombed-out road; it was four in the morning and she'd only laid down to sleep at two.

Knowing that she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep before the departure at nine, Taylor stood and stretched, put on her boots (Mouse Protector pajama pants, a Dragon tee, and combat-boots; the latest in Fashion Rebuttals) out of her barracks room, and headed toward her office and the teapot within.

Once there, and properly-fortified with the ambrosia that was Twinings Irish Breakfast blend, Taylor pulled a spare uniform out of her wall-locker and dressed. She sat down and looked over her datapad, double-checking her forces and plans only to realize...

"Damn it; I knew I forgot something. I gave Dad authority to recruit, but I don't have anyone who can train the locals up on our gear." Taylor, looking for a unit who could train as well as fight, found just the unit to do that. "While I'm about it, the Techs have been saying they need someone who's actually trained on our gear to teach them more than 'fiddle till it works again' repair-work..." She brought over three Techs qualified on Battle-Armor, and two more with Vehicle-qualification; they could train the local Techs. After that was done, Taylor looked over the load-plan for the deploying forces. Danny had pointed out that while she had the MASH Truck, she lacked any other logistical personnel or equipment.

"On the one hand, I could requisition them now, which would make more complications for moving them to Mongolia," she mused aloud. "On the other, I could wait and bring them in once we're in-theater... Decisions, decisions..." She looked over the map and sighed. "I know this much; I'm certainly not wanting to run the Longhauls without escort, and Jackal Point just isn't enough. Plus, having air-support on-call is always good." Taylor looked over various models and found three designs she liked. As much as she wished she could justify Aerospace Fighters or Omnifighters, Taylor let practicality rule and brought over a Star of Inner-Sphere Conventionals from a garrison cluster, plus a pair of Stork Mid-Air-Refueling Planes. As she'd said at the planning meeting, six hops from America to Mongolia was a lot of sky to cross, and not all of it friendly...

...

Taylor walked outside to greet her new arrivals and smiled. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen; welcome to Earth-Bet and the Wolf Dragoons. I wish I were able to give most of you time to settle in here, but most of you, specifically the fighters and the Storks, will be deploying in the next few hours. I know it is last-minute, but such is the nature of war."

Taylor quickly met the Point-Commanders and briefed them. The Storks, under command of Point-Commander Henry Wu would accompany the Longhauls and all four would be escorted by the fighters.

The fighters themselves were a balanced mix. First- and Second Points were Owl-II Light Strike-Fighters, under command of Abtakha pilots, Point-Commanders Erich and Mannfred Wolf. Third- and Fourth Points were Steinadler Medium Strike-Fighters, under Point-Commander Eddie Wolf and Star-Commander Lydia Wolf, two Freeborn pilots who had reached Solamha age without either twin earning their Bloodnames. The fifth and final Point were Inseki-II Heavy Strike-Fighters, under an Abtakha Point-Commander named Hiroyoshi Wolf. Collectively they were First Fighter Star.

The Point-Commander of the twenty-five men and women that made up Zulu Solamha Infantry Point was a female Abtakha who would have been striking in her blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty were it not for the extensive burn-scars that marred the right side of her face and neck; she saluted crisply. "Point-Commander Sofiya Wolf, and Zulu Point, ready for orders, Star-Captain."

Taylor returned the salute. "Here are your orders, Point-Commander. Some of your men are Elementals, quiaff? Zulu Point will handle three very important tasks while the majority of the Dragoons are out-of-country. First, you will maintain security of this base; second, you will undertake such contracts as Administrator Daniel Hebert directs, as while I am away he acts with my authority. Thirdly and most-importantly, Administrator Hebert will be recruiting from among the local populace; those local recruits will need to be trained, and your unit will be their trainers."

Sofiya started to speak but was cut off as sirens began to wail...

Taylor checked her datapad's internet connection and pulled up the breaking news... And swore even as she ran into the HQ building and grabbed the PA mic.

"ALL UNITS, ALL UNITS, FALL IN ON THE TARMAC AND PREP FOR EMERGENCY SCRAMBLE! THIS IS NOT A STRAVAG DRILL; WAKE THE FUCK UP AND FALL THE FUCK IN!"

Missy was the first out the door, her armor half-on and her Intek slung haphazardly across her back. "Star-Captain, what's going on?!" she asked as she straightened her kit. Missy nearly dropped her rifle when she realized what the sirens meant. "Oh, God..."

Taylor shook her head. "Not here, thank God." Taylor barked out to her troops, "Wilbur, you and Orville get the MASH off the Longhaul, then unload both and pack as much medical supplies, food, and water as you can into them instead, then take off; Jackal Point, get your VTOLs started and ready to fly. Everyone else, load up on the MASH Truck or the Anhurs; the Simurgh just hit Canberra, Australia."

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#846

As the Dragoons made ready to deploy, Taylor radioed PHQ. "PHQ, this is Star-Captain Hebert; I heard the sirens and the Wolf Dragoons are willing to volunteer. I have two cargo aircraft being loaded with food and relief supplies now, and two VTOL craft usable for medevac, as well as a Mobile-Hospital truck with five top-flight surgical suites, but we will need transport if those are to arrive in time to make any difference. Is there a Mover who can transport a twenty-ton truck, two thirty-ton aircraft, and eighty-six people?"

A voice came back over the radio. "Star-Captain Hebert, this is Strider; I can move the people but not the vehicles. Can you get to PHQ quickly?" I'll see if I can find a Mover who can get your vehicles to Canberra."

"Aff, Strider. En route now." Taylor turned to her troops. "Everyone but the Longhaul crews, load up or armor up, then make for Protectorate headquarters with all haste. Wilbur, Orville, get airborne and head to Canberra; we should be on-site when you arrive."

...

The Dragoons arrived at PHQ and Taylor immediately found Strider, who was conversing with a girl in a body-suit emblazoned with energy-drink logos on both shoulders and a domino mask. "Strider? Star-Captain Hebert, Wolf Dragoons."

Strider nodded. "Star-Captain. This is Rush; she's agreed to help move your vehicles."

Rush gave a nervous thumbs-up. "I'm a Striker-Trump, a Power-Booster. With my powers in the mix Strider should be able to move all your stuff."

"I thank you both." Taylor gathered her forces and they crowded round alongside Hero and Villain alike; there was a rush of displaced air, and they were in Australia.

Taylor called out to her troops, "Dragoons, on me!" When they'd gathered, Taylor gave her orders. "Help the docs get the MASH set up, quickly. Jackal Point, get ready to take off; you are on medevac duty. Zulu Point, Search-and Rescue, and evacuation of civilians. Elementals, the same. Missy, have I forgotten anything? This is my first Endbringer Fight."

Missy nodded, saying, "Mine, too, Star-Captain. But I have heard stories from the Wards. We need armbands; they are for comms and coordination, and according to Aegis, during Simurgh Fights they are a failsafe. The armbands have a bomb built into them; spend too much time inside the range of Ziz's scream and it detonates and kills you."

Missy, get them set up with armbands," Taylor said, her voice tight. "I will see to coordinating with the Capes. Stay safe, all of you. I will see you on the field. Fall out and carry out your tasks."

Taylor sought out the Command Staff and found all three members of the Triumvirate talking to Dragon and several other team-leaders. Legend looked over and nodded. "Yes?"

Armsmaster nodded as well. "Star-Captain Hebert; good to see you. The Wolf Dragoons have come to help?"

Taylor nodded. "We have. I brought six Points of Elementals and one Point of standard Infantry, as well as a VTOL Point and a MASH Truck. I cannot say we will make much difference here in direct combat, but we can do SAR. We also have two cargo-planes loaded with relief supplies inbound, ETA five hours from now."

Legend goggled at her. "Armsmaster, this is that mercenary leader you told me about? She's..."

"Young, yes. But she's competent," said Armsmaster.

Plans were made, and Taylor stepped aside, sending a brief report via her datapad to Natasha...

From there, divisions were formed and battle was joined...

...

Taylor landed from her jump-jet leap and switched her suit's sensors to IR, scanning the buildings around her. She heard her armband chirp before it listed, "Assault down, D5. Battery down, D5."

Taylor bounded away, crossing the rooftops on her way to grid D5. "Dragoon Actual, en route to D5," she radioed. She had been at this for what seemed like hours, moving from grid-to-grid, helping evacuate civilians and retrieving the wounded and the dead...

Taylor landed and saw Battery lying against a wall, her legs bent at odd angles. The teen rushed over, seeing Missy dragging an unconscious Assault out of a nearby alleyway, and as carefully as possible gathered Battery into a princess-carry, the heroine's shattered legs over the casing of her laser. "Battery, hang on; I have to get you to a clear area for evac."

Missy came up alongside. "There's a the rooftop there." She warped space and they ran onto the roof. Taylor keyed her comm. "This is Dragoon-Actual to available Movers; two for pickup at my pos..."

Jackal-One descended and the casualties were loaded and strapped in; Taylor and Missy checked their times on their armbands and stepped aboard the Anhur as well. "Command, Dragoon-Actual and Coywolf-Actual, withdrawing from the field due to short-time."

...

At the MASH, Taylor stripped out of her suit and changed into fatigues, and went to help with triage, Missy right beside her. The casualties streamed in, body after broken body; Arachne from the Memphis Protectorate, Fenja from the E88, Vaquero and Horse Soldier from the San Antonio Wards, Weaver from Chicago, Gator from New Orleans, Stahl from Wilhelmshaven...

They began to blur together; this one a red-tag and rushed into surgery, that one a yellow-tag and able to wait, another a black-tag and unable to be saved...

...

When it ended, it ended quickly. A ragged cheer went up as the Simurgh disengaged and departed, and for a moment everyone present relaxed. Afterward began the hardest part of an Endbringer Fight, retrieving those who were still on the field...

Taylor slumped against the side of the MASH and slid down to sit, every muscle in her body twitching as the adrenaline began to wear off and shattering exhaustion set in. Anika pressed a metal canteen cup into her hand and the teen gulped down several swallows of horribly-overbrewed tea before asking, "How bad?"

The commander of Bravo Point sighed. "Bad, Star-Captain. Thirty-percent casualties overall. All of Delta and Echo are injured, as is all of Charlie and three-quarters of Fox. Miraculously, none of ours died, though; that, I suppose, is a bright note."

"From Brockton Bay, Triumph is injured; a piece of debris caved in his larynx but a Zulu-Point infantryman was able to do a tracheotomy and get him to the hospital. Battery lost both her legs as there was just too much damage to save them. Assault died on the table from internal bleeding. Fenja will live, albeit without a right eye, and Menja is still MIA but not likely to be alive. Her armband was found, and her arm still in it. Kid Win is concussed, and Aegis has more holes in him than a machine-gun target, but they also will live. The Longhauls are due within the next few hours."

Taylor watched as her XO sat beside her. "We... We did our best. There are some who went beyond that, or so the story is told. Charlie Point actually swarmed Ziz?"

Anika nodded. "Aff, the story is true. They, Delta, and Echo swarmed her to try and distract her while Bravo and Hound pulled the wounded clear."

Taylor nodded, her eyes heavy, then keyed her comm. "Dragoons, this is Dragoon-Actual. Excellent work out there, but that only means there is less work left to do, and not that that work will be easy. Work in shifts, half on and half off. Bravo-Actual has command. Dragoon-Actual out."

Taylor faced Anika and yawned. "Wake me in an hour..."

Anika let Taylor sleep...

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#878

Welcome to the Parahumans Online message boards.

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Topic: Wolf's Dragoons

In: Boards ► Organizations ► Brockton Bay

S0ngD0g14 (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (Veteran: USMC)

Posted On Feb 15th 2011:

Alright, Boys and Girls; I've got a story to tell y'all. Now, this ain't all verified intelligence just yet (Brocktonites, can you chime in if I get it wrong?) but the word from my cousin Tracer22 is that there's a new PMC making waves up in Brockton Bay. They call themselves Wolf's Dragoons.

Now, here's what I've heard from Tracer, and like I said, it ain't all solid info just yet:

-They started small and grew fast.

-They're professional. Like, Regular-Military-Level Professional. Honest, too.

-They've allegedly got a stash of Tinker-Vehicles and Power-Armor that's scary-low-maintainence, and they're selling gear to the PRT.

Anybody out there who can confirm any of this?

(Showing page 1 of 10)

►SniperJoe (Veteran: US Army)

Replied On Feb 15th 2011:

S0ngD0g14,

You got most of it right, Bro. They're the 'Wolf Dragoons', not "Wolf's Dragoons". Trust me; they're regular customers at my tavern.

Here's a pair of details your cousin missed, though. First, they aren't locals, except for some of their newer recruits. Their boss is a Brocktonite born-and-bred, fifteen, and a legacy to the unit... But her mama, and the Dragoons as an organization, are from another dimension. Not Aleph. According to the Dragoons, their native dimension is about a millennium-and-change ahead of us. It's 2011 here, but 3064 there. Their gear isn't Tinkertech; it's their dimension's mil-spec.

Second detail: Aside from their boss, Star-Captain [Not gonna ID her without permission], and maybe one of their local recruits, none of them are Capes.

►BBCoder (Wiki Warrior)

Replied On Feb 15th 2011:

Bullshit. Utter Bullshit; have you seen how huge their guys are? There's no way someone gets that big without powers.

And extradimensional? Seriously? If you believe that, you're more a tinfoil-hat than Void_Cowboy.

►Kid Win (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE)

Replied On Feb 15th 2011:

BBCoder,

I can confirm the Dragoons' backstory; they're extradimensional in origin, and every test Armsmaster and Dragon could devise agreed.

The Star-Captain (her actual rank) is likely a Cape, but that's unconfirmed since other than a low-grade Thinker power that might just be a thorough education showing, and a low-grade Brute power that's more than likely her genetics showing, she's not shown any demonstrably-Parahuman powers. Now, one of her local recruits, callsign 'Coywolf', is a Cape, a powerful and experienced Shaker.

►Noveltry

Replied On Feb 15th 2011:

Wow, seriously, Kid Win?

Wait, what did you mean by 'her genetics showing'? Is she not human?

►XxVoid_CowboyxX

Replied On Feb 15th 2011:

[POST DELETED: No naming names; if you're going to claim you know a (possible) Cape, keep their real ID to yourself. Have an infraction, you.- PhoqueVI]

►Dragoon_Actual (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Feb 15th 2011:

Actually, PhoqueVI, I do not care if he uses my given name; anybody else, for that matter. I have been up-front about my identity from the beginning.

To get it out of the way and out in the open: Hello, Ladies, Gentlemen, and XxVoid_CowboyxX; my name is Star-Captain Taylor Hebert, of the Wolf Dragoons PMC in Brockton Bay. What Kid Win meant by my genetics showing is that my mother's people have for the greatest portion of their history practiced a long-term, multi-generation eugenics program; the Warriors of Clan Wolf, and the other Clans in Mom's home-dimension, are literally bred to be the best.

Example, the Elementals. Those hulking mountains of muscle are the infantry of the Clans. Stronger, tougher, better endurance than baseline, et cetera. I inherited some of Mom's strength, is all.

So, I suppose I should say, Ask me Anything. I cannot guarantee I will answer all questions, but I will at least tell you why I cannot answer certain ones, if they are asked.

Also, S0ngD0g14,

I am very sorry for hijacking your thread like this...

End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 8, 9, 10

Topic: Simurgh Hits Canberra

In: Boards ► World Events ► Endbringers

Bagrat (Original Poster) (The Guy in the Know) (Veteran Member)

Posted On Feb 25th 2011:

So, I just got confirmation that not only were the Hero- and Villain Capes on-site at Canberra yesterday, but so were the Wolf Dragoons PMC. They came in (pro bono!) with medical equipment and medics, as well as troops, to help with Search-and-Rescue. This is hella-brave by itself; Endbringer Fights are dangerous enough for Capes, let alone 'norms' like you or me.

But, it gets even braver. Watch This.

Yes, you saw that right. Fifteen unpowered humans in powered-armor just jumped off of rooftops, onto an Endbringer, and started swarming all over her like pissed-off bees, shooting lasers and ripping with claws. They made the Hopekiller bleed with their own hands.

(Showing page 1 of 21)

►GstringGirl

Replied On Feb 25th 2011:

Why? Why did they do that?

►AllSeeingEye

Replied On Feb 25th 2011:

Look in the bottom-left of the frame; there are people there trying to get free, and Ziz is looking right at them. The armored Dragoons obviously swarmed her as a distraction, a way to buy time.

►Dragoon_Actual (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Feb 25th 2011:

Precisely so, AllSeeingEye. Well-spotted.

Points Charlie, Delta, and Echo executed a swarm-attack on the Simurgh in order to give Bravo Point and Hound Point time to pull several wounded Capes out of the line of fire. Regrettably, three of those five Capes, whose names I will withhold until their kin can be informed, perished en route to the Field Hospital.

Miraculously, however, all three Points who came to grips with Ziz survived, though not uninjured, and are in stable condition until such time as Panacea is able to see them.

For my own part, I wish to extend mine and the Wolf Dragoons' sincerest gratitude to Rune of the Empire-88 and the Independent Hero Rush, for getting our comrades to the doctors so quickly; without your aid, we would be mourning them today.

►SniperJoe (Veteran: US Army)

Replied On Feb 25th 2011:

Say Again? That was legit, Dragoon_Actual? Your guys really did go to blows with the Hopekiller?

They wake up, you tell'em they drink for free at the Black Rifle; their money won't spend.

►Dragoon_Actual (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Feb 25th 2011:

Aff, SniperJoe; I will surely inform them of that.

►The_Widow (Wolf Dragoons Plankholder) (Clan Wolf) (Verified Extradimensional)

Replied On Feb 25th 2011:

That... That, I believe, is worthy of a Passage in the Remembrance...

►Robby

Replied On Feb 25th 2011:

I have no idea what a Remembrance is...

Also, what's that tag (Wolf Dragoons Plankholder) mean?

►PhoqueVI (Moderator) (Veteran: USN)

Replied On Feb 25th 2011:

'Plankholder' means she was one of the original members of a crew or unit, when it was first formed, Robby.

►SniperJoe (Veteran: US Army)

Replied On Feb 25th 2011:

Robby,

It means she was a founding-member of the Dragoons.

Edit: Stranger'd by a Squid

End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 19, 20, 21

(Showing page 2 of 21)

►S0ngD0g14 (Veteran Member) (Veteran: USMC)

Replied On Feb 25th 2011:

Robby,

Plankholder means she was one of the first people in the Dragoons, a Wolf Dragoons OG, if you will.

Edit: Stranger'd by a Swabbie and a Dog-Face Hog; wow.

►Dragoon_Actual (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Feb 25th 2011:

It means she was one of the first Dragoons, Robby.

Edit: Stranger'd by three services; this must be a record...

Second Edit: PhoqueVI, if you and CharginChuck want to bring your boys up to the Bay sometime for a play-date, feel free; we will certainly welcome you.

Third Edit: The_Widow, permission to speak freely?

►The_Widow (Wolf Dragoons Plankholder) (Clan Wolf) (Verified Extradimensional)

Replied On Feb 25th 2011:

Granted, Dragoon_Actual.

►Dragoon_Actual (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Feb 25th 2011:

How in the name of Kerensky's Ghost did you get a PHO Account from another dimension, Star-Colonel?!

End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4 ... 19, 20, 21

...

Amy logged off her phone's browser and reached for the pocket of her costume robe and the pack of cigarettes within.

"I should've expected someone crazy enough to call Carol a pissant to her face, would have comrades crazy enough to ride an Endbringer..." she mused aloud.

It was two in the morning in Canberra, and Panacea couldn't sleep...

She remembered the sirens and how she'd rushed straight from her all-nighter at Bay General to PHQ, the disorienting trip with Strider...

Amy remembered seeing the Dragoons setting up their MASH, and hearing one of the Dragoon Doctors explaining triage-procedures to the others as she passed by, headed to her own assigned Aid-Station...

Amy lit her cigarette, drawing the smoke deep into her lungs; Canberra wasn't her first taste of Death, not by any means. But it was her first real taste of a Mass-Casualty situation, and there was doubt in Amy's mind.

Could I have saved this one? Should I have denied that one? How many died because of my decisions?

"Doc?" Amy turned and saw Loblolly, a blonde-haired Cape from Oklahoma who had crossed her table earlier, and who had stayed afterward to help where she could. "You alright, Doc?"

Amy shrugged. "I guess so. And why do you keep calling me 'Doc'?

The teen, somehow managing to make the combination of hospital gown, borrowed bathrobe, striped stockings, and black Corcoran jump-boots look cute, smiled and pulled out her own cig. "Shadows of my dad; he was a soldier. To a guy like him, a medic's the closest thing to an angel, and that angel's name is 'Doc'. Dunno 'bout you, but I'd call what's out there a warzone."

"It certainly fits," commented Panacea. "Couldn't sleep?"

Loblolly nodded. "Couldn't sleep. The huge twins down there? The ones who came here in power-armor?" Amy knew who Loblolly was referring to.

"The Dannvers twins, Sheryl and Carol. They're with the Wolf Dragoons PMC, from my hometown."

Loblolly shrugged. "Wherever they're from, I hope they have good sound-proofing; they snore like talking-guns." She lifted her hands and let out a ratcheting, staccato snore, gesturing with one hand, then a second while gesturing with the other, then a third while gesturing with her first hand. "Back-and-forth like two machine-guns trading bursts, all night long. You got a light?"

The two stood in silence for a long time. "A lot of people died today," Amy finally said.

Loblolly shrugged. "Lotta people lived, too. More than would've made it without you or the other medicos. You lost folks, yeah?" The blonde Cape's expression was neutral. "Doc, we knew what we were getting into today. Every one of us. Besides, Capes don't have long shelf-lives anyway. Point is, you did your best, and more people lived than died. So take pride in that, cold as it seems. You did your best, and no one can fault you for that."

Amy nodded and pulled out a fresh cig. "Hey, Loblolly, lean over here?" When she did, Panacea leaned in as well and lit her smoke from the cherry of Loblolly's...

...

A/N: Finally got this chapter done! Yesterday was... Hectic. Car Trouble.

Also, the Taylor-as-Merc-Boss fic you're looking for might be...

Soldier of Fortune (Worm/First Person Shooters x Everything)

That Guy. Yes, That Guy.

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#895

Taylor watched the second Longhaul land on the runway; two weeks the Dragoons had, like everyone who fought Ziz, been quarantined to verify they weren't going to go bibbledy from Scream-Overdose, and the Star-Captain was happy to be leaving. Her BA Techs had thrown an utter shit-fit at seeing the armor used in what PHO was calling the 'Swarming' and declared that all fifteen were totalled and useable only for parts.

Charlie, Delta, and Echo had taken their new suits and immediately decorated them; the Trial over whose design to use had involved several gallons of Bundaberg Rum and a salvaged Dance-Dance Revolution arcade-game. Amalthea won, and the fifteen sets of new armor now sported a single bloody wing painted on the left shoulder.

Zulu Point had gone back to Brockton Bay via Strider, and the Stork pilots and Fighter Star with them; the pilots were on their final approach now.

Taylor whistled to her troops and got them loaded onto the cargo-craft. "Now, on to our next job..."

...

The aircraft landed in Choibalsan, Mongolia, and Taylor stood and stretched. "We have arrived; start unloading while I find our contact, and keep the battle-armor out of sight."

She walked down the ramp and found their contact waiting by the hangars. "Good evening. You the fellow who hired some miners?" she asked, using the prearranged challenge.

The lean man in cargos and polo shirt nodded. "That's me. Found a helluva gold-strike and y'all came recommended," he responded with the code-phrase. "Newton Call, at your service."

The Dragoons rapidly unloaded and the aircraft went into the hangars and out of sight. Taylor and the others, including Call, mounted up and fell into column as they headed toward their operational area. Taylor, inside the infantry bay of Fox-One, asked Call, "So, you are our contact?"

Call nodded. "Master Sergeant Newton W. Call, 8th SFG. Callsign 'Terp', since I can hear a language spoken for two minutes and speak it fluently for six hours after. You're Star-Captain Hebert? I'm surprised; I was expecting someone..."

"Older?"

"Taller."

The pair bent over their maps with a chuckle and started going over the local intelligence...

...

The Dragoons reached the area where they would encamp and started setting up shop. Taylor started bringing in her logistics; two Paramour Mobile Field Repair Units, two BA-Techs, five Vehicle-Techs, and four Aero-Techs, plus two AsTechs each, a pair of J-27 Ordnance Transports, and a pair of Engineering Vehicles, along with several water-tank trailers and generic wheeled APCs.

"Logistical personnel, start working on making this place livable. Alpha Point, Golf Point, Fox Point, six AsTechs and the eight Techs from Brockton Bay, mount up, light gear. You too, Terp. Bravo, you and the others maintain security here."

The raiding party mounted up and started rolling toward the border...

...

Anika watched the raiders depart and turned back to the others. "Hounds, North-South split, sensors-passive. Charlie, Delta, Echo, fill in between them. Dogs and Coyotes, lend a hand to the Techs. Coywolf, ringing-scout clockwise out to a quarter-mile, quietly. Bravo is in reserve."

Missy nodded and made sure she had her night-scope attached to her Intek and set out, scanning the growing darkness...

...

Taylor lay hidden behind the crest of a hill just over the border in Manchuria, looking down at the road that cut across the hillside below her. "I count... four Type-90 Wheeled APCs, two Type-91 Resupply Tracks, five flatbed trucks, and... What kind of Self-Propelled Guns are those, Terp?"

Call looked through the binoculars. "PLL-05 Gun-Mortars, two of them. I guess we weren't the only ones thinking of jumping the border tonight; that's about what I'd want for a ground-only raid- or recon-force and they're headed straight for Mongolia."

"I believe we have our first targets... Fox Point, reposition for a linear ambush; when the convoy rounds that hillside bend, drop the hammer on their lead- and trail-vehicles. Alpha, Golf, clear the crews of the vehicles. Bondsmen where you can and useable vehicles where you can, but take no undue risks; the Techs will move in afterward for salvage. Terp, you have the radio and the long rifle; you are sniper-overwatch. I will go in with Alpha."

...

Missy caught a glimpse of movement and froze, then eased herself prone and crawled forward. A quick look through her scope showed four men in camouflage uniforms creeping through the darkness toward the camp, rifles in their hands at the low-ready.

"Bravo Actual, this is Coywolf; four foot-mobiles approaching your pos from the southeast, ETA five minutes; their gear looks like Chinese-standard, over."

"Roger, Coywolf. Can you take them quietly? Over."

Missy swallowed and looked. "Aff, I believe I can, with help. Nonlethal preferred, quiaff?"

"Aff. But as the Star-Captain so often says, take no undue risks. Bravo-Two is moving to support you; radio with sitrep after it is done; Bravo-Actual out."

Missy waited until the fireteam drew level with her and moved, paralleling their route. "Bravo-Two in position for ambush," came the voice of Helen Reisch. "I have the lead two, and you the trail two."

"Aff." Missy took a breath to calm herself. "On my mark. Three, two, one, Mark!" She moved, crossing the distance quickly and driving the buttstock of her rifle into the side of the rear-most man's head to stun him before leveling the weapon at the man ahead of him. Missy drew her pistol and aimed it at the man she'd clocked where he lay upon the ground. "Don't move," she growled. Helen had rushed the front pair from the opposite side of the trail and stopped them by simple expedient of grabbing them in choke-holds, one per arm, when they turned to see what had happened with their teammates. The Elemental squeezed until her victims quit struggling and dealt with Missy's one conscious target the same way.

As the two Dragoons stripped equipment off their captives, Helen looked up and saw movement. It looked like...

"Down!" Missy barked, having seen the movement also. Her Intek snapped up and flashed once, twice; a body fell from behind a tree.

Missy radioed for backup while Helen investigated. "Same uniform as the other four, but a different rifle; whoever he was, the last thing to go through his mind was a laser."

Dana and Jackson arrived and Missy watched as Helen picked up the bullpup Designated-Marksman's Rifle from the corpse, then dropped the magazine and racked the charging-handle to clear it, catching the ejected round. Missy flexed her hands and fought down the shakes; she told herself she could cry about her first kill later, in private, but she would not look anything but strong in front of the others. "Here, I will carry the gear from my two and your two, Reisch, and let Waters and Tutuola carry the men."

Helen nodded. "I will bring your kill and his equipment, then."

The group moved back toward the camp...

...

Taylor crouched by the roadside, watching as the convoy approached. It began to round the bend and Fox Point's Bandits, both in the 'A' variant, fired their turret-mounted ER-Large Lasers. The lead-most and rear-most Type-90s shuddered to a halt as the lasers cored through the crew-compartment from right-to-left. As infantry began to pile out of the vehicles, the Elementals opened fire with their Mausers.

Taylor and Alpha Point advanced, rifles moving from target-to-target, until they split, Taylor and Alexandra moving toward the first PLL-05. They heard Dalton and Kyle breach the APC in front of their target and Alexandra shot the commander of the mortar-carrier as he emerged to use the turret-mounted machine-gun. Taylor vaulted up and onto the deck and used her Mauser to shoot away the hinges on the driver's hatch; Alexandra pulled the hatch clear and the driver lifted his hands in surrender. They had taken the convoy completely by surprise.

When the shooting ended, the fifteen captured men were stripped of equipment and bound, then placed in the back of one of the trucks. The Dragoon Techs descended on the site like locusts on a crop; the disabled Type-90s were rigged to tow-bars on the functional ones, and the dead were stripped of equipment and uniforms, then dumped into the Khalkh River with stones tied to their legs to weight them down.

"Back to camp with us, after we get clear of here and find a spot to rip out any trackers we find," Taylor said as she settled into the turret of the lead mortar-carrier and swung the MG to cover the hillside.

"Not bad for one night's haul..."

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#941

It had been three days since the Wolf Dragoons had landed in Mongolia and Missy Biron was riding with a couple Techs and Bravo Point in one of the captured, and repainted, trucks into town for supplies. The ambush their first night and Taylor's raid had been the last action the Dragoons had seen since arriving, but at least no one was bored; setting up their base-camp, which Taylor in her odd sense of humor codenamed 'Tower House', had kept everyone busy.

That morning Taylor had given Anika orders to take Missy and some Techs into town and buy food; Taylor had brought a hundred-grand each in Russian, Chinese, and Mongolian currency as operating-funds, and she'd handed ten-grand in mixed currency to Anika.

The group arrived, and parked the truck. The town itself wasn't much to see; a few small buildings along a straight main street, a few shops just off that street on either side, and several-dozen ger set up on the opposite outskirts, with horses milling nearby them.

Anika handed Missy a stack of banknotes after she'd disembarked. "Here is two-thousand dollars' worth; find a grocer and procure vegetables, cereals, and fruit, preferably packaged to last. Keep the receipts if you can, and take Dana with you as backup."

"Understood, Anika," Missy said, nodding. While in-country, no one saluted, no one wore rank-insignia, and no one addressed each other by rank in public. The group had also elected to carry local arms on this supply run; Bravo Point all carried QBZ-95-1 Assault Rifles save for Jackson, who had a QBB-95 LSW slung across his broad chest. The Techs all carried AKS-74U carbines and Makarov pistols, while Missy carried an AKS-74UB, the suppressed variant of the Technicians' carbines.

Missy and Dana walked into town, looking for a grocer. Neither could read or speak Mongolian, but their smartphones had a translation app.

The pair found a shop and conducted their business quickly, and then arranged for the grocer's son to help them carry the supplies back to the truck. He was Missy's age and smiled brightly, talking happily in rapid Mongolian, but Missy gathered that his name was Temujin and smiled back, giggling when he blushed. When the last of the canned fruit was loaded, she tipped him a couple-hundred tögrög and pocketed the receipts.

"I believe he liked you," noted Dana. "Give him time to grow a bit and he might-well rate a Seven."

Missy shrugged. "Eight, at least. But alas, my heart is for another." She smiled and pulled a pouch of jerky from her cargo pocket.

Dana laughed. "Your former Point-Mate? Gallant?" Missy nodded. "I think Glory Girl has him to herself, Missy."

Missy shrugged again. "Maybe she would be willing to entertain a Trial of Possession for him."

...

Taylor looked at the prisoner tied to a tree in front of her; he was one of the soldiers Missy had captured their first night in-country. "Terp, translate exactly. Prisoner, what is your name?"

"Han. No other name."

"Rank?"

"Private First-Class."

Taylor looked into his eyes. "Age?"

Terp paused, hesitating. "Sixteen. He says he lied about his age to enlist."

Taylor nodded thoughtfully, never looking away from Han. "Why were you and your team on this side of the border?" Han's response needed no translation; Taylor sighed. "Normally, there would be drugs for this, to make you more inclined to talk. Unfortunately for both of us, Private First-Class Han No-Other-Name, we lack those drugs..."

Taylor pulled on a set of nitrile gloves and started laying out tools from the box next to her, arranging each just so, before meeting Han's eyes again. "So we will have to do this the old-fashioned way..."

Han talked. Han talked a lot. Han talked about everything from his orders, to troop-movements, to why his Company Commander was a dick, to his Sergeant-Major's Wife's bra-size. And Taylor never had to do more than let her gloved fingers brush across the tools as if choosing one, and stare.

Taylor put the gag back in Han's mouth and had him taken back to the makeshift brig, and packed up the tools. "That makes five who all say the same thing," she said. "They were scouts sent ahead to sweep that convoy's route the other night."

Call finished writing his notes. "And the convoy was the local border-guard garrison under orders from the next link up the chain to start setting up a listening-post and raid-base."

"They all said they were expecting the engineers to come tonight. Want to hit them now, or later?"

Call smirked. "Broad daylight? Mighty bold, Miss Taylor." His native Texan accent shone through.

Taylor nodded. "Fortuna Audaces Iuvat."

The Green Beret-turned-Company Man laughed heartily. "Fortune Favors the Bold, indeed. We can backtrack the convoy and hit them at home, I reckon."

...

Six hours later, the Techs were waiting in the trucks under cover two miles down the road, Jackal Point was on standby at Tower House, and the Fighter Star was warming up at a Company-owned private airfield outside Choibalsan, in case of need. Alpha Point and Bravo Point were on security at Tower House, and both Coyote- and Hound Points waited with the trucks.

Missy watched from her rooftop perch as the Elementals moved carefully into position; Taylor was down there with Golf Point and Terp was listening through his radio while he lay two roofs over from the youngest Dragoon.

"Movement, east-side fence; sentry," said Missy as she scanned the Chinese compound through a spotting-scope. As he passed around a corner, Missy gave the all-clear and panned over the compound again, checking locations and ranges, and running through her course-of-fire.

The Generator, the copter on the pad, those three wheeled APCs with the rotary-cannon on them; reload; the three tracked ones with the tank-turrets and two through the radar-dish; reload; cover the others... Charlie will cut the main power-line and Terp has the sentry-towers...

Missy clicked her radio twice to signal her readiness and snugged herself in behind her weapon, looking through the scope. One by one, each unit clicked their readiness, then Taylor clicked her radio mic three times. Terp's suppressed SVU coughed and sentries started falling, but Missy saw none of it. She watched her crosshairs and the Federated-Barrett Thunderstroke spoke loud. The first slug from the gauss-rifle smashed into the backup generator; the second made confetti of the Z-11 utility helicopter's control-panel. The next three shots cored out the turrets of three ZBL-09 Air-Defense Vehicles from upper-left-to-lower-right; Missy replaced the magazine with a fresh one and drove three shots through the turrets of three Type-85 AFVs, put her last two slugs through the radar-dish near the west-side of the compound, and reloaded again. "Coywolf reports main-string done; available for tasking, over."

The Elementals rushed the compound the moment Charlie Point destroyed the now-unburied power-line leading onto the base with a pair of rifle-grenades and Missy's gauss-slug smashed the generator, causing the base to go dark. Charlie headed for the HQ building, and Delta for the vehicle-park. Echo was tasked with finding and securing the barracks-buildings, and Golf would secure the ammo-dump. Everything was going smoothly...

"Savashri! Bandits inbound, Angels-Ten from bearing 090! Six Fantans!" Hound-One called out. We cannot engage; say again Birds Negat! They will be over you in three mikes!"

"Fighters scrambling now; I will send First- and Second Points ahead to intercept," responded Lydia.

Taylor cursed; she'd have preferred a quiet in-out raid where no one knew the base was hit until after the fact, and there was no way now to do things quietly... "Fighter-One-One, Fighter-Two-One," she radioed, talking to Point-Commanders Erich and Manfred Wolf, "Engage the inbound bandits and neutralize them. Technicians, get in here ASAP and start loading salvage. Ammo, equipment, vehicles, everything not nailed down, but do it fast. Charlie Point, papers, hard-drives, and officers; Echo, barricade the barracks and rally on Delta. Terp, Coywolf, displace and exfil to Rally-Point One. Move!"

The Techs crashed through the gate and screeched to a halt, piled out, and started loading ammunition while two of their number ran to fill the fuel-trucks sitting nearby.

"Dragoon-Actual, this is Fighter-One-One; we are one mike out, over."

"Be advised, Fighter-One and Fighter-Two, Bandits ETA Dragoon-Actual's posit three-zero seconds. Hound-Actual inbound to support, ETA two mikes, over."

Taylor swore louder, then acknowledged both transmissions; time was running out fast. Her fighters were a minute away and Hound's vehicles were two minutes out, but that double-flight of Q-5 Attack-Jets would be all over them in thirty seconds, an eternity in combat-terms. "Get under cover!"

...

Point-Commander Erich Wolf pulled back on his control-stick and felt his fighter start climbing. "One-Trail, off my port-wing; Fighter-Two, match my altitude, Angels-Fifteen. Fighter-One will strike first from above on bearing 270, and you follow-on from bearing 000. Boom-and-Zoom. Quiaff?" A chorus of 'Aff' came back as Erich's Point, Fighter-One, leveled out at 15,000 feet above the ground due west of the Chinese jets with Erich's wingman to his left, and Manfred's Fighter-Two came around at the same altitude due north of the enemy planes.

"Bandits on-scope; Fighter-One, engaging." The pair of Owl-II fighters nosed down and accelerated. Erich placed his crosshairs over the lead Q-5 and fired with his nose-mounted Medium Laser, punching though the wing-root and igniting the fuel-tanks. A quick kick to the rudder-pedals swung his fighter's nose around and the Small Lasers in the wings flashed, turning a second Fantan into a fireball of ignited fuel. Erich's wingman, Joachim Twane, pulled into a hard turn as his target tried to break and broke the Chinese jet with a pair of SLs through the back, then reversed his turn and maneuvered after another. "Joachim! Break off!" shouted Erich. "Disengage!"

Fighter-Two rolled in right then and lashed the last three Q-5s down; Erich was winding up for a truly-impressive diatribe about following the formation-leader's orders when their instruments all lit up. "Spike! Spike!" Joachim yelled.

A pair of missiles rose from the forest off-base, fired by a hidden launcher. "One-Trail, SAMs on your four! Break right!" shouted Manfred as he tried to maneuver for a shot.

"One-Trail, this is Fighter-Actual; on my mark, break left... Mark!" Joachim stood his fighter on its left wing and hauled back on the stick.

Lydia heard the lock-tone in her ears. "Fox One! Fox One!" She launched two salvos from her Steinadler's SRM-2, four Short-Range Missiles leaping out of the launcher. The missiles tracked smoothly and detonated, consuming the Chinese SAMs as Joachim fell in on Erich's wing. "Five-One, you have the launcher?"

"Aff, Actual. I have him. "Fox Four!" Hiroyoshi's nose-mounted PPC snapped once and the Mobile-SAM went up in a fireball as the other missiles cooked off.

Taylor stepped out from under cover in the ammo-dump and grinned. "Good shooting, Fighters! Now, fly top-cover for us. Techs, Troops, this neighborhood has gotten too hot for my taste. Five minutes to salvage what you can and then we. Are. Leaving!"

That Guy. Yes, That Guy.

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#986

"Okay, Dad, I can see you now," Taylor said via video-call.

Danny smiled at his daughter. "Thanks, Kiddo. I guess I should've checked the camera-connection first, anyway. So, how's Mongolia?"

"Beautiful country, to be certain, and Manchuria the same. How are things in Brockton Bay?"

"Same-old same-old. A few more guys from the Union hired on with us; Sofiya and Zulu Point have run them ragged, trying to separate out the ones best-suited to Battle-Armor training. We do need vehicles, though, if only for mobility."

Taylor nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose so. Send me a list of what general roles you need filled besides transport; I am sending you a Point of Badger Clan-Prime APCs now. I have to go now, Dad; business calls, you know? I love you."

"I love you too, Taylor. Stay safe."

"I will. Bye, Dad."

Danny closed out the call and walked outside. Sofiya was supervising the fifteen former-Dockworkers as they cleaned their issued Inteks after qualifying at Camp Kerensky's no-longer-makeshift range. "Administrator," she said by way of greeting.

"Point-Commander. The recruits are doing well?"

"Aff. Better than some I have seen, but still rather short of where they could be. Give them a few weeks and they should be ready for more-specialized training." The blonde shrugged her shoulders and saw that the last rifle was cleaned. "Recruits, eyes on me!" she barked, standing. "The time is currently eleven AM; get chow and be back here by noon. Fall out!"

Danny laughed, seeing them scramble away to the Mess. "So, Administrator, I would like to ask a favor of you. I have heard good things of a restaurant on the Boardwalk called 'Fugly Bob's' and hoped you might join me for lunch."

"I would be delighted. But, please, off-duty my given name is Daniel, or Danny."

"Sofiya. Shall we?"

...

The next morning in Mongolia saw Missy lying prone on the roof of a truck, watching a herd of feral horses grazing outside the concertina-wire through her spotting-scope. The youngest Dragoon, always a bit of an early-riser, had taken to watching the wildlife as an early-morning ritual, a way to peacefully pass the time before work. Missy sipped her coffee and panned the scope over to a sorrel mare that she'd mentally named 'Natasha' after the Star-Colonel. Natasha-the-Horse was cropping grass at the edge of the herd, when she abruptly lifted her head. Missy swung her scope to follow the mare's gaze and saw Taylor, Terp, and Echo Point returning by truck from meeting with one of Terp's informants, a horse-trader who routinely did business on both sides of the border.

Missy slid down from her perch and drained the last of her coffee. The insulated travel-mug got a quick rinse from her Camelbak and a drying with a spare tee before going into her pack. "Good morning; what's the word?" she asked as they disembarked.

"The word is good; the Chinese are taking notice of the raids, especially after the loss of six aircraft yesterday," Taylor said, pouring herself a mug of tea from the pot just inside the Mess Tent. "The plan is to keep at it, keep hitting them. To do that, we need intelligence."

Missy nodded, following the reasoning. "After you left to meet Terp's contact Jackson and the Dannvers Twins put our prisoners to the question; the report should be in your tent. I was out scouting at the time." Missy looked out at the terrain. "Before you ask, Taylor, I have no interest at all in sitting in on the interrogations; it's just not my thing."

Taylor nodded. "So noted. I do have a job for you, though, Missy."

Missy looked up from making a bowl of oatmeal. "Yes?"

"We have been in-country for four days now and everyone with people back home has called or video-chatted, except you. Take a few minutes after you eat and call your old teammates; I have it on good authority that they will be up and waiting."

After Missy finished her oatmeal she video-called Kid Win. When the Tinker answered, she could see he was in the common-area of the Wards Dorms. "Hey, Kid. How are you?"

"Missy? Good to see you! Hey, guys, Missy's video-calling!" The rest of the Wards ENE gathered around the camera.

Aegis saw Vista sitting on a camp-stool in her tent, dressed in camouflage fatigues and combat boots, and whistled. "I said it at your Induction and I'll say it again, Missy; you look more natural in camo than you did in costume. How's... Wherever you are; they never told us."

Missy snorted. "I can't tell you, either, Aegis. Security reasons. Suffice to say I'm deployed, and it's a fighting-contract. I'm having fun, though. Well, in-between moments of nervousness or fear, anyway." She smiled at her friends and Sophia.

"Say, what's that around your neck?" asked Triumph.

Missy fingered the loop of 550-cord that circled her throat and the bullet hanging from it. "It's called a Hog's Tooth, Triumph. A good-luck charm of sorts." She held it up so the others could see it better.

Sophia nodded. "You get it the usual way?" Missy nodded back. When the others looked between the two girls, Sophia elaborated. "You know how people talk about the thing that's meant to kill you, call it the 'bullet with your name on it', right? In the sniping community, and I know this from some of the less-uptight Troopers here at PHQ, if you nail an enemy sniper, you take the round out of the chamber of his weapon and that's the bullet with your name on it."

Missy continued when Sophia paused. "You hang it around your neck so you never lose it; if you have the bullet with your name on it, no one can shoot it at you, see?"

"But why call it a Hog's Tooth?" inquired Rory, avoiding the unstated-but-obvious detail that Missy had killed a man who was trying to kill her.

Missy sipped from her Camelbak before replying. "Any plain-jane infantryman is a SLUG, a Slow Lazy Untrained Gunman. A trained sniper is a PIG, a Professionally-Instructed Gunman. A sniper who's seen combat is a HOG. A Hunter of Gunmen."

"... Moving on," segued Dennis, "have you met yourself a handsome guy you can bring home as a War-Husband, Missy?" His eyes were bright and his tone joking.

"Well, there's this one boy about my age; I met him yesterday during a supply-run. Can't understand a word he says without a translator, but he's cute. An Eight, at least, given time to grow." Her smile grew wicked. "Yup. Definitely a Hotness-8, so Gallant, my advice is keep Vicky away from here; you only rate a Hotness-6." Everyone laughed. "Oh, by the way, Win, I want you to meet my new baby." She turned the laptop to show her Thunderstroke propped against her cot. "Meet Matilde. She's a Federated-Barrett Thunderstroke Gauss Rifle. Semiauto, five-shot magazine, and shoots like a dream."

"You named your rifle?" asked Dennis. "Win, wipe your chin; you're starting to drool."

Missy nodded. "I named all my rifles, except for the one I got my first night in-country." She fingered her Hog's Tooth again, nervously; the Wards assumed it was the same rifle her necklace was from. "My Intek is Claire, and my Savage- the one you saw me shooting with, Win, the bolt-action- is Beatrice."

Dennis chuckled. "You gave them girls' names; should we know something, Missy?" he teased.

Sophia punched his arm. "Quiet; my first crossbow was named Venetrix. Naming a weapon shows you think it's special."

Missy, mildly-unnerved by the fact she had common-ground with Sophia Hess of all people, checked the time. "Guys, I've got to go; I'll talk to you again later, okay? Stay safe."

"You too, Missy," replied Triumph on behalf of the team. Everyone but Sophia waved; Shadow Stalker gave a short, respectful nod.

Missy closed the laptop and walked out of her tent, then shuddered from head-to-foot. "Good Lord; I have things in common with Shadow Stalker..."

...

Two days after talking to Danny, Taylor was sitting in the troop-bay of Michelle's Bandit looking over the latest intelligence from Call's contacts and coworkers when a cry went up from Tiffany outside. "Rider coming in! A local on horseback, young!"

Taylor came out of the IFV with her Mauser in-hand. Missy, who'd been sitting on top of the vehicle, brought Beatrice up to her eye and looked. "It's Temujin, the grocer's boy from town! He's- Stravag! Someone's after him!"

Taylor peered through the scope of her rifle and saw three mounted men chasing the boy, riding hard. The watching Dragoons saw Temujin stand in his stirrups and turn, drawing a short recurved bow. His arrow slashed out and one of his pursuers toppled backward off his horse, his throat spurting blood. The other two riders split to either side, and Temujin drew his bow again, aimed, and loosed; the rider to his left dodged the worst of the shot, spilling from the saddle with the arrow in his shoulder instead of his chest. The third rider took this moment of distraction to charge in, drawing a baton from his belt. Temujin's horse suddenly hopped and kicked out with both hind-legs as the rider bore in; the sound of the rider's neck breaking when the kick hit him in the face was loud on the quiet air.

Temujin rode up to the wire and swayed in the saddle; Missy jumped down from the Bandit and came through the gate in time to catch him as he fell.

"Nogoon malgai ... Nogoon-malgai khaana baina ... Bi kheregtei ... Nogoon-malgai bolon Öndör-chono ..."

"What is he saying?" asked Missy as she carried Temujin in with his arm over her shoulder; the boy was panting with exhaustion and his horse, a blue-dun mare, was lathered with sweat and unsteady on her feet.

Call walked up and listened, then winced. "He's asking for 'Green-Hat' and 'Tall-Wolf'. It's what my horse-trader contact called Taylor and I..." He helped Missy sit Temujin down and spoke to him in Mongolian, then listened as he replied.

"Manai avga akh mori zarakhaar irev. Shönödöö erchüüd tüüniig buugaar buuj irev. Ter namaig güigeed nadad moridyn dund nuugdsan. Ter khümüüs tüüntei khamt ger bülee daguulan garch ireed tedniig zodoj ekhlev. Minii avga akh ni deeremchid, aluurchind medeelel ögch, etseg ekhchüüd ni khooloo zarsan gej ted yarij baisan. Ted 'Bid khaana baina ve? Kherkhen nogoon malgaitai Amyerik tiv, tüüntei khamt baigaa öndör okhintoi bol!'..."

Terp flinched. "He says his uncle came into town with horses to sell and armed men came in the night, dragged his family out into the street and beat them; Temujin hid among the horses and watched. The men were claiming his uncle was in league with 'bandits and killers' and that his parents had provisioned these killers. The men were shouting and demanding to know where 'the American in the green hat' and 'the tall girl' were..."

Temujin continued speaking, and Call paled. "The men shot his parents after throwing his little sister into the street and trampling her to death with their horses; Temujin blacked out, and when he came to, they'd shot his uncle too. One of the men was on his knees as if he'd fallen, and that man, no... that Cape, sniffed the air like a dog and pointed right at Temujin. He heard them mention a bounty from the Manchu for Capes, and jumped onto his uncle's horse and took off." Terp looked at the horse. "That's Sübedei's blue mare, alright, an' his rig on her. Somebody get her inside here and get the saddle off her." He turned back to Temujin. "Namaig endees olokhyg ta yaaj medsen yum be?"

"Ter chinii üneriig meddeg baisan gej nadad khelsen ..." Temujin said, pointing at the mare before exhaustion finally dragged him under.

"What was that?" asked Anika.

Newton Call tilted his head quizzically. "I asked him how he found us, and he said the horse told him she knew my scent."

That Guy. Yes, That Guy.

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"One is still alive," commented Tiffany. Missy looked out and saw the wounded man trying to rise. She saw red...

Missy stepped from the gate to the wounded man's side in one long power-assisted stride and did her level-best to kick his liver for a field-goal. She grabbed the discarded baton from the ground and realized it was an electric cattle-prod; the teenager drove him down with the prod, his scream high and loud as he spasmed from the charge.

"You murdering son of a bitch! You cowardly, gutless dezgra son of a-"

Taylor grabbed Missy by the arm and pulled her back. "Don't kill him, Missy!" Taylor's voice crashed through Missy's anger like a brickbat. Missy dropped the shock-prod and stepped back. "Take him to the doctors, Tiffany. I want him able to speak when we interrogate him." As DeVega dragged the man to the MASH none-too-gently, Taylor turned to Missy. "You almost killed him, and if he dies, we cannot learn where his comrades are. This is an escalation, Missy. We will answer it in kind. For now, see to your friend. You have my word, when we move, you will get first-bid. Agreed?"

Missy snarled at the twitching, bleeding man. "I know that the life of a Cape is a short, violent one, and a merc's life even more so. I know I probably killed the Merchants I shot at the Wolfpack Fight, and I know I killed that Chinese soldier the night we arrived. They were grown men and knew the risks, and they were trying to kill me and mine; that's how I can justify it to myself. But killing an innocent child? There's no justifying that, no forgiving that. You say I'll have first-bid when we retaliate? I say Bargained Well and Done."

...

Three days passed like an eternity before the bounty-hunter was healed enough to question. In that time, Temujin had awoken, and Missy had started helping Terp teach him English. Everyone in camp had laughed seeing Missy blush after the boy walked up to her and said in somewhat-broken English, "Thank you... for to teach me how to talk English, Pretty-Smile." Missy wasn't entirely-sure that video of that incident hadn't made it back to Brockton Bay...

Taylor had questioned the prisoner and he'd agreed to tell where his companions were. When she told Missy, the blonde raised both eyebrows. "How did you manage that so quickly, and do you seriously trust him to tell the truth?"

"I trust him not one bit; but as to how I got him to tell us? I told him if he didn't cooperate I would have him killed slowly."

"He believed you?"

Taylor's smile was all fangs. "I told him I would give him to you, with orders to get creative..."

Missy matched that smile fang-for-fang. "So, he tell you where his buddies are?"

Taylor nodded. "The rest of his party are encamped in Temujin's hometown still, waiting on Temujin to return. We will of course take him with us to verify."

"I'll grab Temujin."

...

"Those," said Temujin an hour later, as he and Missy crouched behind his parents' grocery. He pointed to two men across the road. "They kill my sister, parents, uncle."

Missy relayed the information to Taylor, who was waiting a mile outside town with the others. "The plan?"

"Send me photos of their faces so our 'informant' here can confirm their identities." Missy zoomed in with her smartphone camera and took the photos, sending them. "Confirmed. We will grab them tonight, quietly. Stay hidden; maintain monitoring."

When the long hours of waiting that Ganzorig and his cousin Nergüi were undergoing had dragged on long enough to make them doze, the Dragoons made their move. Missy used her power to make a mouse-hole into a door, and Call and Taylor were through and on the bounty-hunters in a heartbeat, bearing them down and choking them out. When the pair had been bound, gagged, and hooded, they were carried out and loaded onto two of Temujin's father's horses to travel back to the hovercraft.

...

Taylor didn't trust herself to interrogate the two new prisoners; she handed the task off to Terp and told him to do what he had to short of killing them. It was readily-apparent that this wasn't the first time the two had been questioned; they lasted longer before breaking than she expected. It was just as apparent that this wasn't the first time Newton Woodrow Call had put someone to the question; he reminded the two men firsthand that the First Rule of Interrogation is 'Everyone Breaks'.

"Taylor, I have a name," he told her the next morning. "Bao Ganbaatar. I got in touch with the Ulanbaatar Office for more info; he's a relative unknown, half-Manchu and the only reasons the Station Chief even know his name are his having a metric shit-ton of 'suspected ties' to gun- and drug-running, and his very-thin ties to the CUI through his- estranged- Chinese-Colonel daddy."

Taylor nodded. "Where does he live?"

"He lives in a (for Mongolia) very nice apartment-block in Choibalsan, but I have it on good authority via my old teammates that he's visiting his mama just across the border in Manchuria."

Taylor looked at Missy. "I promised you first-bid, Missy. What will your bid be?"

The young Dragoon pursed her lips in thought before speaking. "If we can confirm that Ganbaatar actually is the one behind it, I bid myself, Temujin, and Sergeant Call. I am unsure just yet about what weapons we would use, or the specific plan, but I feel we three have the most grievance here; the victims were Temujin's family, and Sübedei the horse-trader was not only Call's contact but also his friend."

Taylor lifted one eyebrow. "And you? What grievance do you have, Missy Biron?"

"Temujin and Call are my friends."

Taylor looked at the other Dragoons that had gathered around. "Are there any who would bid against Point-Officer Biron?"

Anika glanced around and chuckled darkly. "I believe I speak for us all in saying Neg, none will bid against her in this. Though I would suggest not accepting Missy's bid as final until more is known."

Taylor nodded. "Agreed. Call, do you agree?"

"I'll back her play."

"Temujin, do you agree?"

The boy, having followed the conversation with the translation app on Missy's phone, nodded sharply. "Tiim ee, Od-Akhmad. Aff, Star-Captain."

"Then for the moment, Bargained Well and Done."

...

Bao Ganbaatar was... surprisingly-attractive, Missy noted two days later as she watched him through the camera hidden in the fur-rim of Sergeant Lee O'Young's Mongolian Shepherd-Hat. The Chinese-American was disguised as a nomad, and he rode past the front of Ganbaatar's mother's home.

Missy focused on Ganbaatar, studying him. It's just not right that all the hot ones are either taken, evil, or bat for the other team...

Lee paused at a trough and dismounted to let his horse drink as Ganbaatar bid his mother goodbye. The man walked up to the trough where his own mount was tied and glanced at Lee. Call translated their conversation for Missy as the two men started talking.

"Good morning, Traveller," Ganbaatar said in Mongolian. "What brings you out this way?"

"Trade, Sir. Trade and carrying news."

"What news?"

Lee responded softly. "I just came through the Khalkh-River country; a family were killed a few nights ago, I heard. A grocer and his family, and his brother, a horse-trader. The others in the village said the murderers were shouting about a tall girl and a man in a green hat, I heard."

Ganbaatar flinched. "A tragedy, I'm sure. I have to be going now; my son is waiting in Choibalsan."

Lee stuck out his hand in the Western manner to shake. "Take care of yourself then. And if you should ever need good beef, come out toward Khentii Province and ask for Muunokhoi."

"If you're ever in need of work, come to Dornod Province and ask for Bao Ganbaatar," replied the half-Manchu, shaking Lee's hand.

After he'd ridden away, Lee, a Postcognitive Striker/Thinker, murmured lowly, "He's behind it; I saw him give the orders. And those supposedly-thin ties to the CUI are damned-thick. He's a gunrunner and a drugrunner, and his operation's funded through Colonel Bao."

Taylor nodded. "Golf Point are in Choibalsan now; they can raid his apartment for intelligence."

Missy looked over to her CO. "If we publish the fact that he is funded by the Chinese when we end this fiasco, it might-well polarize the locals against the CUI. I mean, an arms-smuggler and dope-dealer who had bandits kill innocent Mongolians? And he gets his funding from the Chinese? Temujin's namesake was proof-enough of what happens when someone pisses off the Mongols."

"It would certainly be a good start toward a long-term solution," said Taylor. "Your thoughts, Call?"

Call nodded. "I can see how that might help us here. In the meantime, we have a fellow we need to have a word with."

Bao was riding, his eyes scanning the surroundings; he noted a pair of black specks off to his west, horses, or possibly deer.

All at once those specks resolved themselves into a Mongolian boy and an American man on horseback as the steppe seemed to warp and pinch. His horse startled and took off running, only for his pursuers to come alongside. Bao reached for his pistol but when he drew, the American lashed out with a baton and knocked the Makarov away. The boy grabbed Bao's reins and the man used the prod-end of the electric-baton to stun Bao and drag him from the saddle. A fist gripping the stock-prod's handle swinging toward his jaw was the last thing Bao Ganbaatar saw before everything went black.

...

The next morning, Taylor watched from a nearby rooftop as Missy, Temujin, and Call rode into Temujin's hometown; Call rode a buckskin and Missy rode a sorrel, and Temujin rode the blue-dun. Behind them were Bao Ganbaatar, Ganzorig and Nergüi, and the survivor of the three who had chased Temujin, the Sensory-Thinker Batbayar. The four prisoners had their hands bound behind them and their feet tied at the ankles into their stirrups to keep them in the saddle. As a crowd gathered, Missy took out the copies of the documents from Bao's apartment safe. She nailed them up on the door of the grocery and turned to face the locals. "These are the men that killed Ganbold the grocer and his brother, wife and daughter!" she shouted. "And this is the man who ordered it done! This man!" she pointed to Bao and paused as Terp's translation caught up.

"This man, Bao Ganbaatar, claimed his men were here to track down the band I ride with; they called us, as the Chinese do, 'bandits and killers'. Yet Bao Ganbaatar, son of a Chinese officer from Manchuria, Bao Ganbaatar who is paid by Beijing to smuggle guns and drugs into the Land of the Blue Sky, calls us bandits?! Calls us killers?!"

Missy nodded and Call untied the ankle-ropes and pulled each prisoner down from the saddle. "You killed four people," she said to them loud enough for the crowd to hear, "because your masters have a war with me and mine. Temujin's sister, Enkhtuyaa, was only a year old when you trampled her under your horses' hooves. The old-time Yassa of the Khans, according to Temujin, said that in wartime killing a child no taller than a cartwheel was punishable by death. None of you dogs are worth wasting a bullet to shoot, and there are no good trees to hang you from."

Temujin and Call dropped lassos of braided 550-cord over the men's necks and made the other ends fast to the saddle of each man's horse. "So I had to find a different way."

Temujin yelled a single word, "Ajilluulakh!", and at that command to "Run!" all four horses galloped away...

After all was said and done, Taylor drew alongside Missy. "Do you regret doing it?"

"Neg, Taylor. I regret it needing to be done."

"After our op tonight, I'll see about organizing some R&R. But I need you sharp tonight, Missy. The Dragoons need you sharp. I can count on you, quiaff?"

"Aff, Taylor. Where are we going?"

"Shenyang."

Last edited: Dec 11, 2017

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"No. No. Not No but Hell to the Muthafuckin' No."

"Alright; why not?"

Call laughed darkly. "For one thing, Taylor, the headquarters of the CUI Northern Command is there. For another, the 39th Group Army is headquartered there, and they have the most heavy-armor in the entire CUI military. Thirdly, it's almost six-hundred miles from here; Shenyang, China, is not Salineville, Ohio, an' you ain't John Hunt Morgan!"

Taylor sighed. "Okay. Is that your position, Newton, or your bosses'?"

Call took a deep breath. "Both. It's too deep behind the lines and too well-guarded. Any attempt to raid it would draw too much attention too fast. I know 31st-Century armor's tough, but all it ever takes is for the other asshole to get lucky once. Plus, the fact that Bao had a Parahuman working for him is damn-troubling; it means either that Cape was new-enough that he hadn't gotten on the Yangban's scopes yet, canny-enough to stay off the Yangban's scopes, or..."

Taylor winced. "Or he was Yangban."

Call nodded. "Or he was Yangban. And we can't just ask him because Temujin gave him a tracheotomy with a broadhead. We can't risk him having sent word of our location either; we need to displace most ricky-tick."

Taylor nodded grimly. "We do."

...

By sundown the Dragoons had packed up their vehicles and equipment, taken down their wire, and were ready to move. As the convoy started, Temujin rode up on his mare, leading the sorrel mare that Missy had grown fond of watching from the local feral herd. "Pretty-Smile, Tall-Wolf! I bring horses!"

Taylor laughed and Missy blushed, and Call called out, "Where's my buckskin, then, Temujin?"

"Buckskin Stallion say he no like being rode by Green-Hat Gelding!"

The Dragoons who heard that laughed uproariously, and the convoy set out. They moved south and west, found a sheltered area, and began setting up camp again. Taylor looked at the terrain and nodded to herself. "Engineers, when the camp is in order, mark out and prepare a landing-strip for the Longhauls; we need to dispose of some of our captured vehicles."

Call paused in helping set up the Mess Tent. "What do you plan to do with them?"

"Sell most of them, actually. I thought to send the Type-90s and some of the trucks home to Brockton Bay. We can use the resupply-tracks here, and the mortars have a nine-kilometer effective range, but no one here has any knowledge of how to use tube-artillery, so their value in combat is negated."

"I see. Might be the Company knows some folks who'd pay you a fair price for the ones you don't want to keep."

"Might be."

...

The Wolf Dragoons got their camp set up, and the excess vehicles loaded up and sent on two days later via Longhaul. Missy and Call worked to further Temujin's education in English, and the boy proved himself an apt pupil in that regard. Raiding was suspended during the move and setup, and Taylor decided some rest was in order.

"One week's rest and relaxation; light- and essential-duties only," she told her troops. "There will be a drawing for a two-day pass in Choibalsan tonight at supper. Dismissed, Dragoons."

Missy sat down outside her tent and broke Claire down for cleaning. Temujin, having set up a ger tent for himself, sat down with his back propped against his saddle and emulated Missy by pulling a rifle out of a horse-hide case, field-stripping it, and cleaning it.

"What kind of rifle is that, Temujin?" Missy asked as she finished reassembling her Intek.

"My father's rifle; he trade- traded- for it. Is a Winchester Orosyn armi rifle." He held it up, showing the lever-action to her. "I taked- took- it from home, before we goed- went- to catch Ganbaatar," he said, correcting his English as he spoke. "Father traded a two-year-old honey-bay gelding for the rifle when he my age. He sayed-"

"Said, Temujin," Missy corrected his pronunciation gently. "He said, rhymes with 'head'."

"Thank you," said Temujin, flashing a smile. "Father said the rifle kick his shoulder like a horse; it shoots same bullet as Green-Hat's rifle." To illustrate which of Call's two longarms he meant, Temujin laid prone and brought his hands up as if holding a rifle, then used his left to pantomime adjusting a scope's elevation- and windage turrets, all the while mimicking the man's fierce gaze.

"Oh, his SVU; no wonder it kicks. 7.62X54mmR is a good-sized round. Does she shoot good?"

Temujin grinned wide and nodded, using one of Missy's own turns of phrase. "She shoots like a dream." He finished cleaning the Winchester and put it in its case. He looked around, suddenly nervous, and blushed. "Pretty-Smile? Missy? I... I like you muchly, and I... Demii, ene ni angli khel gej yuu ve... I want ask you be minii naiz okhin..."

Missy tilted her head. "I... don't know what that means, Temujin."

"My... I think the English is 'Friend-who-is-Girl'?"

Missy giggled. She couldn't not giggle; Temujin was cute as a puppy when he got bashful like this. "You're asking me to be your girlfriend? Like, to date?" When he nodded, Missy laid a hand on his shoulder. "I don't think we've known each other long-enough to date, Temujin... But we can still be friends and get to know each other better. I like you muchly too. You're very sweet for asking, my friend." She smiled brightly and took Temujin's hand. "Come on; I have some movies from home on my laptop. Have you ever seen Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron?"

...

Taylor and her Point-Commanders, less Anika, who was handling sentry-duty with Bravo Point, and Missy, who was introducing Temujin to American animated-films, sat down around a table in the Mess Tent. Georgia Cuffe from Jackal Point opened a cardboard box by her feet and withdrew two bottles from the case. "Refreshment, Trothkin; Orville got it from one of the Ordnance-Techs at that CIA airfield where the Longhauls and Fighter Star are based." She uncorked the first bottle of airag and poured a generous measure for each of her table-mates into their canteen-cups.

Taylor pulled a deck of cards out of her pocket and started shuffling. "Alright, Dealer's-Choice and we cut for high-card to see who deals first." Taylor ended up dealing first and smiled. "Seven-card Stud, no wild-cards. Small-Blind is two 9mm, Big-Blind is four..." Each person opened a box of captured ammunition and readied to play...

...

Newton Woodrow Call typed up his latest report to the CIA Chief-of-Station in Ulaanbatar and nibbled on a piece of yak-jerky from his pack. After he finished, he closed the program and plugged in his external hard-drive, opened a video-player, and watched as the opening credits of El Dorado began to roll...

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Sofiya Wolf looked at the vehicles parked in the hangar and grinned. Taylor had been as good as her word. There was a full mixed-type Vehicle Star parked inside, not counting the vehicles captured in Mongolia.

There were a Point of Chevalier Light Tanks, two Points of Badger Tracked APCs in the Clan-B configuration, a Point of Anhurs, and the heavy-duty firepower came from the Point of Royal Von Luckners that had been pulled out of mothballs.

Sofiya also smiled at the tarp-covered vehicles that squatted just outside the hangar, waiting for her and her two local proteges. They weren't what the Tikonov-born Point-Commander would have preferred, but for their given task, they would do...

...

"Leslie, Timothy, come with me," Sofiya said an hour later. "Star-Captain Hebert has delivered us the means to continue your training." She tossed folded suits to both. "Get dressed and meet me on the tarmac."

The pair emerged, and Sofiya pointed to the covered units. "Our rides, at least until you two prove yourselves worthy of better. And believe me, 'better' in this context is a very broad category." She whistled and the trucks pulled the tarps off to reveal...

They were big. Timothy Chaplin thought they were even a little badass-looking. His reverie was broken by the Point-Commander saying, "Before you even start thinking of how good these look, or dreaming of winning glory, understand this: The QUA-51T is a commercial unit with military-grade weapons and targeting-systems; it is not a military unit." She smiled grimly, the scars on her face making the effect more ghastly. "If my old Summoner-A was a pedigreed destrier, these Quasits are barded plow-mules. But they will do for now. Mount up."

...

William Fetladral looked at his pupils and grinned. "Excellent work; you five have begun to grasp how to move in Battle-Armor. To refine your skills, we will run the perimeter. Follow me exactly." He turned his suit of IS-Standard and set out at a jog...

...

Emily Piggot looked across her desk at the man sitting before her. "Mister Johns, the last Youth-Guard Representative we had here not only alienated the entire Wards team to the point one of them left to become a mercenary, she also got herself arrested in connection to an attempted hacking. So why should I trust you?"

Avery Johns nodded slowly. "I'll grant you that Caryn Ives' behavior didn't leave much trust..."

Piggot snorted. "None. Whatsoever."

"But she insisted on thinking of the Wards like children, which they are, and not like the capable individuals that they also are. I have better sense than that. I also try to consult the Wards before making decisions that affect them, unlike my predecessor."

"We'll see."

...

Nikolai Zhukov sat in his tent and used Missy's laptop to check his email; the Russian-born Dragoon chuckled when he saw a message from his little sister, Yekaterina. He opened the email to see an audio-file, and when he played it he heard not only his sister but all the guys from the Dockworkers Union, singing...

Spoiler: The Song

As Nikolai Sergeyivich Zhukov felt the tears begin to fall, the song ended, and his sister's voice spoke softly, "Happy birthday, Big Brother. I miss you."

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"Timothy, close up on your interval; you are lagging behind."

"Roger, Point-Commander. Closing on your eight."

It had been two days since Taylor had brought in the newest vehicles to join the Wolf Dragoons, and Sofiya Wolf was hard at work training her two MechWarrior-Trainees, Timothy Chaplin and Leslie Barrett. For the moment, they worked solely on movement; they were still too green for Sofiya to trust them with the weapons in anything but simulation-mode.

Tim's Quasit came back into alignment with Leslie's, forming the left-most point of a three-mech forward-echelon formation with Sofiya's at the forward point. "In position."

"Good. Now, change from Echelon into File, Leslie-leading." Tim guided his Quasit into the middle position of the single-file line as Leslie moved inward and forward to take the lead and Sofiya dropped back to take the trailing position. "Leslie, there should be a waypoint marked on your map; lead us there. The column is yours."

"Understood. Time-limit?"

"One hour."

"Understood. All units, match my heading and increase speed." Leslie's Quasit swung around from walking northwest to walking southwest and eased forward into a jog...

The Quasits approached the waypoint at the edge of the forest and Sofiya radioed to Tim and Leslie, "Weapons up in Sim-mode."

Timothy powered his weapons up and verified they weren't live. He expected yet another simulated battle against the Point-Commander or Leslie. Neither trainee expected Sofiya to broadcast in the clear, "Now!" and two Points of IS-Standard Battle-Armor to burst out of the trees and swarm them. Tim's diagnostics showed simulated damage mounting as he bucked and thrashed his Mech to try and dislodge the stubborn troopers.

"Tim, MGs! You scratch my back; I'll scratch yours!" The two Mechs turned toward each other and swept simulated machine-gun fire over the BA suits, but it was too little, too late as Timothy's right-leg actuators locked and his display went blank; he watched through the canopy as Leslie's Quasit lifted its arms in surrender when one of the troopers made it to her head and put a laser emitter to the canopy.

"Your MechWarrior Cadets seem to have lost this one, Sofiya," remarked Boris from his position in the treeline. "But then, I suppose winning was not your intent."

Sofiya responded dryly, "You suppose correctly, Boris McKenna. Better Leslie and Timothy learn to expect the unexpected and that they are not immortal in a Mech-cockpit now, in training." Sofiya directed the trainees to kneel their Mechs. "I know that your pride is probably stinging; let me tell you what my instructors told me, after I was subjected to a variation of this same scenario. Fuck your Pride. A Mech is the biggest, baddest thing on the battlefield, which means it is also the biggest target on the battlefield. You ride out and every swinging-dick on the other side will be wanting you in their crosshairs and ten victories, or a hundred, or a thousand will mean less than nothing. Because all It takes is one mistake, one moment of complacency, one random Golden-BB of a lucky shot, and you will be dead. Expect anything, plan for everything, take nothing for granted. Thus Endeth the Lesson."

Boris and the instructor of the other BA Point, Lane Bekker, nodded in agreement. Bekker chimed in with, "Point-Commander, you never mentioned you were an Academy-Brat before you were taken as a Bondsman; what school?"

"The best school, Lane. Class of 3049 at the Blackjack School of Conflict."

...

"Polyushko-pole,

polyushko, shiroko pole,

Edut po polyu geroi,

Eh, da krasnoj armii geroi.

Devushki plachut,

Devushkam segodnya grustno,

Milyy nadolgo uyekhal,

Ekh, da milyy v armiyu uyekhal..."

Nikolai sang boldly as he drummed on the hull of the Bandit from his perch atop the turret. Missy had gone for a scout with Temujin and Taylor was in her tent checking intelligence reports. The day was bright, the sky was cloudless and blue, and all was well...

She watched, patiently, silently. She breathed, slowly, softly. She aimed, carefully, steadily. She squeezed...

CRACK.

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CRACK.

The Dragoons heard the shot and saw a spray of something puff up from a swell in the terrain eight-hundred yards distance. As Anika began to reach for her binoculars a dozen concealed MGs opened fire on the camp. "Contact!"

...

A few moments prior...

Missy crawled across the steppe, inching her way closer to the next dip in the landscape under her ghillie-suit and thanking all her lucky stars that her uniform and body-armor was well-insulated; Mongolia in early-March was cold. Temujin's blue mare had caught a scent, and in the course of checking the ground the two scouts had found faint marks where someone had crawled across the ground.

Missy reached the dip and scanned carefully with her rifle, the QBB-88 she had yet to name, looking for any sign of her quarry. The marks were going this way... There! Oh, shit, he's already lining up a shot! The young Dragoon sighted quickly and fired, driving a 5.8x42mm round through the enemy marksman's skull just in front of his right ear.

The echo from her shot had barely begun to fade when Chinese machine-guns opened fire, raking across the camp. Missy watched Temujin dive off his horse, his Winchester in-hand, and go prone off to her left; the sound of his rifle soon joined the cacophony.

"Contact!"

...

Erwin and Holtz got their Savannah Masters started and dashed for the gate, Coyote Point's Odins right behind them. "Bravo-Actual, Dog and Coyote moving to engage!" The four light vehicles exited the camp moving quickly. "Coyote-Actual, Dog will sweep sunwise; your Point will sweep widdershins, confirm?"

"Aff, Dog-Actual. We go anticlockwise, you go clockwise. Good Hunting, Erwin," responded Point-Commander Wilbur Ward.

"Aff, Good Hunting, Wilbur." Erwin and Holtz raced out and turned right, his eyes and TTS searching for the enemy... There! Stirb, du hintergehst Arschlecker!

Erwin's laser flashed and silenced the gunners as Holtz swung out around him and cut back in to lase a second MG-team.

From behind them, Erwin could hear the whip-crack snapping of Coyote-Point's MPLs and SLs, and the muted thumps as the Odin Scout-Tanks brought their Streak-SRMs into play...

"Rockets!" cried Holtz as he side-slipped his Savannah Master around an incoming RPG. Two more slammed into the side of Dog-Two, staggering it, before a third hit the rudder and fan. "Agh! I'm disabled! Dog-Two is down!"

...

As Dog and Coyote attacked into the ambush, the Dragoons' IFVs were getting into the fight as well. Nikolai swore floridly in English and Russian as he wiped blood out of his eyes; in his head-first scramble through the driver's hatch on his Bandit he'd managed to crack his forehead on the instrument panel. "Ready to roll, Michelle!"

"Get us moving, then, Nikolai! Clay, are we weapons-hot?!"

"Gun's up, Michelle!"

"Good! Traverse left and engage! Collier?! Fox-Two-Actual, status?!"

"Kinda busy, Michelle! Armand, traverse left and fucking hit that cocksucker shooting at us! If you hadn't noticed, we're ass-deep in alligators over here!"

...

Taylor darted from cover to cover along the perimeter, blind-firing her Mauser over the lip of the dirt berm as bullets flew and cracked overhead. "All units, status?!" she shouted into her comm.

"Dragoon-Actual, Bravo-Actual; heavy resistance, infantry and IFVs to the south, Alpha- through Delta Points engaged. No casualties."

"Echo-Actual reports same to the east; Echo and Golf attempting to link up with Dog- and Coyote Points. No casualties thus-far."

"Dragoon-Actual, this is Fox-Actual; we are Mobile, Murderous, and Mad-as-Hell, moving east to support Coyote and Dog; Hound Point is doing the same on the south side."

"Jackal Point is lifting off now, Star-Captain; ready for action."

"Tower-House, Tower-House, this is Fighter-Actual; we are inb- Break! Break! Stravag! Dragoon-Actual, we are taking Triple-A, and lots of it! We cannot support you at this time!"

Taylor popped up over the berm and drilled an enemy shooter, then dove back down to avoid return-fire. As she started moving toward the next bit of cover, Taylor heard gunfire from the northwest...

"Star-Captain, enemy infantry coming over the wire, northwest corner!" cried an engineer. "We will hold them off!"

...

Call rushed toward the breach and went prone by the corner of the Mess Tent. He quickly racked the charging-handle on the PKM and started laying down fire across the attacking forces. One attacker managed to brave the torrent of fire from Call and the logistics personnel to come to grips with the CIA agent.

Call rolled away from the machine-gun and stood to meet his foe's charge. He dodged a bayonet-thrust and felt the blade score along his ribs as he tackled the man in CUI camo to the ground; the Chinese soldier gained the upper hand and Call found himself struggling to hold a knife away from his throat...

All at once the soldier vanished, thrown sideways as one of the Vehicle-Techs took a ten-step run-up and buried a fire-axe in the side of his head. "Get up, Sergeant!" she shouted. "Get up! We need your gun!"

...

Lydia Wolf smiled a feral, fang-filled grin as her Star left the burning ruins of the Chinese Antiaircraft unit behind them. "Tower-House, this is Fighter-Actual; we are clear of our trouble and inbound to support you. Tell us where you want our ordnance."

"Fighter-Actual, this is Dragoon-Actual. What ordnance are you carrying?"

"Onboard lasers only, and our hardpoints are hung with Hydra-70s and Mark-82 Snake Eyes with daisy-cutter fuses."

"We will mark our position with red, say again Ruby-Red, smoke, Fighter-Actual. Bring the rain, danger-close."

"Roger, Dragoon-Actual. Fighter-Actual confirms danger-close, friendlies marked with Ruby-Red smoke. ETA one-mike-thirty. Get low."

...

Taylor radioed her troops. "All units, pull back to the compound! Pull back; air strike inbound one minute!"

Taylor watched as the vehicles raced back, Hound-Two braving a merciless barrage of HMG fire to pick up Holtz, Temujin, and Missy. Once they were back inside the wire, Taylor had them form a defensive circle and pop smoke while Jackal Point wheeled and circled, strafing any who got too close.

Missy stepped off of Hound-Two soaked head-to-heel in blood, her pistol in one hand and the broken-off ivory hilt of one of her daggers in the other; her QBB-88 was slung over her shoulder with a noticeable bend in the barrel as if it had been used to block a heavy blow. "There... are Capes..." she wheezed, catching her breath. "Brute... almost took my... fucking head off..."

"Dragoon-Actual, Fighter-Actual. Heads down and ear-pro on; things are about to get very loud..."

"PICKLE!"

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"Fighter Star, form on me, echelon-right. One pass with the Snake Eyes, then scatter by Points and reengage at will with the Hydras," said Lydia, switching her weapons over to the Mk-82 bombs. She radioed Taylor and spoke. "Dragoon-Actual, Fighter-Actual. heads down and ear-pro on; things are about to get very loud."

The fighters reached their release-point and Lydia snarled as she pressed the release. "PICKLE!"

The Mongolian landscape was rocked by the detonations of five-hundred-pound bombs and the howling of fighter-engines as they accelerated and split into pairs. Taylor whooped and added her rifle-fire and grenades to the cacophony. Call sprinted up to her and shouted in her ear. "Good news-Bad news!"

"Bad first!" shouted Taylor.

"Tanks to our north, and plenty! They'll be on us in a few minutes!"

"The good?!"

"Mongolian Army Hinds inbound from Ulaanbataar and American Hornets from a MEU in the Indian Ocean! Mission Accomplished, Star Captain!"

What Taylor roared in his ear next was both unspeakably-vulgar and anatomically-impossible, but she ended with, "The mission isn't over until we exfil!"

Taylor broadcast to her troops, "All units, this is Dragoon-Actual! Rally on me and prepare for withdrawal! Fighter-Actual, blow Dog-Two so the enemy cannot retrieve it, then have your Star clear a path for us. Longhauls, find an LZ west of Tower-House and put down. Confirm, over." The Dragoons responded in the affirmative and they began quickly loading gear onto transports. The fighters reduced the crippled Savannah Master to scrap with rockets and lasers, then started sweeping west as the ground-vehicles rolled out...

...

Two harrowing hours later, the Dragoons arrived at their cargo-planes' LZ. They started rolling vehicles up the ramp and getting them secured. Taylor wiped away the sweat on her brow along with a trickle of blood from a graze. "This is the end of our contract, Sergeant Call. It was a pleasure working with you."

Call nodded. "Same here; it's good having professionals around. You can bet I'll recommend the Dragoons if we need more contract-work done, Star-Captain. Y'all stay safe on your way home."

Missy stepped forward and shook Call's hand with a smile. "Stay safe, Terp; you getting your head blown off would be a waste of a good hat-rack."

Anika called out in surprise as two horses cantered up the ramp onto one of the Longhauls and Temujin bounded down to Taylor and the others. "Green-Hat, Tall-Wolf! I going with you, Tall-Wolf!"

Orville Wright's loadmaster yelled out, "Why are there horses in my cargo-bay?!"

Taylor met Temujin's eyes. "You want to come with us? To America?"

The Mongolian boy nodded rapidly. "I have no family here now; I want to join Dragoons. I fight for you, ride for you, Star-Captain Tall-Wolf..." His gaze drifted sideways toward Missy.

Taylor laughed. "And Missy is with us, as well, eh, Temujin?" She laughed louder when the boy blushed. "For now, get aboard the Longhaul and help me calm the loadmaster; we will settle the paperwork once we reach Choibalsan or Ulaanbataar. After that, we will see about you joining the Wolf Dragoons."

...

As the Dragoons' aircraft flew onward toward Choibalsan and home, Taylor pulled out her datapad and went over her reports. An incoming message beeped, and Taylor opened the message to read it.

Star-Captain Hebert;

Given that your command has grown beyond Trinary-level, your current rank is insufficient. However, in order to achieve eligibility for promotion to Star-Colonel, you must first be a Bloodnamed Warrior; with Annette's death now confirmed, there is an opening. Upon your arrival at Camp Kerensky, I will be awaiting you for transport to Outreach, and from there to the planet Arc-Royal where the Trial of Bloodright is to be held. I have nominated you.

Natasha Kerensky,

Galaxy-Commander

...

Natasha watched as the Dragoons' two trainee Mechwarriors were put through their paces by Sofiya and sipped a cup of coffee...

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Threadmarks 39: Arrivals and Departures New

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#1,191

The Longhauls landed smoothly on the airstrip at Camp Kerensky, followed by the Storks and Fighter Star. As aircraft began to taxi toward their designated hangars, Natasha Kerensky stepped out of the Headquarters building and waited for the returning Dragoons to disembark.

Taylor exited the plane and started directing the offloading before handing it off to Anika and jogging over to Natasha. The teen stopped and saluted. "Good morning, Galaxy-Commander."

Natasha returned the salute and smiled. "Good morning, Star-Captain. Welcome back."

"I trust your stay here has been pleasant?"

"It has. Watching your Warriors train was a pleasant diversion, as was sightseeing here in Brockton Bay."

Taylor smiled and nodded. "It pleases me to hear so. If you will excuse me, however, I need to check in with Administrator Hebert about the current status of the Dragoons. By your leave, Ma'am?"

Natasha nodded. "By all means, attend to your duties, Taylor."

...

After the vehicles had been offloaded and parked, and the personnel had put away their gear, Taylor addressed the troops. "We left here those many weeks ago, and in those weeks we have accomplished much. We came to the aid of those who needed us in Canberra; we saved lives that might otherwise have been lost, and fifteen of us did what was long thought impossible, non-Parahumans going to physical blows with an Endbringer and surviving. We fought in Mongolia, slashing and harrying our foes, taking our well-won prizes, until they could stand it no longer and acted rashly and lunged beyond their length. We avenged innocents. We administered justice to cruel and unjust men. We gained allies and gained a new recruit. We upheld the highest virtues of not only the Wolf Dragoons and Clan Wolf, but of our forebears of the Star League Defense Force. We all came home, and so let me end this speech by saying that I am proud to be your commander, and welcome home, Dragoons. As soon as the vehicles are serviced, you are all dismissed to liberty for the next five days. Fall out, Dragoons!"

"Inspiring," commented one of the Mechwarriors who had come with Kerensky. "It reminded me of Hanse Davion somewhat, or of my father." He extended a hand to her. "Star-Colonel Phelan Ward. Before I was a Wolf I was a Hound, Phelan Kell, of the Kell Hounds mercenary command."

Taylor smiled. "I had heard of you; the Mechwarrior who took Gunzburg without a shot being fired."

Phelan blushed slightly and nodded. "That was me. Natasha wanted me to tell you that we will be departing for Outreach at 0900, three days from now. No telling how long the Trial itself will take, but from Outreach to Arc-Royal will be a decent journey, fourteen jumps, though thankfully Natasha rates a Command Circuit."

"What kind of timeframe is fourteen jumps? I would prefer not to be away longer than necessary."

Phelan shrugged. "With the Command Circuit, three weeks in transit to Arc-Royal, then however long the Trial of Bloodright lasts, then three weeks in transit back to Outreach and here. Without that Command Circuit you would be in transit three months each way."

Taylor shivered at the thought of being gone half a year, but nodded. "I will be ready."

As she went to leave, Phelan spoke again. "Oh, before I forget, Natasha also wanted Biron to come with us."

"Understood."

...

That evening, Taylor sat at the bar in the Black Rifle, a mug of Sniper Hide by her elbow, listening with a grin as Missy regaled Joe the Bartender with the story of her first using Matilde, and Alpha- and Bravo- Points determined who bought the next round of drinks with a round of darts. "Anika, when you finish your turn, come here a moment," Taylor called out. "Missy, a word after you finish your conversation?"

The two Dragoons came over to her. "Anika, Missy, I have news for you, before it gets announced to the rest of the command. You both know how the Dragoons have grown of late; the command is above Trinary-level and closer to a short Cluster now. That means the Wolf Dragoons is a command for a Star-Colonel and not a Star-Captain. I would face a Trial of Position for the rank, but for all I still go by my father's surname I am not a Bloodnamed Warrior and thus ineligible."

"You are to be relieved of command?" asked Gohcourt, her expression concerned.

"Neg. Now that my mother's death has... has been confirmed, there is to be a Trial of Bloodright. Galaxy-Commander Kerensky has nominated me to the Trial; we leave in three days. In my absence, you are in command, Anika. Missy, the Galaxy-Commander specifically requested you accompany us."

Missy's eyes widened. "She requested me specifically? To go to her native dimension?" The girl's grin was wide and bright. "I would be honored."

Anika nodded firmly. "How long will you be gone, Star-Captain?"

Taylor shrugged. "The Trial is to be held on Arc-Royal; according to Star-Colonel Phelan Ward that is a fourteen-jump journey in each direction, three weeks using a Command Circuit. So, six weeks in transit plus the duration of the Trial itself. I have the utmost confidence in you, Anika Gohcourt, to lead the Wolf Dragoons while I and Missy are gone."

Anika nodded again. "Understood, Taylor. Permission to inform the troops, and throw a party to wish you luck?"

"Granted, and before you ask, Missy, permission to call the Wards and invite them to the party also granted. We leave at nine a.m. three days from now."

Anika explained the situation to Joe, who nodded. Anika whistled loudly to draw attention. "Dragoons, I have word! Star-Captain Hebert will be departing in three days' time along with Point-Officer Biron; the Galaxy-Commander nominated Taylor for a Trial of Bloodright, and after that she will likely stand a Trial of Position! She has left me in command in her absence, and my first order is that tonight we will party and wish Star-Captain Hebert luck, and we will wish Star-Colonel Hebert a swift return!"

...

The party that night was loud and enthusiastic, with patrons of all stripes wishing Taylor well and making sure her mug never ran dry. There was music and dancing, telling of stories, drinks in abundance and food aplenty; the Wards were there at Missy's invitation, and much fun was had.

After all was said and done, Kid Win remained behind. "Star-Captain?"

"Yes, Kid Win?"

"I... You know what, fuck it." He removed his headgear to bare his face. "My given name's Chris."

"Taylor; a pleasure to meet you face-to-face, Chris."

"I wanted to wish you luck, and..."

...

The day of their departure, Taylor and Missy accompanied Natasha and Phelan onto the tarmac and into a truck, and as the Galaxy-Commander pressed the recall-button on her datapad, in one disorienting moment they crossed dimensions; when the group were stable again they looked around and took in their surroundings. "...not in Kansas anymore..."

"I know the feeling, Taylor," said Missy. The group drove the truck out of the field and up to a hangar.

Natasha turned to face the teens. "Welcome to the city of Harlech, on Outreach. Our Dropship departs at three this afternoon, and the local time is nine in the morning. Here in town you are permitted your sidearms, and Star-Colonel Ward here will be your guide. You are dismissed until one-thirty."

After Phelan, Taylor, and Missy had walked out onto the sidewalk, Taylor asked, "Where is a good Thai or Thai-equivalent restaurant, Star-Colonel?"

...

Several hours, one use of her powers by Missy to speed up the rendezvous of the Invader-Class Jumpship Strider and the Sassanid-Class Dropship Growl, a docking, and a Jump to Procyon later, both Taylor and Missy regretted their decision to have Thai earlier that day.

Taylor floated in zero-g and watched as a filled bag floated past her, groaning softly as her vision swam and her stomach rebelled. Phelan knocked on the bulkhead. "Are you alive, Star-Captain?"

"I have been better," crooked Taylor.

"I can tell. It seems to be a nasty case of TDS, Transit Disorientation Syndrome. Essentially space-sickness. Missy is the same way, if that is any comfort."

Taylor snarled something unintelligible but likely profane at Phelan Ward before scrambling for another space-sickness bag...

Last edited: Jan 19, 2018

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Threadmarks Interlude: The Wolf-Hound, Pt. 1 New

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#1,207

"Enjoying yourselves?" asked Phelan Ward as he sat down across from Missy and Taylor in the Mess-Deck of the Growl after their jump from Outreach to Procyon; the Dropship was moving from their arrival at the Nadir Jump-Point to a waiting Jumpship at the outer edge of the Jump-Point, recharging. Natasha had, after their power-assisted rendezvous with the Jumper over Outreach, 'requested' that Missy not use her powers like that again outside of an emergency.

Taylor looked up from her bowl of oatmeal and glared. "I was, until we jumped."

Ward laughed a bit. "Congratulations on being part of the nine-to-fifteen-percent of the general population who suffer from Transit Disorientation Syndrome, or Jump-Sickness. Count yourselves lucky that you are both ground-forces troops; TDS for a Spacer or ASF Pilot is a career-ending malady."

Missy finished the last of her coffee and nodded to both of the others. "If you need me, Taylor, I plan to be in the Sims or the Gym."

After Missy had left, Taylor looked across the table at Phelan. "You know, something just refuses to add up about you, Star-Colonel..."

Phelan met her eyes. "How so?"

"I read about you in my datapad's files; your record and accomplishments. A grand example of integration between the peoples of the Inner Sphere and the Clans. Yet here you are, sitting on the Mess-Deck of a Dropship, talking to a thoroughly-unorthodox Star-Captain who is far, far outside her comfort zone."

"I find myself detached from my normal duties at the behest of Khan Ulric; the Dragoons in your dimension are of great interest to him, as are you; some would go so far as to call you a ristar, given your record thus-far. The Khan felt it prudent to send me, a Freeborn ristar myself, to help guide you, and to... keep watch for any potential difficulties, if you take my meaning."

"I do indeed take your meaning, Star-Colonel Phelan Ward. On a more-relevant note, is there any advice you could give me regarding the Trial of Bloodright?" Taylor took a sip of her tea.

"Expect anything, prepare for everything, and take nothing for granted; in these duels, death is not uncommon." Phelan leaned forward. "In my own Trial of Bloodright, my final opponent was Vladimir Wolf, ironically the same man who first captured me on the Rock. I won the right to attack and chose Light Battlemechs. He faced me in a Locust IIC-3, a Light 'Mech armed with two Small Pulse-Lasers and an ER-Large Laser; I was piloting my Wolfhound IIC, 'Grinner', with an ERLL, three MPLs, and a rear-facing ERML. I had bid away all my weapons save the ERLL and one MPL, and though he was a slippery one I managed to destroy his Locust's right leg. Vlad surrendered, but then yelled that he refused to be defeated by a 'Spheroid Freebirth' and fired at Grinner's back."

Phelan sighed. "He and I never liked one another, but I never went into that duel with the specific intention of killing him. When he fired that last Alpha-Strike, it very-nearly killed me; the ER-Large and one SPL found a thin spot in my torso armor and slagged two heat-sinks, and the second pulse-laser almost breached my cockpit... I stomped in his cockpit with Grinner's foot in retaliation."

Taylor nodded. "I see... Luckily for me, I know of no enemies I have made among the Clan."

Phelan snorted. "And unluckily for you, the Bloodname you are fighting for is one of the most prestigious in all the Clans, which means your foes will fight that much more fiercely. There will be thirty-one people gunning for your head and each other's in pursuit of the Kerensky Bloodname, Taylor Wolf."

Phelan stood and stretched. "After you have finished eating, Natasha wanted to see you in her quarters, so as to teach you more about the Clans, and your mother. Good day, Star-Captain Taylor of the Wolf Dragoons."

"Good day, Star-Colonel Phelan Ward; do be Watchful."

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Jan 21, 2018

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#1,252

Point-Commander Alvin Barrister cradled his M61A closer as he watched his men prep for their next job, playing OpFor against the Wards-ENE and three teams from the PRT-ENE.

"Hamid! We ready?!" he called out across the room to his second-in-command.

"Ready, Barrister," responded Hamid Almaghribi, settling his jump-pack on his back and attaching his Gunther MP-20 SMG to its sling.

As the twenty-five men and women of Yankee Point moved out to board their transport to the training-area, an abandoned industrial-park near the Docks, Barrister fingered his good-luck charm, the Jump Wings he'd earned at Fort Benning before being posted to the All-Americans at Fort Bragg. The former Airborne Sergeant put his jump-pack in the back of an SX2110 with those of his Point and climbed into the cab, while Hamid boarded the second truck that carried the troops.

As they rolled out, Barrister keyed his radio. "Hamid, give them their last-minute briefing."

The Moroccan-born trooper began to speak, his Berber-accented English quiet and calm. "We are training against the Wards East-Northeast and PRT East-Northeast Strike Teams One, Three, and Five. They will be designated 'Bullfrog'; their objective is to root us out of the operational area, the former Heston Industrial Park, and secure a designated building with a mock Tinker's workshop inside. We will be defending that workshop and the Tinker within; the exercise is considered a victory for us if we eliminate all attacking forces or prevent the workshop and Tinker from being captured by nightfall."

"Now, the players: The Wards are Aegis, Kid Win, Clockblocker, Shadow Stalker, and Gallant; Triumph just graduated to the Protectorate. Strike Teams are four Troopers each, all prior-military or prior-LEO. As I said before, they are callsign 'Bullfrog'. Yankee Point is for this exercise callsign 'Scorpion', the workshop is designated 'Pyramid', and Vehicle-Technician Winry Wolf is our Tinker, designated 'River'. River is already in place; all that remains is for us to arrive and set up our defense."

Hamid took a breath and continued. "Safety Briefing: Those of you with ballistic weapons verify that you are loaded with Sim-Munitions only; energy-weapons, verify you are set to Sim-Mode power-setting only. Lasers, no deliberate shots to the face; ballistics, no headshots at all inside twenty-five feet. Close combat is to be medium-contact only, blades kept scabbarded at all times. Keep your masks on at all times unless the all-clear has been given. In case of a medical emergency, Whippet Point is on standby and reachable on radio-channel two. Violate these rules and not only will you not get paid, I and Barrister will see to it you get every shit-detail possible for two weeks. Do I make myself clear?"

"Aff, Hamid."

"I said, Do I Make Myself Clear, Yankee Point?!"

"AFF, HAMID!"

"Good. The plan is to stay mobile, use the abundant cover, and fight asymmetric; ambushes, Yankees, ambushes."

...

Sofiya Wolf sat at the Mess-Hall table across from Danny, Anika, and Lydia. "Point-Commander Gohcourt, Administrator Hebert, I am happy to announce that Hotel-, India-, and Juliet- Points have met the standards of their instructors, as have my two Mechwarrior Trainees, Barrett and Chaplin. They are all ready for final testing and certification at your leisure."

"Good," said Anika with a smile. "Once they are tested, we will be able to dispatch Charlie Point to Fort Benning as instructor-trainers with the Army's Battle-Armor Program. I am surprised that Yankee Point was trained and certified so fast, however."

Danny nodded. "Alvin Barrister is a former Sergeant from the 82nd Airborne, and his second, Hamid Almaghribi, immigrated here from Tangier ten years ago. He claims to have been 'just a rifleman' in the Moroccan Royal Army, but Barrister and I have our doubts. For one when he is distracted he moves less like me and more like one of the Elementals; for another his name, if translation serves, means 'Hamid the Moroccan', which strikes me odd just a bit."

...

Lisa watched the site of her team's next job carefully, taking note of guard rotations and patrol-routes, possible choke-points and ambush-sites, and sighed. "I'm sure of it now; the Boss wants us dead..."

"Poor taste in bosses, I'd say," commented a female voice from behind Tattletale. The blonde Thinker rolled onto her back, reaching for her pistol, only to come nose-to-muzzles with a twenty-gauge howdah pistol, in the hand of a tall woman, dressed... Flamboyantly.

She wore tight trousers and cuff-topped boots up to her knees, a white blouse under a black long-coat with Wolf-Dragoons tanker insignia at the shoulders, and a wide-brimmed black-felt hat with one side of the brim pinned up and what appeared to be an ostrich feather in the band.

"How the Hell-" Lisa froze mid-sentence as the Dragoon shook her head.

"Ah-ah-ah; no talking just yet. I have some questions for you first. For example, why were you watching us so hard? I get the feeling you weren't just curious about how dashing we look."

"I-" She suspects I'm here to recon the Camp. Doesn't want to shoot me but will shoot without hesitation if provoked. Not a born-Dragoon; adopted like Vista was. "I was sent to scout you out for my team's boss. He wanted us to try stealing equipment from you. I'm Tattletale, from the Undersiders, and I'm pretty certain my boss wants to see me and my team dead."

The woman smiled. "Naughty-naughty, Miss Tattletale," said the Dragoon with a grin. "Spying on us so, how rude. Do stand up now; oh, by the way, my name is Florian." The now-named Florian kept her pistol trained on Lisa while extending her other hand to help the Undersider up.

She's not going to kill me. She's going to-

Tattletale's thoughts, Thinking, and grab for her own gun were all cut off by Florian cold-cocking her with the butt of the howdah pistol. Florian pulled a radio out of her coat and keyed up. "Getta, could you or Mandy bring the Howling Wind around to the South Fence? And, if you could, bring something I could use as a Bondcord?"

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Threadmarks 41: Decisions, Decisions New

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"I must have misheard you, Point-Commander Florian Sparrow; I thought you said you had taken a spy as a Bondswoman," said Anika in a low voice.

"You heard correctly, Point-Commander Anika Gohcourt. I found her spying on the South Fence perimeter and confronted her. She admitted to having been sent to recon us in preparation for a raid; I knocked her out and intend to take her as a Bondswoman."

"You do realize, I hope, that it will be seen as you having taken her as a slave. It could very easily have very negative repercussions on the command as a whole."

"I'm awake... I'm awake..." mumbled the girl in question as she regained consciousness. She sat up slowly, looking around. "Oh, God; I've been captured..."

Florian and Anika turned to face the cot where Tattletale sat. "Ah, you are awake," said Anika. "Florian informs me that you were caught spying and admitted to planning a raid, quiaff?"

Tense. Ready to strike. Doesn't want to hit me; will hit me if I lie.

"Yes. Our boss ordered my team to break in and steal equipment from you; I was scouting your perimeter when..." Calling Florian by name right now disrespectful; will be hit for that; rank, call her by rank; Florian defers to you; you're her boss... "when your subordinate, whose proper rank I do not know, caught me."

Anika nodded. "I am Point-Commander Anika Gohcourt, the Executive Officer of the Wolf Dragoons here in Brockton Bay; the woman who captured you is Point-Commander Florian Sparrow. You will address us both by rank, or by rank and name. Now, what is your name?"

"Tattletale," she answered by reflex, then froze as Anika's eyes narrowed. "Lisa, Lisa Wilbourn, Point-Commander Gohcourt."

"Due to the... delicate nature, of the Dragoons' relationship with the authorities here, certain practices present difficulties. Florian intends to take you as a Bondswoman, Lisa, and that is something not easily-justified here. Thus, I am prepared to offer you a very small selection of options. Listen carefully, and take heed."

Anika counted on her fingers. "Your choices are that we interrogate you and then turn you over to the PRT; Florian takes you as a Bondswoman, and we still interrogate you; you defect to us and we interrogate you; or Bondsref, Refusal of Bond, and you take your own life."

"What would being a Bondswoman entail, Point-Commander Gohcourt?"

Florian spoke. "You would work to earn your keep, be considered a member of the Laborer- or Technician Caste, though lower than those born or recruited into such. I, as your Bondholder, would be responsible for educating you in Clan traditions, accountable for your actions, and responsible for your wellbeing. After an amount of time determined by me, you would be freed, either repatriated to your previous group or adopted into Clan Wolf and the Wolf Dragoons. That said, while under Bond, you would, nominally at least, be considered 'property' of the Dragoons."

"Just like you were, once..." mused Lisa aloud. "Since you would interrogate me no matter what choice I make, here is some intelligence. My team, the Undersiders, are employed and bankrolled by Coil. He's a Thinker of some sort; likes to claim his power is 'Destiny-Manipulation', but I think it's mostly showmanship and probability-manipulation. He has feelers everywhere, including moles in the PRT. Each of us on the team, he has some form of leverage over, and he press-ganged me into his employ with a 'choice' of join or die."

She took a breath and tried to relax. "If you hand me over to the PRT, he'll have me out again within days, assuming I'm not simply killed. If I defect openly, he'll do his best to have me killed; I know too much about his operations. I will not commit suicide." She shivered despite herself. "That leaves becoming a Bondswoman..."

Anika sighed. "Keep Bondswoman Lisa out of public view, Florian, and carry out your duties."

...

Taylor smiled happily as she stepped off the Growl and onto the solid ground of Arc-Royal. Behind her, Missy laughed at a joke told by Star-Colonel Ward. Natasha stood next to Taylor and said, "The Trial begins tomorrow morning. Be ready."

"Aff, Galaxy-Commander."

"For today, consider yourself at liberty, Star-Captain."

Missy and Taylor started walking from the spaceport into the city of Old Connaught...

...

The next morning, Taylor faced her first opponent, a massive Elemental from Alpha Galaxy named Alec. Choice of weapons had been granted to Alec and choice of ground to Taylor; their duel would be fought with laser pistols, martial arts, and knives, in an open field outside the city.

Taylor heard the command to begin and dove aside as Alec fired, rolling up into a kneeling position and firing her own sidearm. She fired once, twice, thrice; her opponent hurled himself to the ground to avoid the trio of lasers that would have hit him center-mass.

Alec fired again, from the prone, and as Taylor rolled aside once more she was a hair too slow. The laser burned along her side and made Taylor bite her tongue to keep silent. Taylor regained her feet and saw that Alec had stood as well; Taylor rushed him, ripping her combat knife free of its scabbard; once she got within a few yards she threw the knife at the Elemental, distracting him as he dodged it. When he straightened again, Taylor was already firing. Two lasers flashed out and struck Alec in the chest; he tried to lift his pistol, but before he could, everything went dark...

As Taylor walked off the field, victorious, she smiled. One down, four more to go...

...

Thomas Calvert walked out to his car, pulled out his cellphone, and split timelines.

In Timeline-A, he called one of his mercenary teams; in Timeline-B, he called a contact of his in the PRT. In both, he said the same thing.

"Find Tattletale."

Last edited: Feb 4, 2018

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Threadmarks 42: Big Iron, Pt. One New

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#1,310

The dawn broke over Brockton Bay and Camp Kerensky, the serene quiet of the new day broken by the sounds of birds waking, and of Alvin Barrister's Point running in formation, the former All-American belting out a cadence.

"Longhaul bird a-rollin' down the strip!

Jump-Pack Daddy gonna take a little trip!

Stand up, Hook up, shuffle to the door!

Jump right out and count to four!

If my Main don't open wide!

I've got a Reserve by my side!

If that one should fail as well!

Then look out, Devil, I'm a-comin' to Hell!"

They continued on, and their voices faded into the distance...

...

Uber and L33t gathered their equipment and made sure that the Snitch was fully-charged. "You sure about this, Bro?" asked the Thinker.

"Yup. I spent months on these bad boys, making sure every bit of them is all-new, just to keep them from failing." The Tinker turned to their minions and called out, "Gerry, are they loaded?"

"They're loaded and on the trucks."

...

Sofiya Wolf was pulling guard on the main gate when two flatbed trucks rolled up and stopped. From the cabs emerged the duo Erwin had called 'Uber' and 'L33t', dressed in pilots' coveralls. "Gentlemen," she greeted them warily, "I hope for your sakes that you are not here to cause trouble..." Behind her, Armand from Fox Point radioed back to HQ.

Uber shook his head. "Just here to issue a challenge; my partner and I have a pair of machines to test, and we figured the Dragoons would be good opponents to test them against. Plus, beating you would make for some very impressive bragging-rights."

Armand relayed the challenge back to Anika, and the Dragoons' XO responded that she and Danny were en route. Not ten minutes later, Anika and Danny arrived riding on the hull of Lurcher-Two, and Sofiya brought her up to speed.

Anika faced Uber and L33t, her blue eyes unwavering. "You issue batchall, the prize to be the right to boast of defeating us?" She smiled. "We accept your challenge; what forces would you bring against us?"

L33t handed her a tablet with their machines' specs on it, and she read the headers aloud. "Romeo X-ray dash Seven-Niner Golf, Echo Zulu Eight Variant... And Oscar Zulu dash Zero-Six Mike Sierra... A moment, gentlemen, while we determine who shall face you." She relayed the specs to the other Dragoons, and the bidding began...

...

On Arc-Royal, Taylor climbed out of her Elemental armor after having beaten her second opponent, a cautious-natured Elemental named Julia. Her laser was toast, the emitter crushed by the battle-claws of her foe's suit, and the torso armor was shredded and half-melted. Her visor was broken and blood still ran sluggishly down over her left eye; by all accounts, Taylor had taken a mauling before she was able to disengage and strike back, using a vicious headbutt to knock Julia sprawling and then a kick to knock her unconscious...

Missy jogged up to her, grinning. "You look like Hell," the girl said simply.

"I feel like Hell," Taylor replied. "You've been out in town more than me; know any good restaurants? I feel like relaxing tonight, once I get my head stitched up and a soak in; I feel like I just went ten rounds with Alexandria."

Missy giggled a bit. "I had this one pub recommended to me by a retired mercenary I met the other day. Hadn't eaten there yet, though. Get cleaned up, Taylor, and we'll see how good the Mucky Duck's menu is."

...

A/N: Okay, Readers, a short chapter for y'all... And a challenge. Using the latest Dragoons TO&E, suggest for me some bids to face Uber and L33t. I'll use the winning bid for the actual fight next chapter, and mention who bid it.

That Guy. Yes, That Guy.

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"I bid First Nova, less Dog Point," said Anika. "They are unknown units with unknown capabilities beyond the theoretical specifications listed; better to err on the side of caution."

The commander of Lurcher-Two, Richard Riddick, poked his bald head out of his Chevalier and spoke in a rumbling voice. "Point Commander Connors wanted me to relay her bid; Mastiff-One's radio is down for maintenance. She bids her tank, Barrett's Quasit, and Hotel-, India-, and Juliet Points."

For a long moment, no one spoke... Anika nodded and said, "Relay to Point Commander Connors that I say 'Bargained well and done'."

...

"Barrett, start your Quasit and rendezvous with Points Hotel, India, and Juliet, as well as Mastiff-One, at LZ Cormorant."

"Roger that, Dragoon-Two. Mech-One en route." Leslie jogged out to the hangar and climbed into her Quasit, connecting cooling lines and sensor leads before initiating the startup process. She felt the first rush of heat over her exposed arms and grinned under her neurohelmet.

The system-voice challenged her with the words, "My first taste of killing was at Vicksburg; I must have shot me a hundred men..."

Leslie Jewel Barrett responded by completing the lyric from the Chris LeDoux song Hair-Trigger Colt .44, "I learned to make my living with a sixgun; I'm an outlaw now but I was a hero then."

"Reactor, Online. Sensors, Online. Weapons, Online. All Systems, Nominal."

Leslie brought her Mech out of the hangar and turned, throttling up to a jog as she passed by the markers for Landing-Zones Albatross, Bluebird, and Kingfisher. As she made her approach to the largest 'Landing Zone' on base, Leslie saw the IFF markers for the three Battle-Armor Points and the Von Luckner appear on her sensors. The Dragoon Mechwarrior opened her comms. "Mastiff-One and all BA callsigns, this is Mech-One; I saw the listing of our opponents' units and wanted to give you all a quick brief based on what I know from the source material they are based on. Depending on how close they match the source specs, expect them to be extremely nimble; seventy-tonners that move like thirty-tonners. Also, unless you intend to kill, it would be advisable to avoid torso shots, as both units have the cockpits in the chest; the heads are purely cameras and sensors."

Any further briefing was cut off by their arrival. Standing across the LZ from them were the mobile-suits, a green Leo and the Ez8 Gundam. Leslie looked and nodded to herself. "Okay, if all the weapons-mounts I see are live, here is their armament. The tan one is the Ez8 Gundam; two 37mm rotary autocannon in the head and a 12.7mm rotary HMG in the torso. It lacks the shield, but the handheld gun is a 100mm autocannon, Type-37. Twenty-round box magazine, 500-round-per-minute rate of fire if true to the source material. The green one is a Leo and appears to be stock without the shield, so no hard-mounted weapons. The handheld there is a 105mm rifle."

Leslie stopped and watched as Mastiff-One and Juliet Point strode forward to make their challenges...

...

Taylor leaned back in her chair, sipping a cup of tea on the patio of a Capellan restaurant on the outskirts of Old Connaught while she caught up with the latest reports from back home. Missy, meanwhile, was doing PT with a Sibko from Wolf City; the same Sibko, in fact, whose Instructor she'd hospitalized for trying to seize her a couple days before. The Elemental had taken a look at the young Dragoon's Codex and offered Surkai for disbelieving her, and Missy had accepted with all due grace. She and Sibko Instructor Point-Commander Vlad had become, if not friends, then at least courteous nodding acquaintances, and Missy had started training with his Sibko to round out her education in Clan history and customs.

Taylor looked up as Vlad's Sibko ran past in a neat column-of-twos, Vlad at the head and Missy off to the left calling a ribald cadence she'd learned from Barrister in Brockton Bay, the lyrics altered to fit the Inner Sphere.

"One, Two, Three and a Quarter!

I'm going out with the Archon's daughter!

Archon, Archon, she's a big sucker!

She don't know but I done..."

They passed by and out of hearing before Taylor heard the last few lyrics, though she could well-imagine what the Archon didn't know, that rhymed with 'sucker'. Taylor made a note to talk with Missy about her choice of cadences; Arc-Royal was a Lyran world, and jodies about Lyran royalty might not be well-taken.

A slim figure exited the restaurant onto the patio and looked around. Taylor saw the Wolf uniform and ASF-pilot insignia on it, and called out, "Good morning, Star-Commander; this seat is free." Taylor nudged the chair opposite her out with one foot and the pilot sat, smiling.

"Thank you, Star-Captain...?"

"Taylor. From Wolf Dragoons Trinary, Beta Galaxy, Star-Commander...?"

"Chelsea. From Blue Keshik, Iota Galaxy." Taylor nodded, taking in Chelsea's appearance and noting the young woman's keen resemblance to herself. Chelsea and Taylor had similarly-shaped faces and their eyes and hair were identical, save for the pilot's having her hair cut shorter than Taylor's. Before Taylor could remark on it, Chelsea beat her to the punch. "You and I seem to favor each other, Star-Captain Taylor; if it would not be impertinent to ask, what Bloodheritage are you from?"

Taylor smiled. "I was about to ask the same of you, actually. I am Freeborn, though my mother was of the Kerensky Bloodheritage. Annette Kerensky, a Star-Captain herself. And you?"

Chelsea chuckled. "Trueborn, gene-daughter of Star-Colonel Marcus Chi'in... And Star-Captain Annette Kerensky. By Spheroid standards that would make us half-sisters, Star-Captain."

"Small world, I suppose." The two sat for a long while, chatting and telling war-stories, until evening...

...

Anika watched the combatants prepare for their fight. "I am the Oathmaster," she intoned, abbreviating the normal beginning of a Trial by Combat. "Let all present bear witness. Uber, Leet, do you understand the terms of this Trial?"

"We do," responded Uber in a tone of intense focus.

"Begin!"

Juliet Point bounded forward, weaving to avoid counter-fire as they honed in on the Leo piloted by Leet. Meanwhile, Mastiff-One lurched forward, its turret traversing to aim at Uber's Ez8. The Star-League-Variant Von Luckner's twin LB10-X autocannon thundered, the shells sailing past the gundam's left hip, and Uber responded by ripping a five-round burst off with the Type-37, missing close-beside the tank with all five rounds just before a volley of SRMs slammed into the Ez8's torso and demolished the .50-caliber RMG.

Juliet Point closed the distance and leapt toward the Leo's legs and torso; Leet reflexively swung the barrel of his 105mm rifle and swatted Juliet-Five, Lacey Fratello, out of the air to land unmoving on the hard ground, her armor's chest dented badly. Juliet-Four, Lacey's husband Kurt, snarled with rage over an open radio channel. Juliet-One, -Two, and -Three set to work with their suits' right-arm-mounted Small Lasers, going after joints and actuators in a textbook Anti-Mech Swarm; Kurt used his own SL to start burning through the latches that held the cockpit hatch closed.

Leet panicked. "Shit!" In his haste to dislodge the Battle-Armor Point he dropped his suit's rifle and used its massive open hands to try and scrape them off.

"Withdraw!" called Point-Commander Alice Walker. The four Dragoons leapt back and away, Alice taking care to put an SL burst into the discarded rifle. As they landed, they noted with satisfaction that Lacey had been pulled clear of the field by Hotel Point and the Medics were getting her armor off to treat her.

Mastiff-One had never slowed down in its advance; as Uber danced the Ez8 aside from the Von Luckner's attempted-ramming the tank continued forward, the turret swinging around to retarget him even as he wheeled the mobile-suit nimbly and stitched the rear of the hull with shells from his head-mounted autocannon. One shell fired true and shattered Mastiff-One's left drive-sprocket and track, immobilizing the tank. A hard kick from the gundam dented the turret-ring and burst hydraulic lines, rendering Mastiff-One unable to continue combat.

Juliet Point rushed to swarm Leet's Leo again, and the green mobile-suit tried to dodge. Juliet-Two and -Three missed and were forced to reset for another attempt, but Alice and Kurt landed successfully. Alice burned out the cameras and sensors in the Leo's head while Kurt went back to work on the cockpit hatch. The other two Juliet-Point Dragoons, Nick Tillman and Jane Beck, slammed themselves into the backs of the Leo's knees and pumped laser-fire into the joints while clinging stubbornly onto their enemy's thighs. Leet scooped up his discarded rifle as his other hand swept Alice off his suit's shoulder; lacking the head-camera he was forced to rely on the secondary camera and radar built into the rifle. He took aim and pressed the trigger, but the earlier scourging the weapon had taken from Alice's laser had damaged the feed- and firing-mechanisms. The first shot fired and the shell's detonation nearby her hurled Juliet-One aside like a ragdoll; the next shell, however, didn't come fully into battery before its electrical primer made contact and fired. The rifle exploded as the remaining ammunition cooked off in a chain-reaction and destroyed the Leo's arms up to the elbow.

"Fuck, Fuck, FUCK! I'm out of the match, Uber! Shutting down now!" Leet knelt the Leo and shut it down.

Leslie marched her Quasit forward to meet the Ez8. "I will be your next opponent, Uber. I am Mechwarrior Leslie J. Barrett, of the Wolf Dragoons First Mech Star."

"Barrett, Barrett... Handsome Jack Barrett's daughter?"

"His granddaughter. What of it?"

"Nothing, I just never knew that the Bay's last Mob Capo Pre-Scion had any family left in this city; I thought they'd all been wiped out by the Teeth or else run away." Uber's tone was mocking as he dropped the twenty-round magazine from his Type-37 and slotted a fresh one into the gun.

Leslie grinned maniacally and used her Quasit's right hand to flip Uber the bird. "Well, I don't run, and we Wolves have sharper teeth than the Butcher's boys. Now get ready to get wrecked, you button-mashing noob." She brought her right arm level and sent a shot from her Medium Laser at the Ez8's head as she jinked aside and started circling to her right. Gotta get close, she thought, gotta get close so his agility means shit...

Uber brought the Type-37 up and started turning to engage her, his unit's head scored along the left side and one 37mm a smoking ruin. He didn't waste words taunting Leslie; he brought the pipper over the Quasit's torso and triggered a burst just as the Dragoon 'Mech planted one foot and changed course; three of the five rounds missed over the Quasit's shoulder, and the other two slammed hard into the right torso and hip. Shattered armor flew and the Quasit stumbled, but recovered, and bored in closer and closer...

Leslie reached up under the visor of her neurohelmet to wipe sweat from her eyes, and shifted aside again to avoid a stream of shells from another burst. Her ML flashed again, scoring armor across the Ez8's legs, and a salvo from her left-arm SRM-4 leapt from their tubes and hammered at the gundam's torso. As her heat steadily rose, Leslie fired the laser again in concert with her torso-mounted MG and reduced the Ez8's head to scrap. She immediately cut left and turned to face Uber's right side, her SRMs ready to launch again.

Inside the Ez8's cockpit, Uber growled and fought the controls; much like the Leo, the loss of the Ez8's head meant his only sensors were the ones integrated into his Type-37. As he turned to track Barrett a hailstorm of impacts rocked the gundam and he felt it suddenly tilt. Status-displays blacked out his unit's right leg, destroyed. The Ez8 slammed down onto its back, arms spread, and as its right hand struck the ground the Type-37 still gripped in its right hand fired...

...

Leslie Barrett saw Uber start turning and dropped her targeting pipper onto his right knee. "Oh, no you don't..." Leslie linked her triggers and fired an alpha-strike into the gundam's leg as it faced her. The joint exploded as the ML, MG, SRMs and dumb-fired LRMs ripped away armor and actuators. She watched, panting from the massive heat-spike, as her Quasit shut itself down and the Ez8 toppled backward. When its arm struck the ground and the Type-37 fired, she stared with horror as time seemed to slow...

...

Leet had opened the Leo's cockpit and used the zip line to come down; his ears were ringing from the cacophony of the battle and his throat and mouth were, as his dad once put it, 'dry as a popcorn fart'. He had just stepped off the line onto the ground when the Ez8 fell and the Type-37 fired. Four of the five shells sailed away into the distance without striking anything, but the fifth shell rocketed over Leet's head and slammed through the open hatch of the cockpit where he'd just been.

Leet hurled himself to the ground out of instinct; when he rose, Dragoons were there to help him up and lead him to the docs. No one commented on his awkward gait or the smell coming from his coveralls... God Almighty, if I hadn't come down when I did...

...

Uber lay in his cockpit, unmoving. Barrett hailed him; he didn't respond. Anika hailed him; he didn't respond. Leet, having borrowed fresh coveralls from Lurcher-Two's driver, Dominic Toretto, approached and opened a panel to release the cockpit latches. The Dragoons and Leet crowded around and saw Uber inside, twisted in his straps and knocked unconscious by the fall of his gundam...

...

Taylor watched the video feed as Chelsea danced across the sky in a nimble Avar Omnifighter, her opponent in his own Avar trying desperately to gain position on her.

The other pilot suddenly broke right, Chelsea following. Chelsea was piloting the 'B' configuration Avar, mounting two Large Pulse-Lasers in the nose and an ER-Medium Laser in each wingtip; her opponent was in the slightly-heavier 'A' loadout, with ERMLs in the wingtips and an aft-facing MPL (which Chelsea had destroyed early in their fight), and a nose-mounted LRM-20 with integrated Artemis-IV FCS. He needed to open the range in order to bring his missiles into play, so Chelsea's opponent continued his roll into a low-yoyo turn and went to full-throttle.

Chelsea turned with him, the Star-Commander quickly getting back into position. The other pilot saw her and made the worst, and last, mistake of his life. He chopped his throttle and kicked his rudder hard left, trying to skid his fighter and force Chelsea to overshoot, but he'd misjudged his timing and only slowed his Avar down in a fight where speed was life.

Chelsea eased her rudder over and porpoised her nose, coming up and then back down onto her target, and put shots from both her LPLs through the back of her foe's cockpit. As her opponent's Avar spiralled toward the ground, Chelsea circled around and roared low over the crowd, slowly rotating through a leisurely victory-roll...

Taylor smiled; her half-sister had just won her second duel...

...

A/N: The winning bid (slightly modified) was placed by AquaHawk0085 and I thank you for it, my friend.

Last edited: Feb 24, 2018

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Uber was resting in the Camp Kerensky Clinic, his eyes still unfocused from the concussion he'd sustained during the Trial. Leet sat by his bed, drinking a bottle of Gatorade as he edited the footage of their battle against the Dragoons on a laptop. "There, that should do it." He uploaded the video to their site and smiled. Ironically, he and Uber weren't the most injured combatants. The crew of the tank that had initially faced Uber were banged up and bruised, but two of the Battle-Armor troops, Alice and Lacey, were resting in neighboring beds with not only concussions but several broken bones. Alice had her right arm and leg in casts, but Lacey, the one he'd slapped out of the air with his Leo's rifle-barrel, had several broken ribs and a broken breastbone, and the impact had caused her heart to briefly stop.

Leet felt bad about that; he was many things, but a deliberate killer wasn't one of them. The Dragoons fought even the simplest of training-spars as if their lives were on the line, he'd come to realize, and that kind of intensity almost scared the Tinker...

He shook his head to clear it and sighed. The Ez8 might be repairable, but the Leo was a total write-off. The head was scrap, the arms were scrap, the legs were maybe still usable but had been savaged around the knees by lasers; the torso was utterly ruined, since the shot that hit his cockpit had also punched through and cored out the power-plant. Thank God I installed all those failsafes on the reactor; I much prefer my suit not be Made of Explodium, thanks...

A slim girl walked into the clinic, a towel around her neck. "Hey," she said, waving. "I'm Leslie. I was the pilot who took your partner down; figured I'd stop by and check on you both, and the others. That was some scrap, eh?"

Leet chuckled wryly. "It certainly was. Another loss for Uber and me, but that's sadly par for the course. It was a close one, though; I suppose a close loss instead of a Curbstomp Battle is a sort of win for us these days."

"Maybe so," replied Leslie. "You both fought well; in better units and with better training you might have won. I have to ask one thing though..."

Leet nodded. "Shoot."

"I can understand the choice of the Ez8, but why in the name of all things Gundam did you decide to use a deathtrap mook suit like an OZ-06MS Leo?!"

...

Taylor read the file on her next opponent. She was up against another Elemental, Star-Captain Frank Wolf, from Alpha Galaxy. Taylor had seen him around and found him to be both loud (which she could deal with) and arrogant (which she could also deal with, to a degree), as well as brutally-biased against Freeborns; after he'd commented on how he'd have 'beaten the spine out of' Missy had he been one of her opponents in her Trial of Position, the young Dragoon had nearly drawn on him in the Growl's Mess-Deck, stopped only by her not having been carrying right then.

Taylor had sent Missy to the Gym to burn off her anger and met the Elemental's eye. When she spoke, her voice was hard as armor-plate and cold as river-ice in deep midwinter...

"Count yourself lucky, Star-Captain Frank Wolf. Missy is more than capable of killing you, and also more than willing to do so; she served for two years in a Point on our homeworld that routinely faced enemies that would make you piss yourself in terror, assuming they let you live long enough to void your bladder. That was before she came to the Dragoons and Clan Wolf, before we put the professional polish on her skills. Missy made her name well before she beat three Elementals with batons so fiercely that the other two members of Alpha Point surrendered rather than face her. But, I doubt you believe me, so I will offer you this: should you survive the Trial of Bloodright, come to my homeworld and I will arrange a fight between you and one of Missy's former foes, a man who goes by the callsign 'Hookwolf'. Or perhaps you would prefer to face Oni Lee or Lung..."

...

Tattletale swallowed a painkiller to stave off her growing Thinker Headache and returned to her computer monitor. The former Undersider was, when not training with Florian, Getta, and Mandy, or doing janitorial work in the Headquarters building, assigned as Daniel Hebert's Assistant/Intelligence Analyst. Her current assignment was to compile Threat Assessments for all the major Parahuman groups in Brockton Bay, Boston, and New York...

An instant-message appeared on her screen.

Gr: Tt, u ok? Herd u got pinched.

Lisa typed a response quickly.

Tt: im ok gru. Got caught on recon. No torture no M/S; im well treated. On a kinda work-release thing.

Lisa looked up as Anika, Danny, and Florian entered the room. "Lisa, how are those TAs coming?" asked Anika simply.

"They are coming along well, Point-Commander Gohcourt. I was momentarily distracted by one of my old teammates contacting me by IM. I gave away no intelligence, simply reassured him that I am alive and well-treated." Tattletale gestured to the monitor and watched as the Dragoons' XO read the conversation.

"When you were first captured, you mentioned your former boss, Coil, had leverage over your teammates, and had coerced you into his service. What leverage did he have over your team?" asked Anika.

Tattletale sighed. "The Undersiders consisted of myself, the nominal team-leader Grue, Regent, and Hellhound, though she prefers the Cape-Name 'Bitch'. Brian, Grue, is trying to save up the money to sue for custody of his younger sister; their father is unsuited to raising a daughter and their mother is an addict with a habit of picking up abusive boyfriends. Coil had it arranged to make Brian's pay look like a legitimate job and promised to help Brian get custody."

"Regent, Alec, works for Coil because Coil promised to help Alec stay off his father's radar; Alec's real first name is Jean-Paul, and he's massively-sandbagged his powers to avoid connection to his dad, who would come looking at the first chance if he knew his son was here."

"Bitch is Rachel Lindt; she was a foster-child and her being both not a cute kid and somewhat developmentally-challenged lead to her only friend being a dog; her Trigger Event came about when her foster-mother tried to drown that dog. The foster-mother was torn apart and Rachel went on the run. She's hurt more than a few people but her Trigger Event was her only kill so far, and she's never been tried for anything. She has a bunch of hidden shelters around the city with dogs she's rescued and trained, mostly strays and dogs rescued from Hookwolf's fighting-rings; Coil promised to help her fund and run those shelters."

Anika paused, deep in thought, after Lisa finished. "Hmm... Lisa, move your Threat-Assessment of the Undersiders up the priority list, and include suggested methods to recruit them out from under Coil. Also, your pistol-qualification has been moved up; be at the Range at 0500 tomorrow."

Lisa nodded sharply. "Aff, Point-Commander."

...

Temujin sat at the bar in the Black Rifle, sipping a mug of Rakkasan Tea Company Himalayan Black-Dragon. Joe, the owner and bartender, had finally decided to add tea to his drink-menu, and much like with his coffee-supplier the old Army Sniper had decided on a veteran-owned company, Rakkasan Tea Company.

The Mongolian-born Dragoon looked up from his tea and his missing Missy when the Wards came in. He smiled in a friendly way and nodded a greeting, and they sat down next to him.

"Afternoon," said Gallant to Temujin.

"Afternoon," replied Temujin. "You Wards off-duty?"

"For a little while," said Kid Win. "How about you? I recognize the Wolf Dragoons fatigues, but I can't quite say I recognize you. I'm Kid Win. That's Gallant; Aegis and Clockblocker are the two over there at the pool table. Shadow Stalker's the one in black at the end of the bar."

"Point-Officer Temujin Ganboldson, Coywolf Point."

Chris grinned. "Coywolf? Then you'd know Missy, then?"

Temujin nodded with a smile. "She's my Point-Commander. And my friend. She help- helped- me, I think in English the words are 'settle accounts', with people who make- made- me get Powers. I am sorry; English is not my first tongue." He frowned slightly.

Sophia's head lifted from her perusal of a copy of Peterson's Bowhunting magazine. "She helped you 'settle accounts' with the folks who Triggered you? As in, get revenge?"

Temujin shook his head. "Was not revenge, was justice. Where we were? No Law. Missy and Taylor find the ones who kill my family, parents, uncle, sister. Missy deal with them by Old Law." In telling the story, Temujin forgot to focus on his English, and his grammar suffered somewhat.

Sophia moved closer and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Then they got what was coming to them. I'd do the same if someone went after my brother. What was your sister's name?"

"Enkhtuyaa. She was one years old." All the Wards winced at that.

Conversation picked up soon after, and Temujin was roped into a game of eight-ball against Carlos...

...

Coil made a phone-call and split timelines.

His best sniper answered. "In position; target in sight."

Coil-A said, "Send it."

Coil-B said, "Hold fire."

Coil-A heard a muffled thump over the phone.

Coil-B heard a muffled thump over the phone.

Coil heard a gruff voice over the phone say, "Not today, Coil. Tattletale is off-limits."

Coil dropped Timeline-A as the line went dead.

Lane Bekker trussed up the sniper he'd caught drawing down on the window of Tattletale's room and radioed for a pick-up. The former Ghost Bear gave the unconscious shooter a hard kick in the ribs, and resolved to have somebody's ass about this security breach...

...

Taylor faced Frank. The other Elemental grinned savagely. "I have won the Right of Attack; I say our Trial will be fought Augmented, in Elemental Battle-Armor."

Taylor nodded. "As I have Right of Defense, I say our Trial shall be fought at the bottom of the Gutheim River four miles outside the city-limits."

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Arc-Royal's Gutheim River was one mile wide for most of its length, and at the point chosen by Taylor for her duel with Star-Captain Frank Wolf descended down nearly-sheer banks to a depth of three-hundred feet. The water was murky-brown and the current fast from spring snow-melt running down from the mountains and stirring up silt from the bottom.

Taylor entered the water first, dropping into the middle of the river from a hovering VTOL. She sank down into the darkness of the river until she touched the bottom; as she did, she heard the splash of her opponent's entry high above her.

Taylor settled herself against the hulk of a sunken barge and powered down all but the most-essential systems, life-support, comms, and passive sensors. She was a shadow among the shadows. She heard the Oathmaster call the start and smiled as she waited...

...

Frank Wolf walked slowly along the riverbed, searching for his prey. "Come out, come out and face me, Freebirth," he growled over an open channel.

"Freeborn I am, Frank Wolf, and proud of it. I never had the formal schooling of a Sibko, true..." Frank's sensors suddenly flared with a heat-bloom and a laser boiled away water on its way into his left leg, leaving a molten crater partway-through the armor above his knee. He swung aside and returned fire with his own laser.

The riverbed was dark and silent, then a clattering noise like metal striking stone drew his attention. As he turned, a grinding crunch came from his helmet and Frank felt the HarJel trigger and patch a leak even as his suit's sensors went dark. Frank reeled back upright just in time to see Taylor's suit vanishing into the impenetrable darkness, his sensors clutched in her battle claw...

"Growing up where and how I did, Frank Wolf, did teach me several valuable lessons. While I have you listening to me, please, allow me to educate you. The first lesson is, 'Never take your eyes off a Stranger'... He fired his laser into the murky water and was answered with a laser into his right leg below the knee. He backed up, his laser stabbing into the darkness to no apparent effect, until he felt his back touch the steep bank. "Never give a Mover room to move, nor give a Blaster a clear target..." Taylor's laser flashed out once more and peeled more armor off Frank's left leg, penetrating the knee-joint and drawing a choked grunt as the LSU hit him with a fast-acting painkiller and stim and the HarJel sealed the breach in his armor and the wound in his knee.

"Coward! Cowardly Freebirth Spawn of a Wolverine!" Frank roared, lunging forward at a shadow near where the laser had originated.

"I have made you angry, quiaff?" said Taylor as she sidestepped the lunge and seized Frank's laser in her suit's Battle Claws. She bore down and crushed the emitter before fading back into the shadows. "Another lesson, then; never let a Thinker get inside your head, Frank Wolf, nor come to hand-strokes with a Striker or Brute." He whirled on her and tried to lash out with his battle claws, and Taylor caught them easily in her own, dropped two point-blank laser shots into his right leg, and then turned, using the current and the leverage of her right forearm braced against Frank's elbow to plant him face-down into the muddy bottom.

Frank thrashed upright and looked around, seeing nothing but silt and bellowing in inarticulate rage. Again, his enemy's voice came, in that same infuriatingly-mocking tone...

"Never give a Shaker control of the battlefield..." Taylor lunged out of the darkness and seized his left arm; a flex of her battle claws and a wrenching twist crushed and mangled the elbow and pulled the shoulder out-of-joint.

...

Taylor dragged the functionally-disarmed Elemental toward the sunken barge where she'd first hidden and grabbed his helmet. "But the most-important lesson I learned in Brockton Bay is this, Frank Wolf... Never fuck with a Dock-Rat or a Dock-Rat's Family. And Missy is family to me, as are all the other Dragoons, Trueborn and Freeborn alike. Now, yield."

"Go to Hell, dezgra dog..."

Taylor slung him against the hulk with a gonging impact and put a laser through his right shoulder. "Yield."

"Never!"

Taylor clutched his faceplate in her claws. "Is your stubbornness worth your stravag life, Frank Wolf?! I say again, yield!"

"Kill me and be done with it!"

"If that is what you wish, so be it." Taylor wrapped her right arm around Frank's torso and used her claws to start slowly opening a hole in the back of his suit.

"What are you doing? Did you lose your nerve?" Frank taunted.

"Neg; I am killing you. Once I get enough of a breach opened, I will break your back so you cannot move. Then, when I am fully-certain that you are immobile, I am going to tear your suit's helmet off and watch you drown. What? You thought I would waste another laser bolt on shooting you?"

Frank felt the tip of a battle claw against his back and his nerve shattered.

"I yield! I yield!"

As cables were lowered to retrieve the combatants, Taylor patted Frank on the helmet condescendingly and said, "The final lesson is this: Never play puppets with a Master."

Taylor closed her comms and cued up a song stored in her suit's memory...

Oh my Lord, Take this Soul;

Lay me at the Bottom of the River.

The Devil has Come, to Carry me Home;

Lay me at the Bottom...

The Bottom of the River...

That Guy. Yes, That Guy.

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Threadmarks Interlude: PHO Two New

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Welcome to the Parahumans Online message boards.

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Topic: Big Stompin' Robots

In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► General

CharginChuck (Original Poster)(Moderator) (Veteran: US Army)

Posted On Mar 19th 2011:

Alright, Ladies and Gentlemen, by now I'm more than certain that we all have seen the web-show (and occasional sh*t-show) produced by Brockton Bay, New Hampshire's own Uber and Leet. They're wild, they're wacky, and aside from their much-maligned GTA episode, they're just plain funny, in a 'Wile Coyote Comedy of Errors' way.

But they're also apparently braver than most gave them credit for. Watch This.

You saw that correctly; U&L vs the Wolf Dragoons in Big Stompin' Robots. And if the footage is to be believed, they actually gave a good accounting of themselves.

I am impressed.

(Showing page 1 of 3)

►AquaHawk0085

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

I think leet may be attempting suicide, why else would he chose to pilot the Mook suite made from explodium when Gundam has so many better hero suites. Or go with something from Macross like the Tomahawk (destriod). Sure Gundam has crazy agility but they blow up faster then Darn near anything.

►Harabek (Verified Mecha-Geek)

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

Yes! Yes! YES!

Holy. Mother. of. God! That... that... I can't say. That is the thing I was waiting since I born. Fuck! I'll move to that city right now!

Do you know if the Wolfs need a warehouse foreman? I'll sign.

►Kitsunedarkfire

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

Did L33t shit himself there? Poor guy, cant really blame him for it at all but thats just embarrassing.

►L33t (Verified Cape)

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

kitsunedarkfire;

No Comment...

►Panacea (Verified Cape) (New Wave)

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

The Battle-Armor Trooper who got fly-swattered with Leet's gun-barrel is almost-certainly hospitalized; I've treated Elementals before and even one of those brutes couldn't come away from a chest-hit with a cannon-barrel unscathed...

►Kitsunedarkfire

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

Panacea;

Definitly. I have to guess broken ribs at least from that hit maybe organ damage as well.

►Harabek (Verified Mecha-Geek)

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

Ok while I search the route to Brockton Bay I have all the questions.

Specifications, all the specifications!

What powered the merc's mechs? I am not asking about Leet's mechs because is tinkertech and all tinkertech is fuelled by bullshit.

I saw missiles and lasers and I'm pretty sure that that nipple in the right side of the torso is an MG. What's it weapon loadout? How does it move? The balance looked a little awkward, though. What the armor is made of?

I also noticed that in that the vents in the back of the mechs are venting a lot hot heat, the air was very blurred around them. But I am not seeing any combustion smoke...

Fuck! They are nuclear? They are nuclear powered mechs?

I'll go to BB right now. Wait for me!

►Miss Mercury (Protectorate Employee)

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

I hope no one was injured too severely...

►Bravo_Actual (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

Harabek;

The tank was a Star League-Variant Von Luckner Heavy Tank, callsign 'Mastiff-One', commanded by Point-Commander Sarah Connors. The Battle-Armor Point was Juliet Point, all local recruits equipped with Inner-Sphere Standard BA and commanded by Point-Commander Alice Walker, formerly of the BBDWU. The 'Mech on our side was a QUA-51T 'Quasit', piloted by Mechwarrior Leslie Barrett, another local recruit. Once she or her instructor, Zulu_Actual, come off-duty, I will have them elaborate.

Miss Mercury;

Mastiff-One came away with bumps and bruises, and Mechwarrior Barrett was unscathed. Juliet-One, Point-Commander Walker, sustained fractures to her right arm and leg as well as a minor concussion due to a 105mm shell exploding close beside her, and Juliet-Four, Lacey Fratello, sustained several broken ribs and a broken sternum when Leet slapped her out of the air with the barrel of his unit's rifle, and the impact was sufficient to briefly stop her heart. Uber sustained a moderate concussion when his unit collapsed. All of them are under the care of the Dragoons' Medical Section and will make a full recovery.

►AquaHawk0085

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

If they are nuclear powered then that may mean they have a safe way to dispose of it. I love giant robots as much as the next guy but that is sustainable energy right there.

Also what about that tank, they took a big hit I hope the crew is okay. Did you hear the sound behind that cannon, how is that ammo fed because they were sending rounds down range way too quick for it to be by hand.

Would that be nuclear powered to? The future is going to be so cool.

►kitsunedarkfire

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

Hmm nuclear powered. Im going to assume fusion over fission because of the size and simply because its the future. That might also explain the heat coming off it there. A fusion reactor that small would have cooling issues i believe. Probably explains why the cockpits in the head portion instead of the more heavily armored torso. The reactor would cook you alive. I bet they use some form of cooled flight suit.

►BigIron (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

AquaHawk0085, kitsunedarkfire;

My unit, and yes, I was the pilot of that Quasit, is a bone-stock QUA-51T, more commonly known as the Quasit Militiamech. Weighing in at 45 tons overall and powered by a VOX 225 Standard (as opposed to Mastiff-One's VOX 225 Extra-Light) Fusion Engine, and respectably-well-armed by certain standards, the Quasit carries a Medium Laser mounted on one arm and an SRM-4 (Short-Range Missile-Four missiles per volley) on the other, as well as a General-Purpose MG (chambered in 7.62x54R) and an LRM-5 (Long-Range Missile-Five missiles per volley) in the torso. That said, it's not actually considered a true Battlemech, but as the name stated, a Militiamech.

Edit: Also, they do have cooling issues, and yeah, Mechwarriors use pilot-suits (or vests) with a direct coolant-hookup.

►AquaHawk0085

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

Since you guys are taking questions what wild be the heaviest battlemech you've piloted and when can we see it.

Also where is your commander she is typically around often enough?

►Harabek (Verified Mecha-Geek)

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

Bravo_Actual;

Thanks for the heads up.

BigIron;

Fusión engine? That's metal as fuck! And that explain the heat. You ride a Walking Sun. Tritium-Deuterium reaction I suppose.

A militiamech is a second line mech? Wow! I would love to see one of these Battlemechs!

I made some numbers, how it weights 45 tons? It should weight two times that! How? The armor should have the density of styrofoam!

►BigIron (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

AquaHawk0085;

Actually, what with me only having been certified as Mechwarrior very recently, my Quasit's the only 'Mech of any sort I've ever piloted; it's the one I was trained in. That said, mine and my partner Tim's (yes, there's two of us) instructor, Point-Commander Sofiya 'Zulu-Actual' Wolf, is a former Mechwarrior, and her ride was a Heavyweight model called a 'Summoner', which weighs in at seventy tons overall. The Assault-weight Battlemechs like the Atlas or Annihilator generally push a hundred tons overall. The Dragoons currently only have three Quasits.

Harabek;

The Quasit's actually not considered a Battlemech at all; it's a very-specialized Industrial-Mech. Lemme explain:

Most 'Militia' 'Mechs are converted, usually hastily, from civilian industrial models intended for tasks like logging, mining, et cetera, but bolting guns onto a Loggermech doesn't make it a Battlemech. They don't have the same military-grade armor, or Fire-Control Systems, or safety-features, as a dedicated combat-platform. That said, just like bolting a fifty-cal onto a Toyota Hilux is cheaper than buying a Hummvee, converting civilian Industrialmechs is cheaper than buying dedicated Battlemechs.

The QUA-51T is unique in that it's an Industrialmech designed from the ground up as a combat-platform. The frame and armor are civilian-grade as opposed to milspec, but it has a milspec FCS, an environmentally-sealed cockpit to allow operation in hazardous terrain, and milspec comms and sensors, as well as a weapons loadout on par with some Battlemechs. Using mostly Industrialmech components makes it cheaper than a Battlemech.

That said, the frame and armor being Industrial- as opposed to Military-Grade means the survivability of the Quasit against any comparable Battlemech is... Not Good. Between that and the fact that it lacks both cellular ammo-storage and an ejection-seat, you can understand why I'm eager to get a better ride issued.

As to why it's so light? I couldn't tell you specifics, something about 'Zero-G casting' and 'Foamed Alloys', and 'Diamond-Fiber Weaves'. So long as it keeps shrapnel out of my ass and moves where I need it to go, I'm happy.

►Achronus

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

Ah, so combat robots now exist? The Robots tech required has always eluded the US Darpa attempts.

Leaving aside power (Fusion Yay!).

How does it move? Hydraulics would need super sonic fluid systems, Pneumatics would lack the power (and be sorta squishy). Linear motors maybe could do it, but that would be unstable and require locking gears (that could easily jam). Simple direct drive motors would be gigantic bulges at the joints; something I not are NOT present. We all know L33t's gear is Explodium Doesn't-Existium powered by unstable BS; but what moves the Dragoon's gear?

Second question: I have always felt that once combat robots existed they would immediately crush Tanks in everywhere that wasn't open flat lands combat (forest, jungle, high swamp, mountains... cities) is this so? Additionally to that conjecture was the idea that the Tank's superior low hull and ability to put all it's resources (power, weight, room) into a single massive long range main gun would let it still win on plains basically every time is this also true?

►Bravo_Actual (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

First Answer: Per Wolf Touman Technical-Intelligence Regulations as well as an NDA with the USDOD, the specific details are Classified Top Secret, but the general answer is "electro-reactive artificial muscles known as Myomers, and the Battlemech's internal gyro also takes cues from the Mechwarrior's own sense of balance."

Second Answer: Battlemechs are widely-regarded as the undisputed kings of the Thirty-First-Century Battlefield, regardless of terrain. That said, under the right circumstances, using the right tactics, 'Mechs are defeatable by tanks, or even by Infantry. For example, the battle-claws on our Battle-Armor suits are intended not only for close-combat, but also to grip onto an enemy 'Mech in what is known as an Anti-Mech Swarming Attack, such as Juliet Point against Leet's unit, or Charlie-, Delta-, and Echo-Points Swarming the Simurgh in Canberra. Unarmored Infantry often carry shoulder-fired SRMs with Inferno warheads to exploit the cooling-issues Battlemechs have, as another example.

►bissek

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

BigIron;

Hey, don't knock the Hilux. Those things can be crashed into walls, lost to the tide, driven through a shed, hit with a wrecking ball, had a trailer dropped on them, been set on fire, and left on top of a building that was then blown up, and remain in repairable condition without replacing any major parts.

Literally. The guys on Top Gear really put a Hilux through all that and the truck still drives.

Can your mechs withstand that level of abuse, BigIron?

And the Syrians have fought and won wars using machine gun equipped pickup trucks.

►Achronus

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

)Bravo_Actual;

Thank-you for the complete response.

Can anyone actually list anything on L33t's gear that WASN'T BS? That Mook suit may be garbage for Gundam, but the gun would be terrifying on every tank in the US arsenal for example.

End of Page. 1, 2, 3

(Showing page 2 of 3)

►Kitsunedarkfire

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

I remember that episode. Impressive how damn tough those things are.

►Mastiff_Actual (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

bissek, kitsunedarkfire;

BigIron agrees, and would say so herself, were she not currently distracting a Vehicle-Technician who desperately wants to have 'words' with me about the turret- and drive- damage on my tank.

Achronus;

Their cannon shells were bog-standard HE-PD; hand-built, but there was nothing in them that would not be found in milspec 37-, 100-, or 105mm. I should know, since after the battle we pulled two unexploded 100-mills out of the armor over the tank's reactor-casing.

►kitsunedarkfire

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

So how close where your technicians to browning their pants when they found those?

►Mastiff_Actual (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

The locally-recruited AsTechs were quite close. The VeeTechs from back home were cautious but calm, following the Ancient EOD maxim that "If it cooks off while I am this close to it, I will be Beyond Pain before I can even Feel Pain."

And the reactor has enough safeguards built in that if the shells had gone off and breached the shielding, the reactor would have automatically SCRAMed itself and shut down.

►Ridli Scott (Verified Cape) (Case 53) (Guardianes)

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

Oh, fuck me! Now you have giant robots? Since your combat with Ziz I was working almost 24/7 in making powered armors for my team and use them to go medieval in the ass of the next Endbringer who dares to raise the head. And now you bring that! Fuck! Do you know how hard is for a tinker specialized in modular transportation systems made powered armors? I have to make all my armors with interchangeable modular adjustable limbs. And still, I have a lot of problems. And now this asshole of Leet (yes Leet, even in Spain we know you are an asshole) almost made scrap all my stuff to make a ten meters tall modular transportation robot capable of fighting. Thanks to Spínola that we avoided lost several weeks of work... my head still hurt, though.

Speaking of that, Dragoons do you mind if I send you a PM about stuff, I know you can't give me classified information, but I need some 'know-how' I don't have experience with powered armor and maybe you could help me with some basic things that I don't manage to figure in the design. I could compensate you if you want to help me.

►Spinola (Verified Cape) (Guardianes)

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

Shit Ridli! Did I tell you not saying anything about your shit in this place? This is the third time! I'm going you shave all your fur dry.

►Ridli Scott (Verified Cape) (Case 53) (Guardianes)

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

If that helps us to avoid what happened with the 'Serie 2' I won't regret nothing. Poor Ojáncana almost lost her leg.

►PlateCarrier (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Mar 19th 2011:

Ridli Scott;

Let me talk to Bravo-Actual (whose other callsign is 'Dragoon-Two) and see what I can do. Maybe we can work something out.

End of Page. 1, 2

...

A/N: Thank you to all the folks who contributed to this interlude on the other thread, whether I used your posts or not; thank you all.

That Guy. Yes, That Guy.

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Point-Commander Thomas Calvert watched the platoon of soldiers standing in front of him, and wiped a bead of sweat off his brow as he stood in the sweltering hangar at the Yuma Proving-Ground. "Gentlemen, my name is Point-Commander Thomas Calvert. The equivalent rank in your military would be, roughly, a Chief Warrant-Officer Three. Beside me, are the other members of my Point, Tiffany DeVega, Alan Sradac, Jacob Sherbow, and Robert Hoskins; they all hold the rank of Point-Officer, or CWO2. We are your instructors for the suits behind us. This, soldiers, is the Inner-Sphere Standard Battle-Armor Suit." He gestured to the armor.

"The Department of Defense saw fit to purchase these suits from our Clan, and we, Charlie Point, are to turn you all into proper BA-Infantry. Now, on my order, you will each go stand by a suit. There will be a serial-number on the right bicep of each suit; when your name is called, you will read that serial-number aloud so we can record it. Platoon, form up on your suits."

...

When the soldiers had been issued their armor, and the Techs had made sure they were properly-fitted, Calvert turned them over to Sradac and Sherbow while he, DeVega, and Hoskins donned their Elemental suits and headed for the Obstacle Course.

Sradac nodded to himself. "Your suits are operational, quiaff? If not, speak up. Neg? Good. Now, while the others are preparing for your second exercise, I and Point-Officer Sherbow will set you to your first. In one corner of your HUD, you will see a status-icon for the MG mounted on your right arm. Verify that the light next to that icon is red; this indicates the weapon is safed. The range is for later; for now, you will learn to move in the armor. We will start with a route-march in armor from here to the Obstacle Course."

Sradac brought his heels together and barked, "Platoon, Attenn..." He drew in a deep breath, "SHUN!" Fifty-two soldiers slammed to Attention. "Right, FACE! Forward, MARCH!" As Sherbow donned his own armor, Sradac called cadence. "Yo'left, yo'left, yo'left-right..."

Sherbow returned, and Sradac called a halt. He noted to his Point-mate the trainees who seemed to be picking things up quickest, and the ones who appeared to be learning slowest, and Sherbow started them marching again while Sradac got into his armor. When he returned, they set out for the O-Course...

...

Missy poured her glass full again from the pitcher of Timbiqui NA and met Morgan's eyes. "So, Morgan, you mentioned you had a son last time we talked; how is he doing?"

The old merc smiled. "He's doing well for himself, though business has kept him out-of-contact a lot until recently."

"Oh? He's a mercenary?"

"He was, for a while. He was a Kell Hound Mechwarrior, like me. Nowadays he's still a Mechwarrior, but he's gone regular-military; he's a Wolf now. How about you? Any siblings?"

Missy sipped and shook her head. "Not by blood. My old teammates are close as siblings, though... Even Shadow Stalker, loathe as I am to admit it." She pulled a photograph out of her pocket and pointed to each in turn. "Not naming last names, but here's my old team. That one there is our team-leader, Rory, callsign Triumph. He's since moved on to the big-leagues, I hear. Next to him is Carlos, Aegis; he's taken over Triumph's slot as Team-Lead. The one on the far end is Dean, callsign Gallant, and never was there a more fitting callsign. The skinny one is Dennis, Clockblocker; he's the practical-joker. Next to Clockblocker is Chris, Kid Win. He's the team Tech, and a helluva pistol-shot. The girl there looking like she just had shit waved under her nose is Shadow Stalker, Sophia. She never really wanted to be on our team, but after getting busted for Manslaughter her only choices were Probation and being drafted onto our team until her eighteenth birthday, or Juvenile Detention. Collectively we were the Wards East-Northeast."

Morgan pointed to Missy's image. "What was your callsign?"

"I was 'Vista'."

...

Taylor read through her mother's Codex, tracing her genealogy back...

"Hmm... Interesting..." She drank from her cup of tea and set her datapad down. "Well, time for me to find out who my next opponent is." She drained her cup and jogged out of her bunk.

Two hours later, Taylor rolled her neck and shrugged out of her fatigue-blouse before stepping into the Circle of Equals. She had been matched against an Aerospace Pilot, Star-Captain Emma. The redheaded Trueborn even resembled Taylor's ex-best-friend, slightly. Taylor had won the Attack and chosen Unaugmented Combat; they would settle their duel hand-to-hand.

When the fight began, Taylor moved forward and threw a pair of jabs that Emma avoided, the first by leaning aside and the second by parrying the blow off her forearm. Taylor slipped the counter-jab that followed and felt her head explode with pain as Emma's right hook connected solidly on her ear.

"Oh, have I hurt you? Poor little girl..." mocked Emma as she stepped back. "Give up; you have no place here, Taylor."

Taylor settled back into her stance and snarled. "I will not surrender." She lunged forward and drove a kick at Emma's knee; the pilot lifted her leg and took the blow on her shin, then used that leg to kick Taylor in the side. Taylor absorbed the kick and retaliated with a jab that forced Emma back and an elbow that opened a cut over the redhead's left eye.

Taylor threw a straight-right, but Emma caught her wrist and rotated into a throw, rolling Taylor over her hip; as Taylor rose, Emma kicked her savagely in the ribs and robbed Taylor of her breath. "Pathetic. You call yourself a Wolf? You think you are worthy of a Bloodname? You are just a whelp who has lunged beyond her length." She punched Taylor across the face. "I am not unmerciful, however. Surrender and spare yourself further pain."

Taylor looked up at Emma, her eyes watering from the blows; overlaid on Emma the Wolf's face was an image of Emma Barnes' face, and it was as though both Emmas spoke. "Surrender or I will beat you so badly that you cry yourself to sleep for a week because of the pain."

"...cried herself to sleep for a week..." Taylor remembered that taunt, that reminder of her most vulnerable moment...

Taylor saw red.

Star-Captain Emma threw another punch and felt it connect even as Taylor grabbed the pilot's leg and jerked it from under her. Emma fell, but rolled upright and regained her feet; Taylor had risen as well, and now went on the attack. Taylor lunged in and Emma hit her twice, blacking her eye and bruising her jaw to no apparent effect just before Taylor's right cross smashed into the pilot's nose like a hammer.

Emma saw stars and reeled backward, but Taylor advanced again and hurled a left cross that snapped her head to the side and staggered her. Emma threw a roundhouse kick, only to have Taylor catch her ankle and heave upward, toppling her backward onto the ground. Taylor kicked Emma in the ribs and then dropped a knee into her chest, grabbed a handful of Emma's red hair, and started raining punches down on Emma's face...

...

After the duel ended, Taylor's hands were looked at by a MedTech; she had broken knuckles on both hands, the skin torn and bleeding. She had three cracked ribs as well, and had only barely avoided a concussion.

Taylor had beaten Emma nearly to death.

That Guy. Yes, That Guy.

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Taylor flexed her hands, working the lingering stiffness out of her newly-healed knuckles, then twisted and bent to limber up her torso.

"I never asked," said Chelsea from the bunk's doorway, "but I am curious. Why did your duel with Star-Captain Emma go so differently than your others? Against your previous opponents you seemed utterly in control..."

Taylor snorted. "Even during the armored mauling that was my second duel?"

"Even then. What made Emma so different?"

"It... It is a long story, Chelsea. In my hometown there is a girl, Emma Barnes. Her father and mine were friends, and Emma was a sister to me in all but blood growing up. When our mother," she gestured between herself and Chelsea, "Annette, was killed in a vehicle-accident, I was in a very bad place, emotionally, and Emma helped me through it. She told me she admired my strength, and I told her that I had cried myself to sleep for a week after Mom passed." Taylor wiped her eyes and sighed.

"She sounds like a good friend..." replied Chelsea.

"Fast-forward to the summer before we started High School; I went to a summer-camp while Emma stayed in Brockton Bay. When I returned, she was hostile toward me, had a new best friend, Sophia Hess, and over the next two years they and one other, Madison Clements, set out to make my life a living Hell. The faculty at our school refused to intervene, and the Trio had the other students cowed, so I was on my own. I endured Madison's childish pranks and Sophia's physical abuse in silence, but Emma used every secret I had ever told her like weapons to hurt me, and it was only the fact that she had been my sister, once, that stayed my hand. I inherited my father's rather-volatile temper, you see." Taylor flexed her hands again. "Star-Captain Emma bears a distinct resemblance to Emma Barnes, and between the pain and her taunting me about 'crying myself to sleep for a week', it was as if I were back in Winslow High. I snapped."

Chelsea nodded. "I understand entirely, Taylor. But enough of maudlin topics; come, we have a duel to fight."

...

Taylor faced Chelsea, her back straight and her eyes bright. Taylor had won the Attack; choice of weapons was hers. "Star-Commander Chelsea, you know that you and I share the same gene-mother, quiaff? I realized something as we walked here from the Growl; today is the anniversary of her death. I propose we make our duel special, to honor her memory."

"What did you have in mind, Star-Captain Taylor?"

"She loved to dance, and just as Galaxy-Commander Natasha Kerensky carried blood of Clan Widowmaker, Star-Captain Annette Kerensky carried blood of Clan Goliath Scorpion. As I have the choice of weapons, I propose knives; let us Dance the Scars..."

Chelsea smiled. "Bargained Well and Done."

...

Taylor stepped into the Circle of Equals and stripped her fatigue-blouse off, then drew the pair of combat-knives from her belt. Chelsea did the same across the Circle and nodded to her.

The Dance of the Scars was a Goliath-Scorpion tradition, a very-ritualized knife-fight where the combatants had to make a precise series of five cuts on their opponent to win. The first two cuts were to the wrists, the next two to the tops of the shoulders, and the final cut was horizontally across the chest.

The duel began, and the duelists stepped toward one another under the Arc-Royal moonlight. Chelsea's right knife flickered out and sparks flew as Taylor blocked it with her left, then Taylor's counter-cut was parried aside and the sisters backed away from one another.

Three more times they closed with one another, blades gleaming and flickering in the moonlight, seeking their targets only to be warded away before blood could be drawn.

On the fourth advance, Chelsea overextended and Taylor caught her arm between her own arm and body, and rotated into an ad hoc hip-throw that sent the pilot sprawling and one of her knives spiralling into the darkness. Taylor stepped back, letting Chelsea's arm slide free and cutting the back of her wrist before letting go. Chelsea caught her breath and shifted her remaining knife to her right hand.

Taylor smiled. "Here, Chelsea." She tossed her own left-hand knife aside and offered Chelsea her hand.

Chelsea grinned and accepted the hand; Taylor pulled her upright and said, softly, "Hold fast, Sister."

Chelsea's eyes widened as Taylor's grip tightened, and her blade flashed out at the same time as Taylor's, scoring Taylor's wrist even as Taylor cut her other wrist.

A jerk brought Chelsea close, but the pilot rolled over Taylor's back and cut Taylor's other wrist, tying the contest. Taylor swayed backward and shoulder-checked Chelsea as she hooked her ankle and dragged the Star-Commander's foot from under her.

Taylor whirled and grabbed Chelsea's waist, and the teen's knife, suddenly held in a reverse-grip, traced a line of cold fire across the top of the pilot's left shoulder. Chelsea leaned back from the impromptu dip into a back-bend and kicked upward, forcing Taylor back as Chelsea flipped upright and lunged in, drawing a bloody line over her half-sister's right shoulder as they whirled and faced one another again. "I lead this dance, Taylor."

Taylor laughed and brought her knife up in a mocking salute. "But of course, Chelsea; Age before Beauty."

The pair came together again, and Taylor felt Chelsea's blade get her other shoulder, but the pilot had once again overextended herself. Taylor seized Chelsea's knife-wrist and twisted the arm up behind the pilot's back. Taylor reached around her sister, cutting her right shoulder along the way, and scoring across Chelsea's collarbone from left-to-right.

Afterward, Taylor dropped her knife and felt Chelsea release hers, and they stepped back from one another. Chelsea smiled and said, "Congratulations, Star-Captain Taylor Kerensky." She offered her hand; when Taylor took it, Chelsea pulled her close and whispered, "Congratulations, Sister."

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Three nauseating weeks of near-constant jumps aboard the CWS Growl brought Star-Captain Taylor Kerensky (or Hebert, depending on whether she was in her native dimension, or her mother's) and Point-Officer Missy, back from Arc-Royal to Outreach, and from there back to Brockton Bay, Earth-Bet. Taylor and Missy stepped out of the truck and onto the tarmac at Camp Kerensky, and for the first time in almost a month-and-a half, breathed the salt-scented air of their home. Taylor turned back to face Galaxy-Commander Natasha Kerensky and Star-Colonel Phelan Ward, and smiled. "So, now that we have returned home, I suppose it is time for my Trial of Position, quiaff?"

Natasha shook her head. "Neg, not yet." She keyed her radio and her voice rang out from the base's PA system. "All Dragoon callsigns, this is Galaxy-Commander Kerensky; fall in on the tarmac." Taylor watched as all her personnel pounded out from wherever they had been and fell into neat, ordered ranks along three sides of a square centered on herself, Star-Colonel Ward, and Galaxy-Commander Kerensky.

Anika strode forward and saluted. "Galaxy-Commander Kerensky, all Wolf Dragoons personnel are present or accounted for." When Natasha returned the salute, Anika retook her post.

Natasha looked at Taylor with a wry grin. "I notice something wrong, here. Your uniform is out-of-regulations." Her voice carried to all the watching Dragoons. "You are wearing the wrong rank-insignia, Star-Colonel Taylor Kerensky. As your Commanding Officer, it falls to me to correct this error. Star-Colonel Phelan Ward."

"Galaxy-Commander." Phelan was smirking, though his tone affected seriousness.

"You have spare insignia, quiaff?"

"Aff, I have an extra set of Star-Colonel insignia, Galaxy-Commander, though of the wrong branch. I am a Mechwarrior, but my extra set of insignia are Elemental-Green."

"Then it is good that Star-Colonel Taylor Kerensky is an Elemental, quineg? Give me your spare insignia."

Taylor listened to the byplay with wide eyes, and braced to attention when Natasha Kerensky removed her Star-Captain insignia and replaced them with Star-Colonel rank. "Ma'am, I thought I would have to stand a Trial of Position...?"

Natasha grinned. "You did, but you delivered an impressive-enough showing during your Trial of Bloodright that as your Commanding Officer I felt the need to waive a formal Trial and give you the rank. That said, with higher rank comes greater responsibility; I expect great things of you, Star-Colonel. Do not disappoint."

Taylor nodded sharply, straightening her back. "I will endeavor to not disappoint you, Galaxy-Commander Natasha Kerensky."

Natasha smiled, as did Phelan. "Now, I do hope that you have two bunks available; the journey has me somewhat tired."

Taylor nodded. "Of course, Ma'am." After Natasha and Phelan had gone inside to find bunks and rest, Taylor looked at her troops. "I know you all want to party and celebrate my promotion, and we will certainly do so, there are a few other things to address first. Point-Commander Anika Gohcourt," Taylor said. After the blond Elemental saluted, Taylor grinned. "As well as being my XO, First Nova is yours. Select your XO and let me know, Nova-Commander Gohcourt."

Anika responded immediately. "I would have Point-Commander Erwin Wolf as Second-in-Command of First Nova, Star-Colonel."

Erwin called out, "Neg, I want nothing to do with command, thank you very kindly, Nova-Commander Gohcourt. Too much paperwork for my taste." Everyone laughed and Anika called back a request for his recommendation. "You want a good second, I recommend Point-Commander Kurita. She has a good head on her shoulders; she will do just fine in the role." The recommendation was seconded and thirded by the other Vehicle-Point Commanders.

Taylor and Anika nodded. "Fair enough; Michelle Kurita, you are now Star-Commander Michelle Kurita, and Executive Officer of First Nova. Point-Commander Sarah Connors, consider yourself a Nova-Commander and in charge of Second Nova; who will be your XO?"

Connors, the bruises from her fight against Uber still a sickly yellow-green, saluted. "With respect, Star-Colonel, I would have Alvin Barrister, of Yankee Point, as my Executive Officer."

Taylor nodded again. "Granted. Barrister, you are now a Star-Commander. Missy."

"Aff, Taylor?"

"You have been an acting Point-Commander since your induction into the Dragoons; as of right now, you can remove the 'acting' part of your rank. Congratulations, Point-Commander Missy. Mechwarrior Barrett, Mechwarrior Chaplin."

"Aff, Star-Colonel?"

"Your Quasits will be stored for use by future Dragoons Mechwarrior-Trainees. Get with Point-Commander Sofiya Wolf and have a short wishlist, say, three models apiece, of what Battlemechs you would prefer to be issued. Have them to me by start-of-business tomorrow and I will see to getting one 'Mech each for you. One Battlemech each, understood, Point-Commanders Barrett and Chaplin?"

"Aff, Star-Colonel."

Taylor smiled and nodded. "Good. Nova-Commander Gohcourt, is there any further business that needs attending to?"

Anika shook her head. "Neg, none that need be discussed in the open air. Permission to dismiss the troops, Star-Colonel?"

Taylor did so herself. "Point-Commanders, take charge of your Points, conclude all essential tasks outstanding, and then dismiss them to liberty until 1800, when we will rendezvous at the Black Rifle to celebrate the promotions. Fall out!" She turned back to Anika as they walked toward Taylor's office, her expression serious. "Alright, Anika, what's the problem? I know that you wouldn't have been so specific about there not being business to discuss in the open if there weren't a problem."

"Point-Commander Florian, of Feist Point, Second Nova, apprehended a local cape, Tattletale of the Undersiders, spying on our perimeter in preparation for a raid, and took her as a Bondswoman. When she awoke, Tattletale was given the option to remain a Bondswoman, be remanded to the PRT, defect, or Bondsref. She chose to remain a Bondswoman, citing that the Undersiders' backer, Coil, had moles inside the PRT and leverage against every member of the Undersiders to prevent defection or desertion. Tattletale herself was coerced into his service at gunpoint and would likely be killed for defecting to us. We have kept Bondswoman Lisa out of public view, and in the weeks since she took the Bondcords, there have been at least two attempts that we know of by Coil to terminate Bondswoman Lisa, including a sniper who managed to penetrate our perimeter and get within seven hundred yards of the HQ building before being detected by Point-Officer Lane Bekker of Zulu Point."

Taylor breathed deeply. "The sniper?"

"Poison-pill before we could interrogate him; BBPD is still running his fingerprints."

"Bondsman Lisa?"

"Aware of both attempts on her life. She is a Thinker-class Cape, and currently she is assigned to Administrator Hebert as his aide. She is also the closest we have to a full-time Intelligence Analyst, Star-Colonel."

...

That night, Dragoons began filtering into the Black Rifle in twos and threes just before six, until finally they were all present. Taylor spoke to Joe, and he whistled the crowd, including the Wards and several off-duty PRT teams, quiet. Taylor spoke. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I and Missy left here six weeks ago, as a Star-Captain and a Point-Officer. We have returned, and there has been a round of long-overdue promotions. Anika Gohcourt was promoted from Point-Commander to Nova-Commander and given the First Dragoon Nova; Michelle Kurita is now her XO and a Star-Commander. Sarah Connors was given Nova-Commander rank, and Alvin Barrister is now a Star-Commander; they are the CO and XO of Second Dragoon Nova, respectively. Missy Biron is now Point-Commander Missy Biron, and she and Temujin make up Coywolf Point. Leslie Barrett and Timothy Chaplin are now Point-Commanders." Taylor smiled brightly. "The reason why this round of promotions has happened, is because I myself have been promoted to Star-Colonel."

One of the PRT Troopers, Sergeant Martinez, piped up. "You got the bump? Hell yes! Congratulations!"

Taylor let the applause die down a bit. "Aff, Gillian, I got the bump. With two full Novas and a Star of Fighters, plus two Points of 'Mechs, two Points of infantry, and a short Point of capes unattached to either Nova, plus the logistical personnel, my command had grown past Trinary-level and into the realm of a short Cluster. Star-Captains don't command Clusters, so I had to take a trip back to Mom's native dimension for what amounts to a very-aggressive Promotion Board. But enough of that; we have a party to start. Black Rifle, your drinks are on me!"


	9. howlthewolves2

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"Heavy One-Actual to all Heavy-One callsigns; approaching Delta-Zulu; ETA one-two-zero seconds, over."

"Heavy One Flight confirms two minutes to DZ; Amber Lamp is lit, out."

Five US Army CH-47 Chinook helicopters streaked across the Arizona sky under blackout conditions, their rear ramps open and the roar of their engines deafening. Aboard the lead Chinook, Heavy-One-Actual, Point-Commander Thomas Calvert looked at the ten soldiers from Alpha- and Bravo Squads, 1st Platoon, 'D' (Devil) Troop, 1st Squadron of the 3rd Cavalry Regiment (Brave Rifles). In the trailing Heavy-One-Two, Tiffany DeVega watched over ten more from Charlie- and Delta Squads, 1st Platoon, Devil Troop. Sradac, Hoskins, and Sherbow were on Heavy-One-Three, -Four, and -Five, each with ten soldiers under their care.

The decision had been made that the first units of the Army to get Battle-Armor would not be the Infantry but the Cavalry, and the first unit among the Cav to get BA would be the Brave Rifles. The 3rd Cav was nominally a Stryker Regiment, but the platoon had done well enough in training that Calvert decided a little fun was in order...

He and the rest of Charlie Point saw the red lights by the open ramps of their respective helicopters turn amber. They rose in their Elemental suits and shouted over the comms, "Stand Up!" The Platoon in their IS-Standard (or by recently-approved Army nomenclature 'Armor, Powered, M2011') suits rose as well. "Jet-Check!" One by one each soldier called out that their jump-jets were green. "Buddy Check!" The soldiers inspected the armor of the man in front of them and called out green.

The Chinooks plunged down to ninety meters above the ground and the amber light began blinking. "Brave Rifles!"

"VETERANS!"

The light turned green. "Go! Go! Go!" First Platoon, Devil Troop, pounded down the ramps and out into the cold of a moonless Arizona night, their jump-jets lighting off to slow their descent...

...

Taylor looked over the wishlists submitted to her by Barrett and Chaplin, and read the specs for the 'Mechs they were asking for.

Chaplin was asking for units suited to fire-support roles in the form of the 'Mad Dog' and 'Naga' Omnimechs, and the -C4 variant 'Catapult' Battlemech, all of which were missile-heavy with the Catapult-C4 and Mad Dog-Prime carrying paired LRM-20s and the Naga carrying paired Arrow-IV Artillery Missile launchers.

Barrett was showing a preference for more-direct combat, asking after 'Timber Wolf' and 'Summoner' Omnimechs and the 'Marauder IIC'. Taylor set that aside, however, when Lisa entered her office. "Bondswoman Lisa, good morning."

"Good morning, Star-Colonel. I was just bringing in the last of my revised Threat-Assessments as well as the latest contract-offers." Lisa placed the contract-offers on Taylor's desk and the TAs off to one side.

Taylor nodded. "What do we have on offer?"

"Four contracts. Six-month security contract for Fortress Construction humanitarian projects in Africa; project sites are mostly in East-Africa, Somalia, Ethiopia, Eritrea, and Sudan. Seven-grand per man per day, plus ten-percent total for hazard-pay, no salvage rights, logistics on-site handled by Fortress."

She thumbed to the next contract. "Six-month convoy-escort contract from the US Army in Mongolia; same rates as from Operation Armstrong but the salvage-rights are reduced from 'full' to 'sixty-forty cash-value split' with us getting the forty."

Lisa set that one aside and displayed the third offer. "Unlimited-Timeframe Counterinsurgency Contract from the government of Colombia for operations against the cartels and the FARC. Five-grand per man per day, logistics on us, salvage- and spoils-rights 'Full and Unrestricted'."

Taylor nodded along, thinking over each contract. "And the last?"

Lisa smirked. "Six-month contract from the Japanese government for air-support, in support of American combat operations against the CUI. Tokyo wants in on the war but they're still bound by Article Nine. But, the Diet has apparently decided that since Article Nine doesn't specifically prohibit hiring mercs, that it de-facto allows the hiring of mercs. Sixty-five hundred per man per day, logistics costs split fifty-fifty between the JSDF and the Dragoons, and they offer us the use of their decommissioned Hyuga-Class Helicopter Carrier Ise, with a civilian crew and Tokyo 'being open to negotiations for the lease or sale of the hull to the Wolf Dragoons after cessation of hostilities'. They're most-likely going try and soak us for all we're worth on that."

...

Missy and Temujin were on the Boardwalk, enjoying a, as Missy phrased it when teased by Anika and Amalthea, 'Not-a-Date', when Missy paused and looked into a shop-window. "Temujin, don't turn around, just look at the reflection; you see the pair of men across the walk from us, sunglasses and buzzcuts?" she asked softly.

"I see them."

"They've been tailing us for the past twenty minutes. Let's see if we can't shake them; into the store here; we can go out the back after losing them in the crowd."

"If we can't?"

"If we can't, we fight. Get on the radio to Camp Kerensky and let them know while we move."

The pair walked casually into the shop and Temujin keyed the radio under his denim jacket, then frowned. "Is static..."

Missy checked her cellphone and saw it blinking 'no service', and swore under her breath. "Our comms are jammed... To Hell with subtlety, Temujin; out the back, quickly." She could see their two tails closing in behind them.

The two Dragoons burst out the back door of the shop and heard a puff as a cloud of something blew in their faces; as Temujin and Missy coughed and staggered forward down the alleyway, Missy could feel her face and limbs growing numb and heavy...

Elias Donaghee and Joe Purcell walked into the alley just as their partners, Piet Van Dorn and Donnie Blisko came through the door. The four quickly zip-cuffed both unconscious Dragoons, stripped them of weapons and gear, and blindfolded them before Piet and Donnie carried them to the waiting van while Elias cleaned up the gas-grenade and tripwire on the door frame.

...

Amalthea Hazen was trolling through PHO when a pair of PMs popped up on her account from username 'BrocktonKing' . The first was a list of names:

-Anders, Kayden: Purity

-Anders, Maximillian: Kaiser

-Meadows, Bradley: Hookwolf

-Biermann, Jessica: Fenja

-Fliescher, Eric: Krieg

And so on, naming the civilian identity of every cape in the Empire-88, with a countdown timer ticking backward from sixty minutes.

The second was a video of Temujin, his face bruised, in a chair next to an unconscious Missy. The Mongolian Dragoon spoke as if reading from a script.

"One hour, Star-Colonel Hebert. Sixty minutes to deliver Tattletale to this address," and Temujin read an address in the heart of ABB territory, "or these two die and an 'un-named source inside the Wolf Dragoons' releases the information in the first message to several national news outlets and unmasks the Empire. Choose." The video cut out right after the word 'Choose'.

"Star-Colonel! We have a situation!"

Last edited: Mar 3, 2018

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Taylor rushed into the room at Amalthea's shout, Lisa behind her.

"Star-Colonel, look." Hazen replaid the video and showed her CO the list.

"Coil, you stupid son of a bitch..." murmured Lisa.

Taylor stood up, eyes hard. "Lisa, send both of these to Kaiser and tell him the Dragoons aren't to blame; we have a mutual enemy. Then find Coil. Amalthea, find Anika and have her ready all forces to move. First, send those two messages to my email, though. Move!"

"Aff, Star-Colonel!"

Taylor saw the messages in her inbox and forwarded them first to Galaxy-Commander Kerensky, who unbeknownst to Taylor started making cross-dimensional calls, and then the video only to Director Piggot before calling the Director herself.

"Director Piggot speaking."

Taylor didn't bother beating around the bush. "Two of my personnel have been abducted by Coil, and he is threatening to both kill his hostages, and leak the E88's civilian identities to the media while implicating the Dragoons, if we do not surrender a defector from his organization in our custody to him within the next fifty-five minutes; I have forwarded the video to your inbox."

"What?!"

Taylor heard her datapad chirp an incoming message and looked down to read it.

Volunteer support incoming soonest:

-Elements of 1st & 3rd Bn 1st KH Rgt

-Trnry Cmd, Silver Kshk Beta Glxy

-Fighter Star, Blue Kshk Iota Glxy

You are the local authority. You have Command.

\- GlxyCmdr Natasha Kerensky

Taylor grinned savagely. "Director Piggot, I have support incoming to assist in dealing with this."

Piggot's voice was suspicious when she responded. "What kind of support?"

...

Lisa called Kaiser at his office. "This is the CEO of Medhal-"

"Mister Anders we don't have time for dilly-dicking around; this is Tattletale. I just sent you an email with two attachments in it that were sent to the Wolf Dragoons, they're genuine, and they're a threat to the Dragoons and to you, Kaiser."

There was a silence over the line. "These are genuine?"

"I'd say I'd stake my life on it, but as you can see I already am."

"Coil dies for this."

"Then you, me, and the Star-Colonel are all on the same page. I'm tracking him down now; the Colonel's probably already called in support from the rest of Clan Wolf at this point. Rally your forces and keep your heads on a swivel; I'll call you back when we have more." Lisa didn't bother saying any more before hanging up. "Now come on, Coil, you slimy bastard, where the fuck are you... Come to Mama..."

...

As Natasha and and Anika directed the chaos of troops prepping for action on the tarmac, Taylor prepped her own armor and made a pair of requisitions...

"Barrett, Chaplin, mount up!"

...

Emily Piggot scrambled to call in support of her own from the PRT and Protectorate, and probably from the New Hampshire National Guard, to try and stop a full-blown war from erupting in her city...

She redoubled her efforts when she heard Star-Colonel Hebert's voice ring out loud, clear, and murderously-enraged, from the same speakers that normally broadcast the Endbringer Sirens...

...

Brian LaBorn muted the television over Alec's protests when he heard the Sirens wail once, and he felt a chill go down his spine at the fury in the speaker's words...

"COIL! This is Star-Colonel Taylor Kerensky speaking, Coil! Here is my response to your demands! You have thirty minutes and not one second more to deliver Point-Commander Biron and Point-Officer Ganboldson to the front gate of Camp Kerensky, alive and without further harm! Do this and the forces under my command will only decimate your organization; refuse and you will be subject to Trial of Annihilation. In case you failed to understand that, you dezgra worm, it means if Missy and Temujin are not returned, we will put you and everyone who works for you, Human and Parahuman alike, to the sword. You have a half-hour, Thomas Calvert of Fortress Construction; Choose."

Last edited: Mar 4, 2018

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Star-Captain Marialle Radick watched as the forces assembled, each organizing and preparing for combat. There were two companies, one of 'Mechs and one of Armored Infantry, from the First Kell Hounds; a Star of Omnifighters from Iota Galaxy's Blue Keshik who had volunteered and were commanded by the same pilot who had danced the scars with the Dragoons' CO on Arc-Royal; the Dragoons themselves, all looking ready to storm Hell itself for their retribution; and her Trinary, Trinary Galaxy Command, Silver Keshik.

Marialle climbed into the cockpit of her Omnimech, a Gargoyle-A she had named 'Grotesque', and started her systems...

"Star-Captain Marialle Radick? Star-Captain Radick, this is Point-Commander Leslie Barrett of the Wolf Dragoons; radio check, over."

"This is Star-Captain Marialle Radick, Point-Commander; I read you five-by-five, over."

"Star-Captain Radick, Galaxy-Commander Kerensky and Nova-Commander Anika Gohcourt say I and Point-Commander Timothy Chaplin are attached to your Trinary for this operation. Where do you want us? Over."

"What units are you piloting, Point-Commander? I cannot distinguish you and Chaplin in all this chaos, over."

"Star-Captain Radick, Point-Commander Chaplin; I have a Mad Dog-Prime, and Barrett has a Summoner-A, both currently without unit insignia or distinguishing markings, over."

"Fall in with Bravo Command Star; you can stiffen Star-Commander Anson Connors' forces. Star-Captain Radick out."

...

Temujin paced in his cell, worried for Missy and furious at being held captive. He snarled at a passing guard, and cursed said guard loudly and roundly in Mongolian for something he wouldn't pick out of a dead camel's teeth before there came a crash and the guard slammed against the steel cell-door.

The door swung open and Missy stood there, a set of handcuffs dangling from one wrist and a look of absolute fury in her eyes. "Temujin, come with me; we have an asshole to educate..." She unbuckled the unconscious guard's gunbelt and pistol, and handed it to Temujin, then picked up the man's rifle, paused when she recognized it for an M61A from a shipment to the PRT, and checked the power-pack. She stuffed as many spare power-packs into her pockets as she could and slung the bandolier of shells for the under-barrel Masterkey someone had replaced the grenade-launcher with across her chest, cursing the unconscious guard for being too big for her to steal his body-armor vest. The pair started moving down the corridor, weapons up and scanning...

...

Lisa's fingers blurred over the keyboard as she ran Coil's systems down; images, footage, cell-signals, every scrap of data she could lay hands on poured across her monitor. Her head was screaming and she could feel blood beginning to run from her nose as she pushed her power to its limits...

All at once, her radio began to beep, a pattern she recognized as Morse. Lisa typed a transcription of the incoming message...

DRGNS DRGNS-CWLF PT LUCE COIL BASE-UNHRT-ARMD-COORDS...

...

"I have his location, and word!" called Lisa over the PA. "He's got his main lair under the construction-site at 8008 South Cutler, Downtown. Coywolf managed to get loose inside the base and get armed, Star-Colonel. They're asking for orders by Morse."

Taylor keyed her radio. "Tell them 'Cry Havok' and we are on our way in force."

"BELAY THAT!" A dark-caped figure dropped out of the sky and landed on the tarmac in front of Taylor and the others.

Alexandria had arrived...

...

Coil watched as the two Dragoons rampaged through his base, desperate to stop them as they drew closer to his office...

Coil split timelines. In one he reached for his computer to release Noelle; in the other he reached for the pistol in his desk drawer.

Coil-A's timeline collapsed when a gunshot rang out from behind him, at the same time Coil-Prime felt the muzzle of a very familiar nine-millimeter pressed to the back of his head. "You goofed, Thomas. You got tunnel-vision about your goals here in Brockton Bay, and you got overconfident in your power's supposed infallibility. You got desperate after Tattletale went to the Wolf Dragoons and you assumed that you knew how they'd jump based on your own knowledge of Capes and PMCs and the 'rules' they play by."

Coil split timelines; in one he-

The timeline where he began to dodge aside and go for the spare pistol taped under the top of his desk collapsed when Contessa shot him in the head.

"The Wolf Dragoons, Clan Wolf? They don't play by the same kiddy-rules as other people. They play Hardball, Thomas, and to paraphrase Val Kilmer as Doc Holliday, they play for blood. So you are going to sit right there, quietly, while I give you directions to follow, understand? Now, on your computer, go..."

Coil split timelines; in one he-

BANG

"One timeline only, Thomas."

...

"Alexandria, hello," said Taylor dryly. "Get out of our way; we have business with Coil."

"No, you don't. Coil's not getting away, mark my words, Star-Colonel. The Protectorate and Watchdog have had our eyes on Coil for over two years now, but he's a slippery bastard and we could never find enough concrete evidence to arrest him. Until today. We have a Stranger inside his organization undercover; Spectre's on his way to Coil's office right now to make the arrest."

Taylor met Alexandria's gaze through the faceplate of her armor's helmet. "So... Coil goes to jail?"

"Coil goes to the Birdcage."

Taylor shook her head. "Neg; Coil dies. Now move or be moved, Alexandria."

The Heroine raised her voice then, loud enough for all to hear. "The first hint of movement I see from any of you, and I'll crush you so flat you'll have to look up to look down!" She punctuated her order by stomping the runway and cratering it beneath her foot. "You don't want to fight me on this, Star-Colonel."

"Neg, I surely do not want to fight you. But I will if I have to."

...

Missy and Temujin approached the door to Coil's office and stopped; they could hear raised voices inside. A pair of pistol-shots brought the two Dragoons up to the door, and Missy burned through the lockplate with her M61A. They kicked in the door, Missy going low and to the left while her Point-mate went high and right...

Just in time to watch Coil swing his pistol away from the corpse of the other man in the room and up to his own chin.

BANG.

...

"Dragoon-Actual, this is Coywolf-Actual; radio check, over."

Taylor froze and responded. "I read you five-by-five, Coywolf. Status?"

"Coywolf-Two is a little shaken-up, we're both bruised and beat-up but no major wounds; we kept our heads down and made straight for Coil's office. We have two bodies here. First one, male, Caucasian. Two gunshots, chest and head."

Alexandria pulled a smartphone from her costume and brought up an image of a blonde man in his early-thirties, then that man's driver's license, showing both to Taylor. "This is Spectre."

Taylor nodded. "Coywolf, ID check on the first body." She looked at the license and and the description of Richard Tolson...

"Dragoon-Actual, the ID is a North Carolina Driver's License, picture matches the body, description matches the body. Name reads, 'Tolson', say again Tango-Oscar-Lima-Sierra-Oscar-November, 'Richard'. The second cadaver is Coil, and we confirmed by pulling his mask off; Thomas Calvert, CEO Fortress Construction. Son of a bitch ate his own gun right as we came through the door."

Taylor forwarded the ID info for Tolson to Tattletale. "Run his info, I want to know who he is and why he was in Coil's base."

"Aff, Star-Colonel," responded Lisa in a strained voice. She came back within ten minutes. "Rick Tolson, thirty-two, Home-of-Record is in Wilmington, NC. Fourteen years service US Navy, the last seven with SEAL-Nine out of Coronado, Honorable Discharge, picked up for employment by the Protectorate... Cape-Name Spectre, Rating Stranger-Five."

Taylor faced Alexandria. "You had a man on the inside that long, and got nothing?"

"Pardon the impolite phrasing, but we didn't get shit. And it looks like we still won't get shit."

"There is still the rest of his people."

"With Coil gone we can roll them up without trouble."

Taylor sighed. "I do not like this, Alexandria; it falls together too neatly. But, as our elders would say, I do not have to like it, nor does my dislike change what is." She sighed again. "I do not like it... But for now I can accept it. An example still needs to be made, though. A deterrent against future repetitions of Coil's folly, quiaff?"

Alexandria nodded. "I for one am just happy it didn't come to blows between us; the last thing Earth-Bet needs is an interdimensional war."

One of the Kell Hounds heard this and laughed aloud. "Good, because you'd lose."

...

Phelan Ward stared at the message from one of his Watch contacts on his console...

KH Officer Salome Ward, LyrCom Archon Melissa Steiner killed in explosion on Tharkad. Suspected to be assassination. Still under investigation.

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Mar 4, 2018

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Threadmarks Interlude: A Day New

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S0ngD0g13

Mar 5, 2018

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#1,656

Long-ish Pre-Chapter A/N: Okay, Ladies, Gents, and Void-Combatants, I will grant you that the last couple chapters were resolved in a fairly anticlimactic manner, and there's plenty of room for speculation about the precise details of what-all went on offstage. I encourage speculation and commentary; it helps me fix errors and improve my writing.

That being said, let's dial the burgeoning BTech Forces VS Triumvirate debate down just a tad; pretty sure there's a whole other forum on here just for such.

Thank y'all kindly, and back to the story!

...

Assistant Battle-Armor Technician and former Dockworker Alan 'PlateCarrier' Letts logged off his PHO account and sighed. God it's been a helluva day...

He tucked his phone back into the pocket of his jacket, stubbed his Marlboro out against the sole of his up-raised boot, and dropped the butt into the repurposed ammo-can that served as the butt-can for the Maintenance Bay smoke-pit before stepping back inside. The Brockton Bay native and his crew were working with the BA-Tech crews from Silver Keshik and the Kell Hounds to PMCS all the suits that had been brought in for the abortive shit-show that had been the death of Coil. The Kell Hounds especially wanted to make sure their gear was good, seeing as how they expected a recall-order to Arc-Royal to come at any moment. Nobody's suits would need more than light maintenance, Letts figured; after all, nobody had done any fighting.

"Hey, Bernie," Letts said to one of the Clan-born Dragoon AsTechs, "did Spanky ever get around to asking Danny about more guys?" As he spoke, he knelt and started opening a suit's legs to bare the internals.

"Neg, Alan; the Chief has been occupied with other things," replied BA-AsTech Bernard 'Bernie' Wolf as he started opening up the arms on the suit of IS-Standard. "I am told his ex-wife is in town with their children." Bradley McFarlane was, for all the irascibilty left over from his time as a Chief Machinist's Mate in the Navy, a very devoted father, and his ex, Lily, lived in San Francisco with their sons and daughter, so Alan couldn't fault the man that the Dock-Boys in Maintenance called 'Spanky' and the Clanners called 'Chief' for putting things off to spend time with his kids.

Alan reached into the toolbox by his knee for a ratchet and socket. "Bernie, you got a half-inch-drive socket-set in your box? I can't find mine."

"Aff. What size socket?"

"Ten-mill; a couple mounting-bolts on the left-knee armor have wiggled loose. I figured to pull the bolts and make sure they hadn't sheared off, then run them back in and torque them down with a little Lock-Tight."

Bernie fished in his toolbox for the socket, then swore under his breath. "I cannot find the ten-millimeter socket, Alan; I know I have one."

...

Lisa lay in her bunk, staring at the ceiling as she thought back to the day's events, and the weeks prior. The former Villain had settled into her role as a nominal Bondswoman quickly-enough, and acting as an intelligence analyst wasn't that different from what Coil had had her doing, though she was also Danny's de facto aide as well. There was a certain amount of unspoken disdain from some of the Wolves- ironically, not because of her Bondcords but for her having been a thief- but Florian and her crew, Anika, and Danny had made it abundantly clear that abuses wouldn't be tolerated and transgressors could expect to meet a Feist-One crewmember, the XO, or the Administrator in the Circle of Equals.

By the time Taylor had ordered her to run the ID for 'Richard Tolson', Lisa was on the verge of collapse; she had overused her powers somewhat that morning, and had massively overtaxed her Thinking during her scramble to find Coil's lair. After giving Taylor the information on Tolson, Lisa had collapsed, her head exploding with pain all the while; it was Florian who found her unconscious by her desk and carried her to the doctors.

Lisa had awoken to a scowling Doctor Benjamin Pierce...

"Bondswoman Lisa, do you know why you are here?"

Lisa tried to shake her head, but stopped when the motion brought a flash of pain. "Neg, Doctor Pierce. I assume it was serious, given I'm lying in a hospital bed. My Thinker-Headache was pretty bad just before I passed out..."

"It must have been," replied Florian from the door. "I thought for sure you were dead once or twice."

Doc Pierce cleared his throat. "The reason you collapsed is because you put so much stress on your brain in such a short timeframe that you almost gave yourself an aneurysm." Lisa's power clued her in that the doctor had lied, for Lisa's privacy's sake and to keep Florian from worrying; Lisa had actually had two blood vessels spring leaks inside her skull, and the Thinker had been briefly clinically dead on the operating table before her hurts were healed.

Doc Pierce glared at Lisa. "My orders are bed-rest, relaxation, and no mental stresses whatsoever for two days."

Florian nodded absently. "Lisa, the doc says you almost died; I can believe it, since I was the one to find you. Why?"

Lisa shrugged. "Missy and Temujin are Dragoons; they were in a bind so I did what I could."

Florian asked, "Why didn't you stop when your head started hurting?"

"They needed to be found, and I hadn't found them yet."

"You knew." Left unsaid by Florian was 'what' Lisa knew, that straining herself and pushing her Thinking that hard could have killed her.

"I knew there was a risk and I took my chances."

Florian smiled softly. "Give me your hand." When Lisa extended her hand to the tanker, her medicine-fogged mind didn't anticipate Florian drawing a kerambit from her belt and cutting the Bondcords before reversing the claw-shaped knife and presenting it to Lisa. "Welcome to the Wolf Dragoons, Lisa."

No-Longer-a-Bondswoman Lisa Wilbourn looked up at the ceiling and smiled, then dozed; it had been a busy day.

...

The next morning, Taylor, fresh from seeing Phelan, the Kell Hounds, and the Silver Wolves off, sat in her office and took a long look at the list of her forces. The night before, just prior to settling into some 'serious drinking' at the Black Rifle, Natasha had told Taylor she had six weeks to, by hook or by crook, bring the Dragoons up closer to a full Cluster instead of the short Cluster they currently were.

According to Natasha, and Taylor's own reading on Inner-Sphere history supported the Galaxy-Commander's opinion, there was no such thing as a 'small war' in the Inner Sphere, and the apparent assassination of Melissa Steiner would almost certainly lead to a war; wars throughout history had certainly been started over less than the murder of a head-of-state. Even if the conflict Natasha predicted came nowhere near Clan Wolf, she explained that it would be best to prepare for war all the same.

So Taylor sat and looked over her rosters, then started making a list, murmuring aloud as she wrote. "We have two mixed-vehicle Novas and a Star of Conventional Fighters, plus two Omnimechs... I can set Leslie and Tim to helping Sofiya train Mechwarrior candidates from among local recruits, building into a Star for each of them, and in the meantime bring in another Mech Star plus four more Battle-Armor Points now. Folding Golf Point in with them would give me a third, more traditional, Nova... A second Star of fighters, definitely, Omnifighters by preference, or Inner-Sphere ASFs... A VTOL Star, maybe? Scouts/Transports and Attack-Birds? Neg, better to split those into separate Stars..."

After she had an outline of the expansions she figured the Dragoons needed in forces, facilities, and logistics personnel, Taylor set about determining priority for requisitioning them and deciding on what models.

"Gonna be a long day, I think. Dad, come here a minute? I need your help with some admin and requisitions..."

...

The night after his and Missy's escape from Coil, Temujin sat easily in the saddle while his blue-dun mare walked along the perimeter fence. "It was... It was a long day," he told the mare in Mongolian. "I'm tired, my friend; my legs aren't built to run all day like yours are."

"Then sleep, Temujin; I'll wake you if there's trouble," replied the blue mare. Temujin slipped his feet free of the stirrups and laid his Intek across his lap, then let his eyes drift shut as the gentle rocking of the horse beneath him lulled him to sleep.

Missy, meanwhile, was at the range and had been there for several hours, laying down behind her bolt-action Savage, Beatrice, and working her way out through the targets; each successive target was farther-away than the previous. She sighted in on a bullseye target in the distance and ran through her mental litany. Range, fifteen-hundred yards... Wind, five miles an hour, left-to-right, full-value... As each calculation was made, each variable accounted for, Missy's breathing slowed and her heart-rate slowed as well; she fell into an almost-trance. She listened to her pulse, and listened to her breathing. When the moment came Missy squeezed the trigger, and watched through her low-light scope as the match-grade 6.5mm Creedmoor bullet struck barely an inch to the right of the very center. Missy yawned and settled back in behind the rifle and started her litany again. Range...

Amalthea would find Missy there the next morning, wrapped in her shooting-blanket, fast asleep with her hand still holding Beatrice's grip and her cheek still resting on the stock.

...

Danny sipped from a cup of coffee as he browsed PHO, and read some of the reaction to the previous day's events, and chuckled when he read Taylor's comments, especially the one where she gave some conspiracy-theorists her take on the entire Coil Incident. Her stance was that the Protectorate and PRT had told her Coil was dead and the evidence she had bore that out, so she'd take them at their word until proven otherwise; after all, taking someone at their word, and believing someone, are not necessarily the same thing...

Danny yawned and stretched. "Well, I need to get moving and earn my pay. It's likely to be a long day..."

Last edited: Mar 5, 2018

That Guy. Yes, That Guy.

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Threadmarks 52: Meetings and Arrivals New

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S0ngD0g13

Mar 7, 2018

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#1,695

"I believe Somers' Rock would be too obvious; everyone in the city knows it's where the Villains go for neutral negotiations. Commerce Park, Downtown; yourself and two guards, discreet ones, Mister Anders."

"As you currently have me over a barrel, Star-Colonel, agreed. Tomorrow at eleven, Commerce Park, and we each get two discreet guards."

"Bargained well and done, Mister Anders. Have a nice day." Taylor turned to Lisa and Danny. "Missy, and Hamid from Yankee Point. I'll want Missy up high with good sight-lines and something that can reach out and crush someone."

"Aff, Star-Colonel," replied Lisa. "We've got quite a few applicants scheduled for their Trials in the next few days; mostly guys from Fortress who need work; Coil being their former boss means no one else really wants to hire them. Mykel and Sofiya plan to administer the Trials, maybe pull in Spanky or one of the senior Techs for non-combat testing."

"Good," said Taylor. "Are the pilots from Blue Keshik still on-base?"

"They and our Fighter Star took off this morning to practice dogfighting out over the Atlantic in international waters. According to their flight-plan they should be back in time for supper."

...

The next day, Taylor sat on a bench in Commerce Park, dressed in cargo-pants and polo-shirt with a knife in the top of her right boot and her sidearm under her left arm in a shoulder-holster concealed by her windbreaker; Hamid was nearby, just as well-armed and keeping a discreet eye on things while he threw a tennis ball for his Canaan Dog, Suleiman. Missy watched over both through her rifle-scope from her hide on a rooftop nearby.

Max Anders approached the bench, his 'secretary' just behind and to the left of him. "Star-Colonel."

"Mister Anders. Please, sit. Your secretary, Miss Biermann as well. I assume your driver is still with your car?"

Max shrugged. "He's around. Yours? I don't see anyone but you."

"The gentleman with the dog over there is one. The other... She's around."

...

Victor lay on a rooftop overlooking Commerce Park, watching the exchange through the reticle of his Remington 700. He was there in case of trouble, and the bench was well-within the range of the bolt-action .308.

A flash of light in his peripheral vision drew his attention and he turned, swiveling the rifle to look through the scope and identify the source.

Six buildings down and across the street, Missy Biron was looking right at him through the side-mounted scope of the Gauss-Rifle he'd seen her bragging about on PHO and smiling a wide, smug smile. Her other hand held a small mirror and flashed a message in Morse Code at him that had him chuckling and flipping her the bird with a smile:

HI VICTOR- MINE IS BIGGER.

...

"The information we discussed?" Kaiser began, his tone quiet but faintly strained.

Taylor handed him a thumb-drive from her pocket; there wasn't actually anything on the drive except for several mixed-drink recipes, but both parties knew that the meeting wasn't about the information itself. Rather, they were meeting to settle what the Wolf Dragoons would do with their knowledge of his and his Empire's identities.

Taylor smiled thinly. "Your competitor was apparently a big believer in redundant planning; my guys got quite a few copies off of remote servers." She told the cover-story easily, veiling her real meaning behind the ruse that Medhall had hired the Dragoons to retrieve stolen formula data. "That said, we have no way of knowing if we got every copy; the recent unpleasantness left our Intelligence Section bedridden from overwork and exhaustion."

Max nodded grimly. "I was afraid of that... This is the only remaining copy?"

"Neg; I will not lie and say the Dragoons do not possess a copy of the data, as insurance in case of need. That being said, it would take... considerable effort, to put us in a position where leveraging that information is a viable option, and would in fact be well-past the point of provocation where a more direct response would be given."

Max nodded again and pocketed the drive. "I see..."

Taylor held a hand up placatingly. "Please, take no offense; none was intended, I assure you, Mister Anders. It is just that the Dragoons had been on the verge of accepting a contract with Fortress Construction when Calvert tipped his hand; the experience has made us rather wary at present regarding the potential for other such unscrupulous dealings and we thought to take precautions."

Max smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I understand entirely, Star-Colonel. Congratulations on your recent promotion, by the way. I apologize for not being able to stay longer and chat, but I'm afraid I have a busy afternoon and many meetings. I hope your day goes well."

Taylor smiled politely and nodded back. "And yours as well, Mister Anders."

After Anders left, Taylor stood and rolled her neck before walking out of the park and toward where her dad waited in his pickup.

...

Taylor waited on the tarmac in front of the Aerospace Hangar that evening as the ten pilots of her Fighter Star assembled. "Fighter Star, I have good news for you; you are getting new birds. I'm working to expand the Dragoons, as you all already know, and alongside that, I'm also working to bring us up to First-Line standards. As such, your Conventionals have been retired. We'll still keep them, mind you, as reserves, for now, but you are all getting Omnifighters."

Taylor pressed the button to open the hangar and reveal the fighters before continuing. First- and Second Points, you have an Avar-Prime and an Avar-C per Point; Third- and Fourth Points, a Sulla-Prime and Sulla-C. Fifth Point, you have a Sabutai-Prime and Sabutai-C. As we expand and incorporate further Aerospace forces, the same basic structure of 'Light-Medium-Heavy' will continue, with one adjustment based on a Star's intended role. Stars intended primarily for air-supremacy and aerial-intercept operations will be organized as two Points each of Light fighters and medium fighters, and one Point of Heavies, and be designated 'Pursuit' Stars; those intended for air-to-surface ops and CAS will swap one Point of Light fighters for a second Heavy Point and be designated a 'Strike' Star. Accordingly, you are now First Pursuit Star. Eventually I want our fixed-wing forces up to two Binaries with a Pursuit Star and a Strike Star in each."

Taylor smiled slightly. "That's the good news; now for the not-so-good news. Being the senior ASF Pilots here, it's now your jobs to train any local pilot-recruits we take on and get them rated and up to spec. Understood?"

Lydia nodded sharply and saluted. "Aff, Star-Colonel. What craft will be used for training our nuggets?"

"The Conventionals for basic training and Omnis for advanced training and final rating. In the meantime, familiarize yourselves with your new wings and decide on what nose-art you want, if any. Just keep it tasteful."

...

Taylor walked back into the HQ building and found Chelsea in the Gym, slowly guiding a newly-cleared Lisa through a series of movements with a blunted training-kerambit. "Chelsea, a word?"

The Star-Commander instructed Lisa to keep practicing, then stepped into the corridor with Taylor. "Aff?"

"I notice that the rest of your Star has gone back to Outreach, yet here you are," Taylor stated quietly.

Chelsea smiled slightly. "I requested, and was granted, pending your own approval, a transfer from Blue Keshik to the Dragoons. Iota Galaxy was beginning to chafe, in all honesty, and my transfer opens the Star-Commander's position up for my old wingman to take over, Star-Colonel."

Taylor matched the smile with one of her own. "Did you retain your fighter from Blue Keshik?"

"Neg, I am momentarily Dispossessed."

Taylor made a note in her datapad, then looked up. "What airframes are you rated on? As I recall you flew an Avar during the Trial of Bloodright."

Chelsea nodded with a smile. "I am rated for the Avar, as that was my first fighter, as well as several other Light- and Medium Omnifighters; my fighter in Blue Keshik was a Batu-Prime."

Taylor nodded and noted that down. "Are you rated on Sulla Medium Omnis?"

Chelsea blushed and looked away. "Neg, I am not, not fully. I only lack thirty hours' flight-time in it and a check-ride before being fully-rated for the Sulla, however."

Taylor nodded. "In the morning, get with Star-Commander Lydia Wolf; I will let her know to make sure you get those last thirty hours and your check-ride. Also, I'd like you to know two things. First, when we're off-duty it's perfectly okay to call me by name, Chelsea. Second, any nose-art on your Sulla should be kept tasteful, but is otherwise up to your discretion. Welcome to the Wolf Dragoons, Sis."

...

Lisa breathed deeply of the fresh air the next morning as she walked toward the Undersiders' hideout. She approached the door and knocked.

When it sprang open, Brian's sister, Aisha, grinned at seeing Lisa. "Lisa, you're back! I thought the Dragoons still had you! Come in; Brian's still upstairs with Alec and Rachel." The excitable girl bounded up the stairs ahead of Lisa and shouted, "Guys! Lisa's back!"

When Lisa herself stepped into the room, all eyes were on her. "Hey, guys," she said with a small smile.

"They finally turned you loose, eh?" asked Regent with a smirk. "Lemme guess, you talked them all to death and walked out over their deaf corpses."

Tattletale chuckled. "Nope. I damn-near killed myself helping track down Coil's lair the other day and they gave me a job. Oh, by the way, Alec, you're welcome."

"For?"

"For talking the Star-Colonel out of going ahead with her plans to put all of Coil's minions to death. Guess who our boss was." Everyone except Rachel winced. "Anyway, I'm not here to rejoin the Undersiders; I'm here to offer you guys a job, after a fashion."

Grue shook his head. "I can't go mercenary; CPS wouldn't look too highly on me getting custody of Aisha if my job was apt to have me out of the country."

"Too high-profile. Last thing I need's to draw my old man's attention, Tats," said Alec, his accent deliberately slipping closer to his native Quebecois French. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"Still wanted by the cops," said Bitch simply.

Lisa smiled. "Good thing I wasn't going to offer you merc-work then. Listen, we made a damn-good team of thieves. I've got some nest-egg money put by and I don't want to see my friends out of work, so here's my offer. I loan you guys two-hundred grand, a no-interest/no-deadline loan, and I help get Rachel's record cleared; you guys start a business as Rogues here in the Bay. Five-percent of your profits after expenses monthly goes to me until the loan's paid off. Sound good?"

"What sort of business would we be good at, Tats? It's not like theft is a legitimate occupation, after all," said Regent.

Lisa gave him one of her famous gulping grins. "Oh, but it can be... Do you know what a 'Red-Cell Security-Consulting Firm' is, Alec?"

...

At the same time Lisa was explaining the real-life, literal, example of it taking a thief to catch a thief to her old teammates, Taylor was looking at two of her newest prospective recruits. It was taking every ounce of her self-control to keep her expression neutral...

...

In Washington, Rebecca Costa-Brown sat in her office and thought back over the past few days. She had gotten the call from Director Piggot only minutes after Contessa had called and told her that she needed to get to Brockton Bay, and that the next step on the Path required her to stall the Wolf Dragoons while Coil was dealt with.

Rebecca was concerned, however; Cauldron's resident Thinker hadn't mentioned it often, but it was plain to see that Path to Victory tended to be more vague than normal in regards to the extradimensional PMC, and the haphazard-seeming way Coil's attempted blackmail of the Dragoons had been settled certainly bore that estimation out. Rebecca preferred things neat and orderly, but there was such a thing as being too neat; the Dragoons were wary of a setup.

Regardless of how it happened, Calvert had needed to die, and Alexandria had needed to get between the Dragoons and Calvert. Rebecca was more than aware of the Wolf Dragoons' status as military reserves in their native dimension; Coil abducting two of the Dragoons wasn't just illegal, it was a literal act of war, and if she hadn't stalled until Contessa could end Calvert then the United States would have had no choice but to go to war with Clan Wolf, given that Taylor Hebert and her CO were fully-prepared to do, and had been on the verge of actually doing, a thunder-run through a populated city and burning Coil's entire organization to the ground for their boss's temerity before salting the earth and pissing on the ashes.

Rebecca had to admit, though, Contessa's having described how she explained to Calvert that the final steps of "Path to Preventing the Wolf Dragoons from Destroying Brockton Bay" were, in order, to leave his office door unlocked, depart from Coil's office to the Ellisburg Containment Wall and distract the guards there, and finally to watch as Coil was thrown over the wall and into Nilbog's 'kingdom' by Point-Commander Biron with both his arms and both his legs broken, was a hell of a tale. It had been an equal mix of spite against Cauldron and the Dragoons, and fear that Contessa hadn't been bullshitting him, that had lead to Thomas 'Coil' Calvert blowing his own brains out with the 1911 he kept taped under his desk, after he shot the unfortunate guard that Contessa had yanked through one of Doormaker's portals from another part of the base.

Little did Rebecca Costa-Brown know, but in the brief moments before his end Coil had split timelines one final time. In one, he shot the guard and tried to run.

Contessa hadn't bullshitted him; Missy Biron and Temujin Ganboldson breached his door and Missy took his knee out with the laser she carried, then advanced on his prostrate form. As she lifted the M61A and brought the buttstock down on his other knee while growling about sending him back to Ellisburg, the Coil in timeline-A turned his pistol on himself.

The Coil in timeline-B, having no other options and no more time, decided to deny the Dragoons the pleasure of ending him, shot the guard, and turned his pistol on himself.

...

Taylor looked at the pair in front of her, having listened to their tale of woe. "Let me just recap this, just to make sure I fully understand. Your parents, Madison," she said, meeting Madison Clements' eyes, and your parents as well, Gregory," as she faced Greg Veder, "have been arrested for corruption, having taken bribes from Coil in exchange for information from their respective workplaces in the BBPD and BBFD."

They nodded, and Greg opened his mouth to speak before Taylor speared him with a look that froze him like a rabbit before a hungry wolf. "Gregory, stay quiet, please. I am thinking. Continuing on, you both decided that rather than going into the foster-care system until other family-members could take you, that you would come here and seek work, doing... What, precisely?" Both started to speak simultaneously until Greg paused to let Madison go first.

"I can cook; before she was hired as a dispatcher, Mom worked at a restaurant and I spent plenty of time in the kitchen." When she finished, Madison took a half-step back.

Greg stepped forward and said, "I want to try for a slot as a Mechwarrior. If at all possible." Taylor's annoyed-neutral expression kept his request short and subdued.

Taylor sighed and looked both of them over, her hands behind her back. "I hope you both know, I have no great fondness for either of you. Madison, you were one of the people who isolated, degraded, and abused me at Winslow; not the worst, when measured against the emotional pain of Emma using my childhood secrets as weapons, nor against Sophia's physical battery, but you still took a very active role in making my life Hell."

Taylor turned to Greg. "And you, Greg Veder... How often did you witness what went on at Winslow? How often did you stand idly by and say nothing, do nothing, while myself and others were bullied in such an evil manner? Gregory, you have heard the saying about what it takes for Evil to flourish, quiaff?"

He nodded slowly. "I've heard it. 'All it takes for Evil to flourish, is for Good men to do nothing'."

"I do not doubt that you have the potential to be a Good man, Gregory, but do you know what the proper term is, for a Good man who does nothing? That man is- you, Gregory Veder, are- a Coward." The fact that Taylor never raised her voice above a conversational tone made the rebuke sting all the more. "By rights I should throw both of you out on your ear, and say good riddance. But I never want it said that I didn't give you a chance. Follow me."

She lead the pair to the Chow Hall. "Madison, this is the Camp Kerensky Chow Hall. Right now we have four cooks and each week four Points send a man apiece to work KP, on rotation." Taylor gestured one of the cooks over. "Earl, meet Madison Clements, who wants to hire on as a cook for the Dragoons."

Earl Bascombe nodded politely to Madison. "Miss Clements."

"Earl, grab Ray, Pepper, and Juan, and take a break, go eat somebody's cooking besides your own." Taylor watched the four cooks depart and lead Madison into the kitchen, where four vehicle-crewmen waited.

There was blonde-haired Amanda 'Mandy' Parker, from Florian's Badger in Feist Point, giving her a curious raised eyebrow. Next to her was James Torc, the driver of Cur-Two, and off to one side stood Parker Cuffe, the copilot and gunner from Whippet-One, and Lurcher-One's gunner, Gina Hilton. "Ladies, Gentlemen, this is Madison Clements, who has applied to become a cook with us. You four will assist in her Trial of Position. I trust Lunch is already cooking or cooked, quiaff?"

Mandy nodded, and the slim Canopian tanker gestured to the pots and grills. "Aff, Boss. Earl decided today was a good day for soups and grilled-cheese sandwiches."

Taylor nodded. "Madison Clements, this is your Trial of Position: the time is currently ten-thirty, and Evening Chow begins at eighteen-thirty and runs until twenty-two-hundred. Between now and then, your task is to plan, prepare, and cook supper in sufficient quantity to keep the chow-line stocked for three-and-half hours, and of sufficient quality that no one gets food-poisoning or complains to myself or my father about your cooking. These four are your Mess-Attendants; they're your minions for the duration but be advised their duties also include serving food and cleaning the floors and tables in the dining-area, and Lunch starts in thirty minutes. If the first batch of your food isn't ready to serve by eighteen-forty, you fail, and if the line runs short an item for longer than ten minutes you fail. Pass this Trial and you will be a Dragoons Cook. Attendents, help her like you would the regular cooks. Keep her from burning our building down, but otherwise treat her exactly like you would the regular cooks. Begin."

After setting Madison to her task, Taylor walked back out into the dining-area and nodded to Greg, who followed her up to the table where Leslie and Tim sat, drinking Cokes and playing Acey-Deucey. "Barrett, Chaplin, meet Greg Veder. He wants to be a Mechwarrior, so I want you to test him, with Sofiya judging. Hook him up with a vest and neurohelmet and walk him through powering-up a Quasit and basic maneuvering, then run him through Sofiya's gauntlet like she did you two. Greg, this is your Trial of Position: Point-Commanders Barrett and Chaplin will set you up in one of our training 'Mechs and give you a quick class on making it move. Then they're going to run you through a maneuver-course while Point-Commander Sofiya Wolf, our Chief Mechwarrior-Instructor, watches. I'm not a Mechwarrior, Greg. Sofiya is; if she says you make the cut, then you'll be a Trainee Mechwarrior. Understand?"

"Yes, Ta- I mean, Star-Colonel."

"Good. Leslie, Tim, he's all yours. I'll let Sofiya know to be ready."

...

At six-thirty that night, Taylor sat down in the Chow-Hall and watched Madison and the four Mess-Attendants. The line was stocked with steamed vegetables and baked potatoes, and there were toppings for the spuds out and ready. The main course was Surf-and-Turf, broiled lobster-tail alongside grilled steaks that Madison herself was cooking to-order, with grilled onions and mushrooms to top the steaks with.

"How is she doing?" she asked Gina when the tanker came to wipe the table down.

"Pretty good, actually. Splits up jobs pretty evenly, takes both soldierly-advice and soldierly-humor with good grace, gets her own hands into the work without hesitation."

"And grilling the steaks to-order? Seems ambitious."

"She's got the skill for it. She 'warmed up' for this by grilling us Mess-Attendants and herself a steak apiece. Quick, efficient, and flavorful."

"You know she was one of my bullies at Winslow..."

"Yeah; we started shit-shooting earlier and she admitted she was one of the bullies. Says she wants to put it behind her and turn over a new leaf. She seems pretty chill now. Mandy said something about how Madison reminds her of a Mechwarrior she used to work with alongside Florian and Getta, some chick who went by the callsign 'Coryphee'. Anyway, Boss, I gotta get back to work. Try the steak; girl's got skills."

Taylor tried the steak. Madison didn't have skills. Madison had mad skills. Taylor paused in her eating when Sofiya, Tim, and Leslie staggered in, shaking. Taylor gestured them over. "How did Greg do?"

Sofiya swore floridly in Russian, and Leslie looked Taylor in the eye. "Boy's a Goddamn menace in a 'Mech cockpit right now. His balance is fair but his coordination is shaky as shit. Doing arm-movements he almost put his Quasit's hand through the canopy of Tim's Mad Dog and backing his Quasit out of the hangar was enough to try the patience of Job."

Sofiya snorted. "It took him several repetitions to learn each action and motion, but he did learn. He is teachable. Borderline, but teachable. I say, take him on as a trainee, but also have him work in the Repair Bays as an Assistant MechTech. It will build his strength and improve his coordination. I wouldn't be comfortable rating him as deployable right now anyway, even if he were hot-shit in a 'Mech instead of just shit."

Taylor nodded. "I'll let him know; I hadn't planned on Greg or Madison being deployable right now anyway." When Greg and Madison came to her table later, Taylor was ready.

"Okay, you two. Here's the deal. Madison, you won your Trial of Position hands-down; congratulations, you are now a Wolf Dragoons Cook. You'll get the same pay as Juan, the next-most-junior of the other four cooks. That said, all four of those other cooks are more-senior than you, and they functionally outrank you. Earl is Chief Cook and you answer to him; the next steps up the chain-of-command are my Dad, Nova-Commander Gohcourt the Executive Officer, and then me." Taylor looked Madison in the eye. "You'll work here after school and weekends, and if your guardian decides to object to you working here, their word goes. You're also officially non-deployable until your eighteenth birthday. Deal?"

Madison nodded, certain that there wasn't going be negotiation about that offer. "Deal."

Taylor nodded. "Report to Earl and carry out your duties." She turned to Greg. "You also passed, if only by the very-slimmest of margins. Sofiya's rated you 'Borderline, but Teachable'. Your chosen specialty, however, presents a problem; unlike Madison, the job you decided to test for is a combat-arms job. Unlike Missy, whose case is different because of special circumstances, even training you officially as a Mechwarrior right now will draw an inordinately-large amount of flak down on us. So, officially, you are now employed as an Assistant Battlemech-Repair Technician. And you will work in the Bays under the watchful eyes of our MechTechs when Sofiya isn't giving you piloting-lessons. If we get civilian Industrialmechs, we'll get you rated on those first. The same times apply to you as to Madison, after-school and weekends. The same restrictions apply as well. It's your legal guardian's call if you keep working here, and you're non-deployable until you're eighteen. Deal, Greg?"

"Deal."

"Good. I currently have no duties for you, so consider this the end of your first day on the job."

After Greg left, Lisa sat down. "You wanted to see me? I got your email earlier," said the Thinker without much preamble.

Taylor held up a short stack of papers. "This is a contract, from Morgan Kell and Victor Ian Steiner-Davion."

"I don't recall us getting any contracts from Arc-Royal this morning," replied Lisa. "Or rather, I didn't get any in... He sent it to you via Missy and included it in the transmission with his chess-by-mail move for their game."

"Exactly. They want someone with investigative skills beyond the norm to look deeper into the deaths of Melissa Steiner and Salome Ward Kell. You're being sent across to Outreach and from there to Tharkad. Morgan's paying for the contract and Victor's expediting your travel with a Command Circuit. The pay itself is only fifty-five-hundred Dollars a day, plus expenses, but the political capital earned by a successful job will be immense; Victor might not have been crowned yet, but he's Archon-Prince of the Federated Commonwealth. Pack and prep; you leave out in the morning."

"Security for me?"

"Charlie Command Star, Trinary Galaxy Command, Silver Keshik. You're being sent with Natasha, ostensibly as an aide, and she's going to Tharkad for the funerals. Be subtle and stay safe; be watchful, Sighthound."

...

Lisa departed the next morning for Outreach, and was soon aboard Natasha Kerensky's personal Union-C Dropship, the Widow's Web, headed to the rendezvous with their first Jumpship.

Lisa was practicing the movements Chelsea had shown her with her training-kerambit, when one of the Silver Wolves saw her. "You need to be looser; your movements are too stiff. Here, like so." The Elemental demonstrated with bare hands. "Now you. In slow-time." Lisa moved from one movement to the next, slowly, and the massive infantryman watched and critiqued.

Finally, the big man nodded. "I think I know what will help you best. You know what a 'sticking-hands drill' is?"

...

When Lisa stepped off the Dropship on Tharkad, she sucked in her first lung-full of non-reprocessed air and smiled grimly. "Vacation's over; time to get to work..." she muttered to herself as the Elemental who had helped her learn the kerambit stood beside her. "Ready, Sven?"

"As ready as I ever will be, Sighthound. And quit calling me 'Sven'. My name is Carlos, as well you know." Carlos was smiling even as he admonished Lisa. "First, however, we have to go with the Galaxy-Commander to meet with Archon-Prince Victor."

They were walking toward where Natasha waited when Lisa glanced to her left and saw a man walking toward them.

No, toward Natasha... thought Lisa to herself. Hands under his armpits inside his open coat, singularly-focused on Natasha, weapons? weapon, concealed in the coat, focused on target, about to make his move!

Lisa bounded forward as the man started pulling a pistol from under his coat. As Carlos shouted, "Contact Left!" Lisa grabbed the shooter's forearm and slashed his hand to make him drop the gun; he retaliated with an attempt to jerk his arm free from her grip and a punch with the other.

Lisa simply let the man's arm go and parried his punch aside, letting her blade's positioning and his own punch open the inside of his forearm from wrist to elbow; he screamed in pain just before Lisa flowed around him and used her knife's finger-ring to punch the gunman in the temple and knock him out.

As police were called and Lisa stood there, shaking from adrenaline, Carlos said to Lisa, "You need to be looser; your movements are still too stiff."

That Guy. Yes, That Guy.

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Lisa paced the length of the briefing-room she had appropriated aboard the Widow's Web, her eyes never leaving the myriad printouts taped to the bulkhead with what clues she had uncovered in her three days on Tharkad.

Unmistakable for anything but a targeted hit. Target was the Archon; Salome Ward Kell was incidental. The bombs were built into the flowerpots, plastic-explosives inside the inner surface of the pot walls; the potting-soil inside likely tamped in tightly to direct the blasts outward, and only the inner portions of the pot-walls were hi-ex. The outer portions were plain terracotta, so the blasts would hurl fragments like shrapnel. Not remote-detonated... Timed? Not mechanical, wouldn't have cleared security... Chemical? How? Hmm... The plants were live plants, so they had to be watered; a timer with a water-reactive chemical inside...

"Sven! I have a theory that needs testing; do we have any Sappers or EOD aboard?" she said to the Elemental standing by the door.

Said Elemental sighed and smiled ruefully. "Why do you insist on calling me 'Sven', Lisa? My name is Carlos..."

Lisa snorted. "You are built like a brick wall, platinum-blonde with ice-blue eyes, and your complexion is paler than a fish-belly; you do not look like a 'Carlos', you look like a 'Sven'. Now, the bomb-guys?"

"I know something of explosives, being Sapper-rated. Your theory?"

Lisa smiled. "Okay, the bombs were built into the flowerpots themselves, explosives making up the inner layers of the pots' walls with terracotta outer layers that would act like the casing of a frag-grenade, and the potting-soil packed in tightly to help direct the blast outward for maximum effect."

"I am following so far; the footage from the bombing matches those characteristics," replied Carlos.

"None of the security systems picked up any sort of EM signals out of the ordinary, so the bombs were not triggered by remote; that leaves timed-detonaors. They had to get through security, so not mechanical since it would show up on the scanners."

Carlos interjected, "A non-metallic mechanical timer is possible; the bomber obviously already had access to ceramics and knowledge of how to shape them. An electronic timer would not be ideal, as the only way to arm it without a remote would be to start the timers well in advance and hope he or she had the bombs emplaced before they detonated."

Lisa smiled brightly. "True. But the plants in those pots were live plants and thus had to be watered periodically; the bomber wouldn't want to risk moisture compromising the timers and causing them to fail, or worse, go off in his or her face." She grabbed a pen and a piece of paper, and sketched a rough illustration as she talked. "So how does the bomber activate the timers on the bombs? Would it be possible, Carlos, to make a chemical timer based on water-absorption? Like say, a capsule with a membrane that absorbs water at a fixed rate, with some sort of water-reactive chemical like sodium inside that would trigger the detonator?"

"Hmm... That would work, actually. All the bomber would need to activate the timers would be to... To water the plants." Carlos made a note. "The florist who brought in the plants could have been an accomplice, or the bomber himself."

Lisa nodded. "I need the security footage from prior to the Archon's speech."

...

Taylor looked at the men in front of her in her office. "Alright; your resumes say you all have experience with large guns and missiles, and I'm inclined to take Lieutenant-Colonel Beckwith's vouching for you rather highly."

"We won't disappoint, Ma'am," said the leader of the six-man group, a burly former soldier named Wallace McAllister.

Taylor grinned. "I should hope you don't, Sergeant McAllister," she said, "because we are about to embark on your Trials of Position. There are manuals for your prospective equipment on the table there. Take one apiece and study them on the way out to the runway where Point-Commander Florian is waiting with her Badger. We need more room for your Trials, so I have arranged for some range-time on Outreach."

The group filed out, noses buried in the manuals, and loaded into the infantry compartment of Feist-One. Taylor chuckled at the nose-art on the hull; on the forward portion of each side was painted the image of a wooden-hulled three-masted schooner with a wolf-headed figurehead under full sail, running before the wind. Newly-added to the images were the Beta-Galaxy flag that flew from the peak of the mizzenmast and the Wolf Dragoons flag atop the foremast, to go along with the Clan Wolf flag painted flying from the mainmast's peak. Florian had also painted a name in graceful lettering over the rear troop-compartment hatch. The Badger's name was 'Howling Wind'.

A half-hour and a disorienting dimensional crossing later, they arrived at their designated range. Taylor had sat quietly, listening as the six prospects talked among themselves during the ride. Once they had all disembarked, Taylor pointed to the vehicles parked a few yards away. "Your vehicles. Gentlemen, the Huitz... Hyoo-itz... You know what, I am not going to butcher this vehicle's very-long Nahuatl name; most Clanners call it the 'Huey', though I have heard it called the 'Whiz-Bang' by certain Techs. Eighty-five tons and officially classified as an Assault Tank, but it has no business whatsoever in a direct shooting situation as it only carries five-and a-half tons of armor. The main reason for its existence are the pair of Arrow-IV Artillery-Missile launchers it carries, and the four tons of ammunition for those launchers."

Taylor smiled. "Your Trial of Position is this: Crew that Huey. There is a training-exercise underway right now, and you are the artillery-on-call for the defending side. Your callsign is 'Sledgehammer', and the FDC is callsign 'Ball-Peen'. Be advised, there is a Point of Nagas out there with specific orders to silence you, so be ready for possible counter-battery fire. Your Trial ends at sundown; do well and you will be Dragoons. Begin."

McAllister started pointing. "I'm Gun-Chief; Schanks, Nunez, Gunner and A-Gunner. Gross, Hancock, Driver and Comms; Felts has the turret and I'll take one machine-gun while Hancock takes the other. Move!"

The crew scrambled inside and the Huey's engine fired up with a loud rumble. Pete Hancock slipped his headset on and keyed up. "Ball-Peen, Ball-Peen, this is Sledgehammer; we are on-station and ready for tasking, over."

"Sledgehammer, this is Ball-Peen; Fire Mission, grid Able-one-eight-four-niner Hotel-six-five-two-six; infantry and vehicles in the open. Deflection and Elevation are as follows..."

Taylor watched as the launchers shifted slightly, and listened to the rest of the fire-call.

"One salvo, Smoke; I will adjust."

The Huey's launchers roared and the missiles streaked away into the heavens. Taylor could hear Hancock call over the radio, "Shot!"

"Ball-Peen confirms, Shot... Splash! Adjust Fire, up one-zero-zero, right two-five-zero. One salvo, Smoke." A second hail of missiles roared away.

"Shot!"

"Splash! On-target! Two salvos, HE; Fire for Effect!"

As she listened to the distant thunder of impacts, Taylor began to understand why Artillery was long called 'King of Battle'...

...

Lisa stared intently at the footage. She watched the florist come through security; she watched him place the flowers; she watched him water them and start the timers' countdown. "Carlos, this man here? This man scares me. This is our bomber. He's in disguise; that's not his real face and this was not his first assassination. This man is a narcissist; he's never been caught and as such has come to believe he cannot be caught, on some level. He's so utterly-assured that he's a Stranger-10 that you could see the smug rolling off him like heat on a thermal-scope."

She drew in a shuddering breath. "He's also an utter sociopath; he's incapable of seeing other people as anything but customers and targets, and those two categories aren't mutually exclusive."

"You would know him if you saw him? Even in another disguise?" asked the Elemental from his place by the door. He walked closer and peered at the images.

"In a heartbeat. He might be good-enough at disguise and acting to rate a Stranger-0, but he's not good enough to fool a Thinker-7 like me."

"When the bombing occurred all outbound Dropships were grounded; whoever he is, he is still on-planet. If we tap the street-cameras..."

"You will do no such thing," said a voice from behind them. Lisa and Carlos turned to face a slim, bespectacled young woman in a black skirt-suit who stood in the doorway; behind her stood two men in black fatigues and body-armor cradling rifles. "You were hired to investigate the Archon's, murder, yes? You have investigated; your job is done."

Lisa arched an eyebrow, though her calm was mostly an affectation; her power was saying that the two goons with rifles were not the most-dangerous people present. "And, if I might ask, who are you?" The woman smiled slightly and Lisa had a line of Shakespeare suddenly spring to mind. Where we are, there's daggers in men's smiles...

"Annalise Bauer, Lyran Intelligence Corps. I don't believe I need to ask your name, Analyst Lisa Wilbourn Wolf of Wolf Dragoons Cluster, Beta Galaxy. Or would you prefer to be called by your current callsign, Sighthound? Or your old callsign, Tattletale? Perhaps by your Parahumans Online username, AllSeeingEye?"

"So you have read my dossier. This is supposed to impress me? I should be intimidated by the fact that an LIC operative can read?"

Bauer smiled wider and shook her head. "Oh, no; you should be intimidated by the fact that you have come to the personal attention of Lohengrin. This is only the barest of courtesy-calls. You were hired to investigate and that task is now done. Your efforts and the evidence you have gathered are appreciated but your services are no longer needed. By order of Regent Katrina Steiner, you will turn over your findings and leave the apprehension of the assassin to us."

Lisa nodded. "Let me confirm this." She keyed her radio. "Galaxy-Commander Kerensky, this is Sighthound. I have a rather officious Lohengrin operative aboard the Web saying I am to turn over the results of my investigation by order of Katrina Steiner. Can you confirm?"

"What is this operative's name?"

"Bauer, Annalise."

"Sighthound, the orders from the Regent are legitimate. Give Bauer copies of your findings."

Bauer gestured for the radio and Lisa handed it to her. "Galaxy-Commander, with respect my orders are to take your Analyst's findings and evidence. Not copies, the originals."

"Which is surprising to me. Answer me two questions, Bauer; first, why would your orders to take all the evidence differ from the orders I am looking at on the Regent's desk? Secondly, why would a member of the LIC's elite counter-terrorist strike-teams be dispatched as an errand-girl? Sighthound?"

Lisa took the radio back. "Her orders came from someone higher up the food-chain than her, not Kathy, but higher than Annie here's team-lead. Annie has no idea why her orders are the way they are, only what she was told and that if we refuse she's authorized to use lethal force. She's a puppet, of no great consequence. There is, however, a more-pressing issue, Galaxy-Commander."

"Which is?"

Lisa looked at Annalise as the Thinker talked to Natasha. "I need Maintenance Services in the Briefing Room; the Fire-Suppression System in here keeps making funny noises and it's driving me goofier than a Goliath Scorpion."

Lisa then dropped the radio and grabbed Bauer, dragging her behind the table just as one of the armed agents drew a needler pistol and shot the other, before turning the pistol on Carlos, who was going for his own sidearm. The M&G ratcheted again and Carlos dropped, his arm going limp from the shredding effect of the flechettes. The assassin stalked forward and aimed to finish off the Elemental...

Bam-BAM.

Lisa lowered her pistol, shaking her arms in pain while Bauer started bandaging Carlos' arm. Brian had given her the pistol after taking it from Aisha, who had 'found' it in the back pocket of an E88 skinhead. The former Undersider tipped the barrels of the M4 Alaskan Survival Derringer up and dropped the empty casings out before reloading.

Annalise was brought up short when Carlos grabbed her by the throat with his good hand. "Who... Was... He?"

"No... Clue..." she rasped around his grip.

"She's telling the truth, Sven. After Asshole there killed you, he was going to come after Bauer and me next," said Lisa.

"Let her go, Star-Commander," said Natasha from the doorway, having responded to Lisa's 'Master/Stranger' code about the Fire-Suppression system. "And someone please tell me, what kind of cannon went off in here that left a hole like this in our attempted killer?"

Lisa held up the derringer. "My home-planet's meanest sneak-piece; an American Derringer Company M4 Alaskan Survival Model. The top barrel shoots .410 shotshells or .45 Long-Colt, and the bottom barrel shoots .45-70."

Lisa walked over to the gut-shot killer and pulled his balaclava off. "Nope, no idea who he is. Hey, you," Lisa tapped his cheek. "Who sent you?"

She never got a response before the light left his eyes. Bauer rolled his sleeves up and looked at the ink on the dead man's arms. "Here, this tattoo here." She pointed to a trio of tattoos on his left bicep. "A wolf-skull and a serpent-skull, and a severed head."

Lisa looked at the tattoo. "The lips are sewn shut. A wolf and a serpent and lips sewn shut; could he be more obvious?"

Annalise and Lisa spoke as one. "He was Loki."

...

Taylor listened as the Clan Wolf Technicians explained that they could finish refitting her Star of Hueys from Internal-Combustion Engine-powered to Extra-Light Fusion Engines within a week. "Good. Thank you."

After that was done, Taylor walked down to the Chow Hall. Chelsea met her along the way. "Taylor? May I ask a question?"

"Go ahead, Chelsea."

"Why do you have Omnifighters of all different weight-classes? You do not need them." She proceeded to explain that the Avars, even with drop-tanks, didn't have the range to keep up with the others, and everything a Sulla could do a Sabutai could do as well or better. Taylor gave the fighters' specs a second, closer look and realized her sister was correct.

"Damn; thanks for pointing that out to me, Sis. Okay, we'll swap the Avars out for more Sabutais and leave the Sullas for a permanent base-defense unit."

Eddie, from the Fighter Star, pounded up the corridor toward them. "Star-Commander, Star-Colonel, come with me; you both need to see this!"

Both girls started following him. "What is going on?" asked Taylor.

"Lydia set up our fighters for simulations, and one of the AsTechs from the Omnimech crews, the awkward one, asked if he could try."

Taylor groaned. 'The awkward AsTech from the Omnimech crews' was Greg... "How bad is the damage?"

They arrived at the hangar and Taylor saw the fighters connected by data-cables to one another and to a computer. Nothing was burning, and the pilots were crowded around the computer, watching something. Taylor glanced over their shoulders and her jaw went slack.

Lydia was 'flying' a Sabutai against Greg, who also controlled a Sabutai. A counter in the corner of the monitor tracked 'kills', and though the Dragoon pilot was clearly leading, Greg was managing to hold his own.

"Veder, you need to turn tighter if you want to catch me," said Lydia over the comms. "Otherwise this happens." She expertly banked her fighter and cut across, looping around behind the teen before locking him up and firing.

The teen yelped and rolled, then laughed as he tried to maneuver for his opponent's tail. "True. Like this?" He imitated Lydia's previous maneuver. It was a little sloppier than hers, but unmistakably the same type of turn.

Chelsea watched closely. "He has potential... Look how quickly he picks up maneuvers. Taylor, why is he an Omnimech AsTech?"

Taylor shook her head. "He barely passed his Trial of Position as a Mechwarrior and I assigned him to the Techs to learn and improve between lessons from Sofiya, Tim, and Leslie..."

Chelsea laughed aloud. "He has real potential as a fighter-pilot, Sister. Which 'Mech Star were you going to assign him to? I would offer batchall for his transfer to my Fighter Star."

Taylor nodded. "I hadn't thought of which Star to put him in; the other reason for my assigning him to the Techs was to have him officially in a noncombat role until his majority. He's non-deployable until his eighteenth birthday."

The simulated fighters came to a landing, Greg bouncing slightly on the landing-gear when he cut power a bit too sharply and landed a little hard. The cockpits opened and both pilots climbed out of their craft.

Greg froze when he saw Taylor. "Oh shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Greg," Taylor said, one eyebrow raised, "why did you not tell me you had more skill in the air than on the ground? I am honestly curious."

Veder swallowed thickly. "I... I didn't think to mention it? I played a lot of flight-sims, and I even have a full-real cockpit setup for it at home, but still, I mean, Big Stomping Mecha..."

Taylor chuckled. "You got so distracted that you forgot to mention it. Somehow I believe you, Greg. However," Taylor watched his face pale, "there is still the matter of your performance in this simulation to address. Gregory, this is Star-Commander Chelsea. You might recognize her as the lead pilot from the Blue Keshik Star that departed recently? The Star-Commander here transferred into the Dragoons, and she will be commanding our second Star of fighters. Chelsea, how would you rate Greg's performance?"

Chelsea nodded gravely. "His performance in the simulation shows remarkable potential, though I would not be able to give a more-accurate assessment without seeing him in actual flight. That said, he showed enough potential that I would be willing to fight a Trial of Possession to get him into a fighter."

Taylor grinned at Greg's gobsmacked expression and looked to Lydia. "Do you concur, Star-Commander Lydia?"

"Aff, Star-Colonel. The boy is utterly wasted bending wrenches in a 'Mech bay and to hear the stories told, Point-Commander Timothy is of the opinion that cutting his own throat with a vibroknife would be safer than putting Gregory in a 'Mech cockpit. I concur with Star-Commander Chelsea; give him to her and make an ace of him."

Taylor met Greg's eyes. "What say you?"

Greg straightened his back and nodded. "I'll do it. I won't let you down."

Taylor smiled. "Then I leave you in the care of your new instructor, Pilot-Trainee Gregory Veder. Chelsea, teach him to fly. He's still non-deployable until he's eighteen, and I'd prefer he actually get his pilot's licence before being thrown into fighters outside of sims, but other than that, he's yours."

Last edited: Mar 11, 2018

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"Come with me, Gregory," said Chelsea. "Before we begin your training there are things we need to address."

Greg nodded. "Aff, Star-Commander." He followed her to the Clinic and listened while she told the MedTechs to give him his Flight Physical.

Chelsea faced him and nodded. "When you are finished here, report to the hangar; I will await you there."

After she departed, Chelsea hunted up one of the prospective pilots, a former RCAF CF-18 pilot named Frederick Grey. She needed a trainer-aircraft, and Grey had flown himself in to Camp Kerensky in his personal aircraft, a restored AT-6 Texan...

...

Lisa and Annalise spoke as one. "He's a Loki." Lisa continued speaking. "Or at least, he wanted us to think he was a Loki. I highly doubt that the LIC's pet terror-group would let their guys make it so easy to ID them."

"So, who?" asked Natasha.

"We shall see," replied Lisa as she methodically searched the dead man, forcing her shakes down all the while. She was from Brockton Bay, and thus no stranger to violence or death, but she and the Undersiders had made it a point not to kill...

She drew a breath and let it go. "Whoever he was, he only went loud when you questioned Bauer's orders; someone apparently dislikes people digging into the Archon's death." Lisa sighed. "Bauer, who gave you your orders?"

"I can't say."

Natasha gestured for Carlos to leave before meeting the Lohengrin Agent's eyes. "Considering the dead man on the deck was about to kill you as well, it would be prudent of you to speak, Agent Bauer." The Black Widow's eyes were chips of flint. "Who gave you your orders, Agent?"

Annalise froze, realizing that she was cornered and alone in the room. "The Deputy-Director. He claimed the orders came straight from the Regent."

...

"Let me get this straight, Star-Commander; you have a trainee who needs stick-time but no trainer-planes, and you want to borrow my Harvard?" asked Grey.

"Aff, if you are willing to lend its use. If not, I need your assistance in procuring one."

"Well, how skilled would you rate your nugget?"

"Great potential but all his stick-time up to now has been in sims."

Grey nodded. "Let me make some calls. The pilot community's tight-knit; maybe I can find a bird for you."

Two hours later, Grey found Chelsea in the hangar, overseeing Greg using the simulator to practice touch-and-go landings. "I have a line on a trainer for you, Star-Commander, a T-37 Tweet."

Chelsea stood from the desk and smiled. "Describe it."

"Twin-engine jet, side-by-side cockpit, straight-wing subsonic. Used to be the US Air Force's Primary-Training bird of choice. During Vietnam the Americans flew a heavier, armed variant called the A-37 Dragonfly as a light ground-attack craft. The one I found you is in Boston, in great condition."

"Then I suppose I should get Taylor to cut us a check. Prep your AT-6."

...

The flight to Boston was uneventful and the purchase of the T-37 was handled smoothly and without issue. Grey took off in his plane, and Chelsea took off in the Tweet. After a short series of aerobatics to make sure she had its measure, the duo turned for Camp Kerensky.

When they arrived, Greg was still hard at work in the simulator. "Greg!" called Chelsea over the radio. "Park it, shut the simulator down, and report to the taxiway with full kit." Chelsea waved Greg over when he emerged. "Climb in; time for you to get some flight-time." Once he was in the cockpit and strapped in, Chelsea began to taxi toward the runway. "Watch me, Gregory." They came to the runway and Chelsea stopped. "First, check the control surfaces." She used the stick and rudder-pedals to make sure the ailerons, elevators, and rudder moved properly. "Kerensky Tower, Trainer-One requesting clearance to take off."

"Clearance granted, Trainer-One."

The Tweet shrieked down the runway, ably demonstrating why one of the T-37's nicknames was the '6,000-Pound Dog-Whistle', and climbed into the air. After they had leveled off, Chelsea nodded to Greg. "Hands on the stick, feet on the pedals. I will maneuver us; feel how I do so and follow me through." She smoothly rolled the jet into a shallow bank and put it in a level turn to the right. After a moment she reversed the roll and turned the Tweet to the left; the figure-eight circuit was repeated several more times before Chelsea said to her trainee, "Alright, now I will follow you through as you fly the same maneuvers. You have the controls."

Greg rolled the aircraft into the next right-hand turn and focused on his flying. Chelsea felt his initial hesitation on the controls fade away after a moment and smiled. She could feel his focus through the stick...

"Gregory, reverse our course, climb to Angels-Twenty, and level off." Greg started to bank into a level turn again but Chelsea held up her hand. "Call it a test; reverse our course with an Immelmann. You know the maneuver?"

"Aff; half-loop then roll upright. You sure?"

"I will follow you through."

Greg pulled up into the half-loop and then snap-rolled the Tweet upright before pulling back on the stick again to climb up from ten-thousand- to twenty-thousand feet. "Coming level at Angels-Twenty, Star-Commander."

"Good. Now that we have more room, time for the fun part. I am going to be testing your maneuver-knowledge by calling a maneuver, which you will then perform. If you do not know how to perform a maneuver, tell me and then I will have you follow me through until you learn it. Ready?" Greg nodded. "Break right!"

...

Lisa stood in her Dragoons Service-Grays as Katherine Steiner-Davion looked her over; she had been called before the woman's desk after Agent Bauer was debriefed regarding the shooting aboard the Widow's Web. "So you are the one that Victor hired to look into Mother's murder... I admit, I can't see what makes you so special, Miss...?"

"Wilbourn, Ma'am. Intelligence Analyst Lisa Wilbourn, Wolf Dragoons."

"What makes you so special that my brother and Morgan Kell would bring you in to investigate?"

Lisa's eyes cut to Natasha, who nodded. "Permission to speak freely, Ma'am?" Katherine nodded. "I can see by the decor in this office, and by your attire that as much as you are half-Davion, your personal leanings are largely pro-Lyran. There are three LIC Agents watching us right now from behind that one-way mirror, through the visible camera in that corner over the door, and through the hidden camera inside the right eye of the statue of Katrina Steiner on your bookshelf. You have a holdout laser-pistol under the tail of your blouse but little experience in its use, especially not left-handed, but that's the only holster you could find on short notice... And right this second you're wondering whether or not I've gotten into your security-feeds. I haven't; I'm just next-best-thing to psychic. Right now, you're angry about your mother's death, scared that you're next, and angry that your brother went behind your back by hiring me. You ordered my findings turned over so that you could have Lohengrin make the bust on the assassin, make it a Lyran victory instead of just a FedCom victory." Lisa smiled a smug, vulpine smile. "And that, Katherine Steiner-Davion, is what makes me special. I don't miss even the slightest clue."

"Very well, then," replied Katherine, her voice quiet. "I have your findings here; what are your intentions?"

"You have my findings, and the means to apprehend the assassin; the issue is that he was hired by someone, and that someone needs to be found also. Otherwise what's to stop them from hiring someone else in the future? Whoever this contracting party is, they're highly-placed, or well-connected."

"Do you have any clue who it might be?"

"I have a theory, but not enough evidence to prove or disprove it conclusively just yet."

...

Greg whooped with joy as the Tweet came out of its high-yoyo. Chelsea felt him following her on the controls and smiled. "Bravo, Gregory. You still need to practice but my time teaching you was well-slent. We are at Bingo-fuel, though, so our flight must come to an end. When we land and park the Tweet, get cleaned up and meet me at the Gym."

...

Lisa and Natasha walked away from Katherine's office. "So, this theory of yours?" asked Natasha.

"Thought it might have been the Regent who hired the assassin."

"Was it?"

"Neg, the bombing wasn't her doing. Don't get me wrong; she'd sell her brother upriver in a heartbeat if she thought she needed to to gain the throne, but it wouldn't be for hatred or jealousy, nor for any lust for power. She'd turn on Victor to gain the throne because she legitimately believes she'd be a better ruler than he would, a better steward for their people."

"Then who?"

"Who, indeed..."

Natasha nodded. "Continue investigating, quietly. This whole fiasco has my hackles up..."

"Aff, Galaxy-Commander. I love a good murder-mystery."

...

Taylor listened to the news in her office. The past week had gone by swiftly and the expansion of the Dragoons and Camp Kerensky was coming apace. She hadn't brought in anyone new beyond the Huey crews that formed the first Star of her Artillery Binary, as far as combat troops, but the admin- and logistics personnel had grown by leaps and bounds between locals and Clanners. Taylor watched one of those local logistics guys, Harry Beck, go past her window in a forklift, pallets of ammunition on the forks and the ammo-dolly he towed behind. Greg was learning at a prodigious rate; Chelsea was working her trainee into the ground to get him his wings. Taylor heard the screaming of the Tweet's engines as it circled around for another touch-and-go.

Taylor's datapad chimed an incoming message.

Boss;

Culprit found; killer killed. Mastermind Steiner, Ryan, in collusion w/ Jade Falcon Watch. Situation Fluid, Birds massing on the border. FedCom counter-massing.

Summary: The Shit ain't hit the Fan yet, but the Monkey's in the Wind-Up.

Sighthound

Last edited: Mar 17, 2018

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#1,879

A/N: Many thanks to Ridli Scott for letting me borrow his characters for a while; I hope I didn't write them too horribly.

...

"Continue your expansion efforts, Star-Colonel Taylor Kerensky. The details of the current situation along the Lyran border are being investigated, but for now they're operationally-irrelevant in regards to your unit. Your Cluster is far-enough behind the lines, as it were, that bringing you to the front would be a long and arduous process; right now you are in a strategic-reserve status in case of need."

"I understand, Galaxy-Commander. ETA?"

"We should be on the ground by nightfall, and Analyst Lisa back on-base by morning. Kerensky out."

Taylor sipped her tea and looked over her reports after Natasha ended the transmission. Things were going smoothly; with Lisa back she'd finally be able to formally vet the influx of former Fortress Construction employees and test them into the Dragoons.

That still left the matter of a certain arrogant Spaniard. "Lydia, Chelsea, show Trainee Salazar Vega in, please." The two ASF Star-Commanders escorted Vega into Taylor's office. "Salazar, I told you earlier that you and I would be discussing how is the proper way to handle rejection, quiaff?"

"Yes, you did, Star-Colonel."

Taylor looked him in the eye and said, "After your Trial against Greg I looked back over your paperwork and made some calls; the fact that a military-trained fighter pilot, flying an aircraft twenty years more advanced than his opponent's, got his ass handed to him by a fifteen-year-old gaming-nerd... Well, it made me curious." She stood from her desk and continued. "Surprisingly you didn't lie about being a fighter pilot; you were honest about your service in all respects, except for one, your discharge."

Vega went pale and started backing up, only to bump into Sofiya who stood in the doorway, glaring grotesquely. The scarred former-Mechwarrior seized him by the arm and frog-marched him four steps forward and back to his original position.

Taylor shook her head. "I have to give you some small amount of credit, Salazar Vega, for your restraint. At least your abuse of AsTech Emily Callahan was only verbal, unlike the girl in Barcelona who rejected your advances. She never made it to the hospital after you brutalized and beat her. But, I suspect you already knew that; after all, it's why you deserted and fled here."

Sofiya cranked the arm she gripped up between Salazar's shoulder-blades, palmed the back of the Spaniard's head, and slammed him face-first into the top of Taylor's desk before cuffing his wrists. "You will come with me," she growled, her native Tikonov accent showing through as she dragged him from the office toward the makeshift Brig.

...

Two hours later, Taylor stood and stretched, then jogged to the tarmac and requisitioned a single vehicle. Once it arrived, Taylor mounted the Defiance Motors Bluestreak Monocycle and started it, then rolled around to the Vehicle Hangar and parked.

She entered the Hangar and found Michelle. "Hey, Michelle, you have a spare helmet I could borrow until I get one of my own?"

Kurita looked up from the dog-eared copy of Achtung! Panzer! she was reading. "A tanker's helmet?"

"A motorcycle helmet. I just got myself a new ride; figured I'd visit the DMV to get it registered then a cycle-shop to get proper leathers, but I don't want to ride there without a helmet."

Kurita smiled and went to her locker. "Sure thing. Give me a minute and I'll follow you there on my Beemer." She tossed Taylor an open-faced helmet and a set of tinted goggles, then shrugged into her leather jacket and grabbed her own helmet.

The pair rolled off-base, Taylor on her Bluestreak and Michelle trailing on her red BMW R1150GS. As they crossed the city-limits they passed Point-Commander McAllister, of the newly-formed but still-incomplete Artillery-Vehicle Star, in his well-worn GMC Sierra coming out of town ferrying his crew back to base; the stocky Tennesseean waved as he went by.

Taylor stopped at the DMV and got her monocycle registered after clearing up that it was a military vehicle undergoing testing (which it was, after a fashion; Taylor had given serious thought to incorporating conventional motorized-infantry for battlefield-scouting). After that the pair headed for a cycle-shop Michelle recommended downtown.

...

Anika and Sofiya were waiting in front of the HQ building when the party arrived to pick up their prisoner for extradition back to Spain. In a flash of light, five figures appeared on the tarmac. Two were uniformed Spanish police, and the other three were members of the well-known Spanish Hero team the Guardianes.

The first was a powerfully-built man dressed in armor reminiscent of a Conquistador, the team leader Spinola. Beside him, looking like a Mini-Wookie in camo trousers was Ridli Scott, their Tinker. The last, dressed in a blue-and-white bodysuit and sporting a thunderous expression, was the the Thinker Ojancana.

Anika nodded respectfully. "Welcome to Brockton Bay, and Camp Kerensky. I am Nova-Commander Anika Gohcourt, and this is Point-Commander Sofiya Wolf."

Spinola nodded back. "Thank you, Nova-Commander Gohcourt, for apprehending him. He's been a particular thorn in our side for a while now."

"Mine especially," said Ojancana.

Anika nodded. "I imagine so. In the meantime, Sofiya, bring him out while I and these gentlemen attend to the transfer-of-custody paperwork; take Ojancana and two more Dragoons with you."

"Aff, Nova-Commander. Miss?" She gestured the female Guardian inside.

They emerged five minutes later with Salazar Vega, or as the Guardianes knew him, Francisco Nogues. His hands were cuffed behind his back and his ankles were shackled, and his head hung low as Lane Bekker and Alexandra Fetladral half-dragged him out to make the transfer. Ojancana raised his head by grabbing his hair, and showed her teammates that it was their man, even with his swollen nose. "Su nariz rota no es mi culpa. El Dragón que lo arrestó, La comandante en jefe, le estampo la cara en la mesa de la coronel," she explained for the Policia.

Ridli tilted his bandanna-masked head as if smiling. "Hola, Paquete," he said, his voice dripping sarcasm.

Anika nodded sharply. "Gentlemen, Lady, the prisoner is yours."

The two policemen took hold of the prisoner and Spinola nodded back. "Ladies, we have the prisoner. Once again, thank you."

Anika smiled warmly. "Oh, I was also instructed by Dragoon-Actual to tell you, keep the coordinates and feel free to visit. Just send one of us a message so we know to expect you."

Ridli smiled again. "Thank you, Nova-Commander. The same invitation stands for you and yours, if you're ever in Madrid." He nodded to Spinola and Ojancana, who nodded back. Adios."

"Adios," said Anika just before Ridli's teleport beacon activated and the Spanish party vanished in a flash of light.

...

The next morning, Lisa strolled into the Chow-Hall. She bypassed the first two coffee-urns, marked by Earl with labels that read 'Low-Grade' and 'High-Grade', filled a cup from the third urn, marked 'Weapons-Grade', then sat down across from Taylor. "So, what did I miss?"

"A lot, Lisa. You missed a lot while you were gone. But don't worry, there's still work to do. Once you're done with breakfast I need you vetting prospects; we already had to extradite one pilot back to his home-country for..."

Lisa winced, her powers reading the man's crimes from Taylor's face. "Aff, Taylor. I'll get right on it."

...

After breakfast, Taylor walked into the briefing-room where Lisa and a dozen ex-Fortress employees were. "The first batch to pass vetting, Analyst?"

"Aff."

Taylor smiled. "Ladies and gentlemen, the time has come for your Trials of Position. Techs, stand up." Four rose. "Report to the Vehicle Bays; you will undergo your Trials there. Pilots, fixed- or rotary-wing, stand." Two stood. "Names and specialties."

"Isaac Reuben, fixed-wing. Ten years USAF, flying Strike Eagles."

"Gilbert Yeager, rotary-wing. Ten years Marine Corps, Pilot- and Gunner-qualified on AH-1Z Zulu Cobras."

Taylor smiled. "Reuben, go to Second Fighter's hangar, report to Star-Commander Chelsea Wolf for your Trial. Yeager, to the flight-line and report to either Jackal- or Whippet-Actual." As the two men left, Taylor looked at the others. "Vehicle-Crew? Any tankers?" None stood. "Mechwarriors?" One man stood and was sent to Sofiya for testing. "And the rest of you are Infantry." She grinned."On your feet and follow me, on the bounce."

Taylor lead the five men into the Armory. "Each of you, take a vest, a mask, and a set of training-receivers. Veterans, explain to the others the concept of MILES gear. Afterward, take up what weapons and ammunition you individually see fit to carry. Your Trial is this: each of you will be assigned a Point of Elementals and a designated area on-base; you have until sunset to eliminate your assigned Point, who will be awaiting you inside that designated area. They will not have battle-armor. One 'kill' gets you in as a Foot- or Motorized-Infantryman. Three gets you a shot at being a Jump-Trooper, and four gets you a shot at being Battle-Armor. A clean sweep of your Point will get you Battle-Armor training and an automatic shot at another Trial of Position for the rank of Point-Commander. Understood?"

Five heads nodded sharply. "Good. Gear up and I will give you your Points."

Last edited: Mar 22, 2018

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#1,913

Taylor set her tea down just after sundown and walked outside to meet her five new infantrymen.

The five stood on the tarmac, tired, dirty, and bruised. All had been successful, to one degree or another. Taylor addressed them. "Congratulations; you have all achieved victory in your Trials of Position. When I call your name, step forward. Gary Malone." A wiry olive-complected man with brown hair buzzed short stepped forward. Taylor handed him a Wolf Dragoons beret and shook his hand. "Welcome to the Wolf Dragoons, Point-Officer Gary Malone. Take your place in formation."

One by one, each was called forward, given their beret with its gleaming red wolf-head badge, and welcomed to the Dragoons by their new CO. Afterward, Taylor smiled. "Once again, welcome to the Wolf Dragoons. I won't blow smoke up your asses and say the work's anything but hard, but the payout's worth it and you won't work alone. We're Wolves, and wolves hunt in packs. Everyone here, from the Techs and Logistics personnel, to the pilots and vehicle-crews, to the Elementals who just finished chewing on you, are Wolves and your new pack-mates. We'll have your back whatever happens, and we'll expect you to have ours, at need. Your burdens are our burdens; your successes are our successes. A burden shared is a burden lessened, and a success shared is a success multiplied. Before I detail you all off to your new billets, I want to say one more thing, my new pack-mates." Taylor smiled even wider, then said, "Never forget that the Strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the Strength of the Wolf is the Pack."

Taylor then pointed to each in turn and assigned them. "Malone, Collins, Kittinger, you each had two kills; report to Point-Officer Jason Cobb, of Zulu Point, for Motorized-Infantry training. Reyes, you had three kills; Point-Officer Carlene Cooper of Zulu Point will be your instructor, and she should make a Jump-Trooper of you. And lastly, Vega."

"Ma'am," replied the Filipino former-security guard.

"One of your PHO tags is 'Verified Ambusher', as I recall. You certainly lived up to it; four kills from a very well-executed ambush."

Marc Manuel Vega chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. "Not that well-executed; the fifth Elemental got around behind me."

Taylor smiled easily. "All the same, Point-Officer Vega, bravo. Report to Point-Officer Lane Bekker to begin your Battle-Armor training. All of you, fall out."

...

The next morning, Taylor was awakened by her datapad pinging an incoming transmission from the Galaxy-Commander. Taylor sat up and rubbed her cheek as she answered the call. "Good morning, Galaxy-Commander."

"Star-Colonel, good morning. I have a request to make of you, a personal one."

Taylor rubbed the last bits of sleep from her eyes and replied, "A personal request? Certainly, I'd be happy to help. What do you need?"

"I have a friend who desperately needs a vacation, and I hoped you'd be amenable to hosting him for two weeks. Recent events have left him in need of a rest somewhere quieter than here."

Taylor lifted one eyebrow, unseen by Natasha through their voice-only comm. "To hear the stories told, Galaxy-Commander, you don't have friends who aren't some manner of warrior; what unit's your friend with?"

"Kell Hounds. He's a Mechwarrior."

"I'd be happy to host him, Galaxy-Commander. What's your friend's name?"

...

Taylor sipped a cup of tea and watched as the crews maneuvered her newest forces into their bays. Her Artillery Binary had full-complement of equipment, though she still needed crews for four Points of Hueys; Artillery First Star was the Hueys under McAllister, and Artillery Second Star consisted of five Naga Artillery Omnimechs under a Star-Commander named Barbara Wolf.

Taylor heard a knock on her door frame and turned to look. Joanne Watson stood there in a gray blouse and skirt, and a battered LSU windbreaker with the right sleeve pinned up. "Come in, Agent Watson, sit down."

Joanne smiled ruefully as she sat. "Not an Agent anymore; just call me 'Joanne', Star-Colonel."

Taylor shook her head. "You earned the title, but if you insist, Joanne... provided you just call me 'Taylor'. I'm sorry to hear about your partner."

"Locke was a good man and a good partner; we pulled each other's butts out of more than a few fires over the years. Gohcourt said you wanted to have a word with me?"

Taylor nodded. "It's been brought to my attention that the Dragoons need extra hands for local-intelligence and counterintelligence work, and for vetting recruits; right now our sum-total organic intelligence apparatus is one overworked Thinker-Seven, Missy, and Parahumans Online. I won't press you, not right now, but when you return from your vacation I'd like to offer you a job."

Watson pursed her lips. "A desk-job?"

"Or field-work, as needed. Trust me, replacing an arm is well-within the capabilities of our doctors, even with it being your primary arm. What do you say?"

Joanne thought it over for a long while, then said, "Let me think about it while I'm on vacation; I'll give you my answer when I get back. Deal?"

"Deal." Taylor stood. "Come on; I'll walk you to the docs so they can make sure you're good on vaccinations; the last thing anyone wants is for you to catch something from the Thirty-First Century."

...

Joanne having been given over to the Dragoons' medics, Taylor jogged out to the Battle-Armor Hangar and climbed into her suit. Once she had exited the hangar, Taylor bounded away toward the ranges and the A-Course. She'd not had a chance to really train in a while, so the teen was determined to push herself while she had the chance.

Taylor came to the Assault-Course and leapt upward, feathering her jump-jets to land atop the first beam of the Dirty Name, then leapt again and again until she was over the highest beam and dropping toward the ground. Her laser came up and sighted in on the first target, then flashed twice, hitting the target and dropping it. As soon as she landed, Taylor sprinted forward, juking left and right through the Slalom-Poles, shooting down the second, third, and fourth targets with laser and machine-gun before slashing the fifth in passing with her battle-claws. Taylor's heart surged as she ran the course; she laughed in joy as she downed target after target and flowed over, under, around and through obstacle after obstacle...

...

That evening, just before sundown, Taylor met Natasha's friend on the tarmac. He was a still as distinguished in appearance as he had been on Arc-Royal, wearing a well-worn Kell Hounds uniform with one sleeve, much like the right sleeve of Joanne's windbreaker, pinned up. When Taylor stepped forward to greet him, he greeted her first. "Please, Star-Colonel, no formalities, please. I'm here on vacation. For the next two weeks I'm just a Mechwarrior on vacation, and once things settle out some back home, Victor's planning to visit here too. Officially I'm scouting it out for him."

Taylor smiled a bit and nodded. "Fair enough. Welcome to Camp Kerensky and Earth-Bet... Morgan."

Last edited: Mar 24, 2018

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#1,942

Morgan Kell stared his foe down; their battle had been ferocious and hard-fought, seesawing back and forth between the armies, and casualties had mounted swiftly to reach this point. Truly, the warrior that faced him this day was a wiley strategist and a skilled one...

"Checkmate," Morgan said as he tipped over his King. "You win, Missy. What's that bring the score up to?"

Missy smiled. "Six to me and nine to you; I'm gaining on you, Morgan. In the immediate sense, I won, so the first round at the Black Rifle's on you."

The pair stood from the picnic table where they'd been playing and Missy packed up the chessboard, slipping the set into her backpack. She stepped into the barracks and set her pack down by her footlocker, then went back outside; she and Morgan headed into town.

...

When they arrived, the Black Rifle was packed. Dragoons rubbed elbows with cops and firefighters, paramedics and off-duty PRT Troopers. Morgan and Missy bellied up to the bar and the former-Ward waved to Joe the bartender. "Hey, Joe; how you doing?"

"Doing good, Missy. O'Douls NA, right?"

"Aff; it's on my friend, Morgan, here; he lost a chess game. Joe, meet Morgan Kell, from Arc-Royal. Morgan, I give you Sniper Joe, the owner and proprietor of this fine water-hole."

Joe and Morgan nodded to one another in greeting, and the Army veteran grinned a bit. "What'll it be, Mister Kell?"

Morgan looked at the selection before saying, "A draft ale, whichever you think's best, please." Joe drew a pint from a tap that bore a stylized brown dog's-head.

"Here you go. One pint of Scout Dog 44 Amber Ale." Joe also uncapped a bottle of O'Douls for Missy.

Martinez sidled up to the bar and leaned on it. "Evening, Coywolf. Who's your friend? Oh, hey, Joe, another round of Budweisers for Victoria and me, please."

Missy sipped her drink. "Martinez, Morgan. Morgan, Martinez."

The Trooper chuckled and grinned. "Still sore about that foosball bet you lost, I take it?" She smiled at Morgan. "Trooper-Sergeant Jillian Martinez, PRT-ENE."

Morgan chuckled warmly. "Colonel Morgan Kell, Kell Hounds, retired. A pleasure, Sergeant Martinez."

They chatted a while longer, Victoria migrating from her table up to the bar to join in, until the Wards walked in. Carlos saw Missy and waved, and Sophia came up to the bar. "One cup of Just Black, one Warrior's Heart, one CAF, and a cup of Caffeine & Hate, Joe. Missy," she said, nodding.

"Sophia."

...

Taylor walked through the Lord's Street Market, seeing what was being sold at the various stalls. The property-owners had recently decided to have both Day- and Night Markets, and Taylor had decided to check out the Night Market.

She turned down an aisle and saw a stall ahead selling shirts. As she drew nearer, Taylor saw that most were printed with images of the Dragoons; there were shirts that showed the Elementals running and leaping, shirts that bore the Dragoons' wolf-head insignia, and images of the Quasits. It was all very well-done, and Taylor smiled as she walked up to the stall. "You wouldn't happen to have a shirt, size-medium, with an image of the Star-Colonel dancing the scars, would you?" she asked the seller, who was bent over pulling more shirts out of a box under his table.

"Nope, not yet," the young man said, sitting up. "I'm still working on tha-" He cut himself off when he realized who he was talking to. "Ohshit I'm sorry about the shirts I'll sto-" He was cut off by Taylor chuckling.

"I'm not mad. Personally I think they're well-executed, especially the line-art ones."

"Really?"

"Really. Do you have a pen and a camera?"

Taylor walked away a few minutes later with a rolled-up sketch in her bag, and the seller setting up a photo of himself and Taylor holding a handwritten sign that read 'Officially Endorsed by Taylor Hebert Kerensky, Star-Colonel Wolf Dragoons'.

She continued on, stopping by a food-stall for a snack before pausing in front of a stall selling cutlery and swords. Taylor admired a gleaming cavalry saber for a long while, then shook her head and walked on.

...

Yekaterina looked at her friends. "Alright, you see the tank? Michelle and Nikolai are going to help me teach you how to operate it. It's my tank, so I'm commander and gunner of it."

"Okay..." said Christine Davies, the willowy brunette nodding. "I can kinda shoot some, so I suppose I can be the bow-gunner. Calvin can be loader." She pointed to her brother.

Katya looked to her last friend. "I guess that means you're our driver, Aisha. Sound good?"

Aisha LaBorn grinned and nodded. "I'll drive it like I stole it, Kate."

Christine looked to Katya. "I've gotta ask, why us?"

"You all want to eventually be Dragoons tankers, like I do. Well, except for Aisha; pretty-sure she just has a crush on Missy's boyfriend. Either way, think of this as practicing for when we're older and can join up." Yekaterina Sergeyevna Zhukova smiled a fang-filled smile. "Besides, Kristina Mikhailovna, you remember Simon Herren talking smack about how he couldn't be beaten on the airsoft field? How he bragged he'd flatten all challengers?"

"Yeah, I do..."

"Do you think a load of canister would deflate his ego?"

...

"Director?"

"Yes, Miller?"

"My partner says the Dragoons have a visitor from their native dimension."

"The Galaxy-Commander? Or her aide, Star-Colonel Ward?"

"Neither, Ma'am. Star-Colonel Ward's father, according to Reave. 'Colonel Morgan Kell', co-founder of a mercenary unit named the Kell Hounds, but he's retired now. He's also titled nobility apparently, Grand-Duke of Arc-Royal."

"Okay, why is he here?"

"He came to be friends with Missy Biron during her time on his planet, when she and Taylor Hebert were there for the Trial of Bloodright. Colonel Kell decided to take a vacation and come visit."

Chief-Director Costa-Brown lifted both eyebrows. "Who the Hell vacations in Brockton Bay? The place is a shithole..."

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#1,963

Taylor looked over the job-offer Danny had forwarded to her from PHO and replied on the forum. It was a job that needed doing, and moreover it was a job that didn't have the same moral ambiguity as the op in Mongolia. Taylor called PHQ, and waited on the switchboard to direct her call.

"PRT-ENE Deputy-Director Rennick speaking."

"Director Rennick, this is Star-Colonel Hebert, with the Wolf Dragoons. I was calling to inform you that my unit has accepted a combat-contract here Stateside, that overlaps into your organization's jurisdiction."

"Nothing Villainous, I hope..." Taylor could hear the skeptical tone in his voice.

"Neg, nothing that would put us at cross-purposes. The details of the contract are still in negotiations but whether it turns out to be a single-target elimination or a full-force salt-and-burn, the Dragoons have a contract with our OpFor being inside the Ellisburg CZ."

"Ellisburg? Who hired your men to go to Ellisburg, and how much are they offering?"

Taylor chuckled. "A former-resident who was out-of-town when Rinke snapped, and said resident never got the chance to offer a price before I named ours. The Dragoons are doing this job pro bono. I'm calling you as a professional courtesy, since it's PRT and Protectorate personnel manning the Wall, and letting you know. My next call will be to DC, to square the deployment of military hardware in CONUS."

"You recall the last PMC to accept a contract on Nilbog, Star-Colonel?"

"Aff, and that is partly why the Dragoons are going to end the Goblin King for free; the Black Flag PMC would've been blacklisted by the MRBC in the Dragoons' dimension had they pulled their contract-break and riot there, but that whole fiasco was a near-crippling blow to the reputation and legitimacy of the Private-Military Industry in this dimension, and a lot of people tend to tar us with the same brush. This is to show people that there are still honorable mercs in this world."

...

After her conversation with Rennick ended, and after her conversations with the Governors of New Hampshire and New York, Legend, and several other potentates, Taylor keyed her mic and spoke to the Dragoons as a whole. "Dragoons, we have a contract incoming; the details are still fluid but the destination is not and the OpFor is not. This is a pro bono contract and that means the pay for this job comes out of my own pocket. Between that, and the location and opposition awaiting us there, this is a Volunteer-Only Mission. When this contract's negotiations are finalized, I and those of you who volunteer are going to Ellisburg, New York. That is all, Dragoons; carry on."

...

Tim Chaplin looked at Leslie Barrett and nodded grimly. "I'm in. You?"

Barrett returned the nod. "Yeah; I'm in." She radioed the MechTechs. "Beck, this is Barrett; prep Big-Iron and Rabid for deployment. Flamers, Inferno SRMs, and A-Pods, plus a good Anti-Personnel weapons-spread for me."

Chaplin took the mic and said, "Inferno warheads for my LRM-20s, A-Pods, and leave the rest as close to stock as possible."

...

Wally McAllister looked at his Star of Hueys and then at their crews. "Volunteers one step forward."

Every single crewman stepped forward, and Wally grinned with savage pride.

"That's my boys... Tell me, why's Artillery called 'King of Battle'?"

"BECAUSE FUCK YOUR GRID-SQUARE, THAT'S WHY!"

"Damn right. Prep'em and load'em; I'll let the Boss know we're volunteering."

...

Taylor looked on as replies came in from different places and people volunteering to go with the Dragoons to Ellisburg, and she smiled as she typed her response...

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►WolfMan (Not a Dragoon) (Verified Earth-Bet Native)

Replied On Apr 26th 2011:

How much would you charge for the Ellisburg job? I was originally from there, but was spending time with my grandparents in the Bay when Nilbog went nuts.

►S_Shop_Actual (Wolf Dragoons) (Veteran: USN)

Replied On Apr 26th 2011:

Standard rate is seven thousand dollars per man per day plus ten-percent of total for hazard-pay, but the rates are flexible, depending on whether you want it to be a targeted hit on Nilbog himself or a full salt-and-burn, among other factors.

►Dragoon_Actual (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Apr 26th 2011:

Wolfman, we'll take the job.

S_Shop_Actual; Dad, we'll take the job pro bono.

►Medaunhelao (Veteran Member)

Replied On Apr 26th 2011:

Oh. My. Fucking. God!

Did you read what I just read?

Mods? Please don't tell me that some asshole hacked Dragoon_Actual account a made us a joke, please.

For Fucking Free? Why?

►Harabek (Wolf Dragoons) (Verified Mecha-Geek)

Replied On Apr 26th 2011:

Wow! I didn't see that coming and I'm a Dragoon. Ok, I think I should go out of my room and volunteer for some overtime, we are going to need it.

►Dragoon_Actual (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Apr 26th 2011:

No joke, Medauhelao. The Dragoons are going to Ellisburg, I'm going to foot the bill out of my own pocket, and here's why:

I'm sure everyone here has heard of the so-called PMC 'Black Flag' by now, and how their infamous riot began when they broke a contract to go to Ellisburg and refused to refund their fee. The MRBC would've blacklisted them over that shit in a heartbeat, had they pulled that stunt in the 'Sphere. The fact remains however that the Black Flag Riot dealt a considerable, if not crippling, blow to the reputation and legitimacy of the PMC Industry here on Earth-Bet, and too many good, honorable PMCs are viewed through a lens of distrust by the public because of one band of Pirates masquerading as a merc-outfit.

So, the Wolf Dragoons are going to show that not every outfit is the same as the Black Flag. No cost to the contracting party (WolfMan); Volunteers-Only from the Dragoons; and for the sake of total transparency and accountability, the entire operation from start-to-finish will be livestreamed, so everyone can see what Real Mercs look like.

►SilverSun17

Replied On Apr 26th 2011:

Alright people: Get the popcorn, cash in some of your vacation time and dial your favorite delivery place before hooking your computers up to the TV or a projector.

►Harabek (Wolf Dragoons) (Verified Mecha-Geek)

Replied On Apr 26th 2011:

Star-Colonel, I am checking some technical books since I sign up and I just wonder. Is the unit going to purchase some of these mechs with flamers for the job?

Not asking because I want to see more babies stomping and kicking... well, maybe.

►JollySwagMan (Verteran: Australian Army) (Verified Bush-Chook)

Replied On Apr 26th 2011:

Dragoon_Actual, I hear ya loud and clear about how the Black Flag gave the Merc-Trade a black-eye; if you don't mind outside shooters helping and could maybe give us a lift from Perth, my outfit, the Red 'Roos, would like to back your Wolf Dragoons up. We're all former Aussie-Army Tankers and our Tinker, Up-Gun, did wonders for our tanks; we've got Tinkered-up Crusader Mk. II and Sentinel Mediums, and a pair of Matilda Frogs.

►UnteroffizierScharpf (Veteran: Bundeswehr)

Replied On Apr 26th 2011:

I agree with the Australian, Star-Colonel; with your permission the Schwarzwälder Jäger would like to send two squads to assist the Wolf Dragoons.

►White_Legs (Unverified Cape)

Replied On Apr 26th 2011:

The Belyye Ponozhi are with you, Star-Colonel, if you'd want a group of snaypery from the Caucasus.

►Jay_Hawke (Veteran: US Army)

Replied On Apr 26th 2011:

Everyone and their mother's dog is getting in on this, so here's an American contribution; the Kansas Jayhawks and our Tinker-Tuned UH-1s are ready to go if you want us on this op.

►Faultline (Verified Cape) (Faultline's Crew)

Replied On Apr 26th 2011:

While I think the fact that you never visited us was a bit rude, Star-Colonel (Professional Courtesy is a Thing, and we do live in the same city...), I agree with your reasons, and myself, Spitfire, and two of our new recruits, Ballistic and Sundancer, are volunteering to back the Dragoons. Fuck the Black Flag; they weren't Real Mercs anyway.

►Dragoon_Actual (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Apr 26th 2011:

JollySwagMan, UnteroffizierScharpf, Jay_Hawke, White_Legs, Faultline;

:cool:;):cool:

Longhauls are en route now to pick those of you who are far-afield up; the dress-code for Operation: Nero is Black Body-Armor and while I can't guarantee an open bar at this soiree, it is BYOB...

Bring Your Own Boom-Stick.

And Faultline? I do apologize for not paying the Palanquin a visit, but then you've not stopped by Camp Kerensky or the Black Rifle, either. Perhaps we can make a fresh start after the smoke clears?

End of Page. 2

Last edited: Apr 15, 2018

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#2,031

Taylor checked the PHO board again and saw Director Piggot had posted a warning about how fire caused Nilbog's creatures to reproduce faster, and shuddered. She keyed her radio and passed on the warning. "Techs, this is Dragoon-Actual; new intelligence: According to Director Piggot fire causes the goblins to multiply faster; as the last Ellisburg survivor, I'm inclined to trust her on that. Secure all incendiary munitions; I say again, secure the incendiaries. Piggot's on her way to give us a more-detailed briefing."

...

As the Longhauls landed and the other contractors began unloading, Taylor greeted each group with handshakes before Anika directed them to places they could stow gear and vehicles.

Director Piggot was waiting in the briefing-room with Faultline's team; when the group had entered and sat, she took a deep breath. "Alright, let me begin by saying, off the record, that all of you are certifiable. That said, if you pull this off then you'll have done the world a service. Now, here's what's known about Nilbog..."

After Piggot had finished, Taylor stood. "Thank you, Director; we'll put your knowledge to good use." She keyed her radio. "Jackal Point, First Fighter Star, prep your aircraft for takeoff; I want Coywolf-Actual on one Anhur with Matilde and Sighthound on the other with optics feeding us current intel, and a Point of fighters orbiting above them for cover. Fighters split your missile loadouts between standard and AX warheads."

"AX warheads?" asked Nigel Morgan, the CO of the Red Roos.

Taylor's grin was all teeth. "Liquid-payload missiles loaded with acid. I saw some tested on Outreach not so long ago, and they're strong-enough to make Acidbath's acid look like distilled water."

"Dragoon-Actual, Fighter-One-One and Jackal Point launching now."

"Godspeed, and Good Luck."

...

Missy stood on the rear ramp of Jackal-Two, her Thunderstroke on a tripod she'd bolted to the ramp; her grip on the rifle and the harness she wore with its pair of safety-lines connected to rings in the deck inside the aircraft were all that kept her from falling as the VTOL banked into a sharp turn over the Ellisburg Wall. "Dragoon-Actual, Coywolf-Actual; we're over the target zone now." She panned the rifle and the wireless scope-cam attached to it over the town.

"Roger, Coywolf-Actual; we are receiving your visual clean and clear. Sighthound, what's your read on the area?"

"It's like a... like a parody of normalcy down there. Rinke's little kingdom running smoothly... Coywolf, I need to test something. I'm marking a target for you; follow my beam." Missy flipped her scope over to IR mode and followed the laser from Lisa's position in Jackal-One down to... a lawn?

"Sighthound, that's a lawn."

"Trust me, I'm a Thinker, remember? One round, please, and don't miss." Jackal-One hovered over the lawn in question.

"The day I miss is the day they start booking ski-trips in Hell, Sighthound. Coywolf-Actual engaging target lawn." Missy aimed, squeezed the trigger, and watched dirt and something else spray upward. "Okay, so there was something under the dirt; what is it?"

"Spores. Director Piggot's briefing mentioned Protectorate Thinkers concluding that Nilbog had spores underground as a failsafe in case he were ever killed; I needed to A: Ascertain whether or not they were still there, and B: Get some out in the open air so the NBC detection-gear I brought with me could get a whiff."

"Okay, so what does the NBC sniffer say?"

"Christ on a bicycle... Positive reads on Yersinia Pestis and Vollum-14578 Anthrax."

"Anthrax?!" Missy squawked in shock.

"That's not the one to be worried about, Missy; anthrax-infection in the lungs treated at Stage-One only has a 20% mortality rate, though even with treatment Stage-Two inhalational anthrax has a 90% mortality rate and can kill within forty-eight hours of transition from Stage-One to Stage-Two," radioed Doctor Pierce from Camp Kerensky.

"And this is the one not to worry about?!"

"Anthrax isn't transmissible from person-to-person, even if it's been weaponized. Yersinia Pestis is the bacterium that causes Plague, and unlike Bubonic- or Septicemic Plague, the Pneumonic form of Plague can be spread directly between people. Onset of symptoms within twenty-four hours of infection and without immediate treatment, death within as little as thirty-six hours of infection."

Lisa sighed shakily over the comm-channel. "And the odds are good that the Plague bacteria have been made into durable spores like the anthrax, and equally-good that the ground's saturated with them all the way to the bedrock. Plus, Nilbog's using them as a dead-man's switch, so God only knows how he has control over their release..."

Missy swallowed thickly. "Star-Colonel, how are we going to deal with this?"

"I don't presently know. Sundancer, can you burn away the soil to bedrock?"

Sundancer's voice entered the conversation, her tone negative. "I'd have to do the whole town all at once; I'm not that powerful, and the heat from a sun that size would kill everything for miles around and start fires even further out."

Taylor's voice was tight when she replied, "Nuclear ordnance is out for similar reasons; we don't have anything that can clear the entire area to bedrock in one go, and no way to prevent the fallout from spreading. And before anyone freaks out, Clan Wolf does have a nuclear stockpile, which I personally do not have access to. Naval PPC could go to bedrock, maybe, but we don't have a ship and the same 'we cannot get it all at once' limitation applies."

"Star-Colonel?" asked Lisa. "I may have a solution, but it's going to require an Atlas' weight in smooth-talking and I guarantee certain details will never go public."

"RTB and brief us when you arrive."

...

Taylor looked into the webcam and spoke. "Due to the Highly-Classified nature of the briefing Sighthound is about to give, I'm cutting the livestream for now. Rest assured, I'll start it back up at the earliest opportunity." She killed the feed and turned back to the others.

"Now we wait for Sighthound to tell us what her idea is... In the meantime, Ladies and Gentlemen, there's tea and coffee both ready in the Chow-Hall, and I have a feeling we'll need the caffeine."

Last edited: May 23, 2018

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#2,065

When Lisa and Missy had arrived back at Camp Kerensky, Taylor was waiting on the tarmac. "Alright Lisa, what's your idea?"

As they walked toward the chow-hall, Lisa marshalled her thoughts. "Simply-put? Fire with fire, Star-Colonel. Nilbog's a biotinker, and the best way I can see to counter him is another biotinker."

Taylor nodded. "I see. Who did you have in mind? Blasto, from Boston?"

"No; Panacea."

Taylor came to a halt in the corridor. "Explain. I thought she was a Striker-Healer."

Lisa gave a vulpine grin that reminded Taylor that Lisa's former Cape-name had been 'Tattletale' before she spoke. "Pardon my language but Amy Dallon's been sandbagging like a motherfucker because her powers scare her; she's a touch-based unrestricted biokinetic. If we can talk her into it, she's well-capable of neutralizing Nilbog's failsafe spores."

Taylor's mind raced, turning the idea over in her head. "Potential issues?"

"Talking her into helping us in the first place is one. There's also Brandish to contend with, and the fact that Amy, like the majority of biotinkers, sandbags her powers for a reason, to avoid comparisons to the man we're trying to kill."

Taylor sighed. "Alright," she said, rubbing her forehead. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Brief the others, leaving Amy's name out of it; if we have a consensus, your idea is green-lighted."

...

The others having no better alternatives to suggest, Taylor, Danny, and Lisa called the Dallon household.

"Dallon residence, Victoria speaking."

"Miss Dallon, this is Administrator Daniel Hebert, with the Wolf Dragoons; is your sister available? If she is, I need to speak with her regarding a matter that requires her expertise."

Everyone could hear the tense tone in Glory Girl's voice. "This 'matter' is?"

Danny read the note Lisa passed to him. "Classified, but since I know how protective you are of your sister, we'll agree to read you in on it. Be advised, this matter has a multitude of lives potentially on the line. We're aware of yours and your mother's position on our business, and if Panacea wasn't the only person who can help us, we'd have happily left you all in peace."

"Let me get her. Mom will want in on this too."

A few moments later, the voice of Carol Dallon came over the line. "Victoria tells me you need Amy's help. What with?"

Danny replied, "Classified, and not something to discuss over an unsecured line. Is there a place where we could meet you to discuss face-to-face?"

"How important is this issue of yours?"

Taylor spoke up then. "National-, if not Global-level important. And your daughter is currently the only person capable of seeing this to a satisfactory end."

"What." The response was flat and toneless. "Just what are you trying to get Amy into?"

Taylor sighed audibly before saying, "The short answer, and all I'm prepared to say over an unsecured phone-line, is that we need her help disabling a hostile biotinker's disease-based failsafe. If it's not handled properly we'll have an epidemic on our hands."

"Our house. One hour." The line went silent as Brandish hung up.

...

Taylor, Danny, and Lisa walked up to the front door of the Dallons' Captain's-Hill home an hour later and rang the doorbell. Glory Girl answered the door and ushered them inside, where all of New Wave were waiting. Lady Photon stood and greeted them, while Brandish stood to one side her expression on the hostile side of neutral. "Welcome; Brandish said you needed Panacea's help with a hostile biotinker? And that the details were confidential?"

Taylor nodded. "We do, and they are. We're prepared to read you all in on the specifics, but that being said, due to the nature of the situation ultimate decision on who does or does not get access to the specifics of this case rest with Panacea herself. Analyst Wilbourn, please pass Panacea the initial briefing packet; Miss Dallon, the reason for you having veto-authority about who gets read in is on the top sheet."

Lisa passed Panacea a manila folder, which she opened and skimmed quickly. Her eyes widened briefly, before she closed the folder and tucked it under her arm. "Your word, Star-Colonel."

"My solemn oath."

Panacea took a breath. "Everyone but the Dragoons, Aunt Sarah, and Vicky, clear out." Carol Dallon scowled but complied, following the others out of the room. "I'm not even going to ask how you found out, Star-Colonel, and I'm taking you at your word that this won't come back to bite me."

Taylor nodded. "The other PMCs know the plan but not the identity of Sighthound's 'rogue'. We three are the only Dragoons who know the full picture."

Sarah Pelham watched this exchange with a curious look, and Vicky fidgeted, confused. "Can someone please let us in on what's going on?" Vicky asked.

Taylor took a breath. "The Wolf Dragoons accepted a pro bono contract to eliminate Nilbog and clear Ellisburg; we've got the men, including volunteers from other PMCs, and we have the equipment, to end Rinke and his creations. What we don't have, is a way to deal with his failsafe. The ground in Ellisburg is saturated, likely all the way to the bedrock, with disease spores. It was decided that our best option to neutralize the threat of those spores was to bring in another biotinker to try counteracting them."

"So why come to Am..." Vicky trailed off, then looked at her sister.

"Yes, Vicky; I'm a biotinker. Biokinetic, specifically. I hope you can understand why I kept that a secret."

"To keep from being compared to Nilbog or Bonesaw?"

Lisa spoke quietly. "Because she's powerful-enough that it scares her, Glory Girl." She met Amy's eyes. "It scares you, knowing that you're capable of being worse than Bonesaw or Nilbog. You keep solely to healing to make sure you never become what you fear becoming. Panacea we need your help, but we won't force you if you say no. All we need from you is a counter for the failsafe spores, and we'll protect your identity all the way. Afterward, you can go back to healing and we won't trouble you further about it. Moreover, the Wolf Dragoons will be in your debt for this, Amy, payable whenever you call that marker due."

Sarah looked to Amy, then to Vicky. "Well, girls?"

Amy nodded. "I'm in, but only for this one operation. What diseases are Nilbog using?"

Lisa pointed to the folder. "The report is in the packet. Our NBC-detection gear got positive hits for a modified form of Yersinia Pestis and Vollum-14578-strain Anthrax."

"I can counter those both, if I have samples to work off of."

"We've got samples under tight quarantine on-base that we pulled from the sniffer."

Amy stood. "Alright, let's go."

Vicky stood as well. "I'm coming with her."

Taylor nodded and handed Vicky what looked like a small pager. "Shadow us from the air, but stay discreet. That's a Dragoons IFF transponder from a spare gear-set; it'll let our air-defense pickets know not to fire on you."

Sarah spoke up. "What should I tell the others?"

Danny answered, "Tell them Amy's going to look at the samples and help us find a counter. It's the truth, if only partial-truth. Amy, your cover for the other PMCs is as a rogue Lisa heard about before Coil conscripted her, a biotinker who stays off the radar because her specialty is diseases."

Amy nodded along. "I can work with that. Does my cover-identity have a name?"

"No; we thought we'd leave that up to you."

"As it so happens I have a name in mind..."

...

The Dragoons watched the Analyst, Administrator, and Star-Colonel escort a figure covered head-to-heel in hazmat gear with a strange green sigil on the back, into the quarantined hangar where the sniffer and spore-samples were.

"Alright, people, carry on with your duties while Typhus works on a solution for us."

Last edited: May 24, 2018

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#2,108

It had taken six hours for Panacea to create a counter for Nilbog's plague-failsafe. "I have the initial sample prepared, Star-Colonel; it's not enough to use yet, though. I need more supplies."

Taylor nodded crisply, watching the now-unmasked girl sitting in a lawn-chair in the quarantine hangar. "What do you need, Panacea? Let me know and I'll have it delivered."

Amy Dallon ran through some quick mental calculations and then listed her needs. "I need four sides of beef or equivalent weight in meat, a cup of coffee with two cream and three sugars, and a sandwich. I skipped breakfast because I was working at the hospital and lunch to work on this for you. Also, for the best results this counteragent has to be dispersed by air."

"I have a method in mind..."

Hours passed, more counteragent was synthesized, and a bit of trolling on PHO was had to flesh out Amy's cover-story. As preparations were finalized, Taylor asked Amy, "I'm curious, Amy; you went to so much trouble to hide being a biotinker, yet agreed to help us without any arguments. Why?"

Amy swallowed a bite of her ham sandwich and set her plate aside. "Do you know how cancer is treated, Taylor? If the cancer is detected early, when it's a single small tumor, doctors excise it; they go in and physically cut it out of the patient's body. If the cancer's had time to metastasize and spread, they use radiation or chemotherapy to poison the cancer-cells until they're gone or reduced enough to excise, because cutting it out right then isn't an option." Amy sipped from her coffee. "Nilbog's a cancer, and he's metastasized. You can't cut him out right now, so you need chemo to knock him down."

"I follow your analogy, but it still hasn't answered your reasons..."

"Nilbog's one of the main reasons biotinkers keep underground. He and Bonesaw... eliminating Nilbog will go a long way I think, toward healing the stigma against biotinkers like me."

"I see. We'll be moving in four hours; you're welcome to observe the operation from here with Director Piggot."

"I will. Thank you."

...

The operation began in rain-soaked darkness, with Zulu Point aiming TAG marker-lasers into Ellisburg from atop the wall. "Fighter-Actual, Zulu-Actual. Lit, say again, Lit."

Lydia's Star raced high overhead and released their payloads; the smart-bombs guiding themselves toward the widespread markers; a dozen feet above the ground each burst, scattering a fine white dust that was rapidly beaten into the soil by the rain. "Chemo released. Impact check?"

"On-target, Fighter-Actual. Chemo administered."

As Amy's counteragent attacked Nilbog's spores and reproduced, spreading rapidly from the dispersal-points, the men of the Scwarzwalder Jager and the Red Roos moved into position alongside the Wolf Dragoons and Faultline's group. Taylor called over her radio, "Coywolf-Actual, Spread-check."

Missy took advantage of a quirk Typhus had built into the counteragent; the interaction between the agent and the spores as the former consumed the latter to reproduce and spread caused the soil to glow under ultraviolet light. The young Dragoon leaned out the hatch of the orbiting Anhur and switched the filter on her NVGs to UV. "Spreading fast... there! Threshold! I say again Threshold!"

That was the signal; the agent had spread wide-enough to have neutralized the spores. Taylor smiled. "Redleg Star, Phase One, Execute."

"Roger; executing Phase One," came the response from McAllister's Star of Hueys. Arrow-IV artillery missiles screamed into the heavens, each warhead pre-targeted to specific points within the town; as they dropped in from their high ballistic trajectories, the darkness of night was shattered by the rapid pop-FWOOSH and massive fireballs of thermobaric warheads air-bursting just above the ground, the sudden overpressure collapsing buildings and reducing nearby goblins to pulp. In the light of burning wreckage, Sundancer could be seen atop the wall, hurling a noon-bright sun into Ellisburg, then another, then another.

The artillery laddered three more salvos across Nilbog's kingdom, then secured from firing. Taylor listened to the screams of Nilbog's goblins and smiled. "Armor forces, Infantry forces, advance!" As vehicles and men started moving into Ellisburg through gates in the wall, rushing into the fight in a lightning-assault, Taylor let out a wild, joyous hunting-howl that was echoed back by her BA troops, then leapt up and onto the top of the containment wall, pounded ten steps forward and leapt again, her Elemental armor's jumpjets hurling her into the fray. She loosed a pair of SRMs into a group of goblins, dropped onto another goblin and crushed it, then laid about her with scything bursts of her machine-gun and laser. Around her the other Elementals and Dragoons Battle-Armor followed her lead...

Unteroffizier Richard 'Scharpf' Schmidt of the German PMC the Schwarzwalder Jager heard the wild howl from the Dragoons and laughed, keying his radio. "Brüder, werden wir die Wölfe lauter singen lassen als wir?! Erhebe deine Stimme und lass alle wissen, dass wir hier sind! Gott mit Uns!"

"GOTT MIT UNS!"

At the same time, the call came up over the Roos' radios, "You heard the lady, Red Roos; let's get stuck-in! Forward!"

...

Marc Manuel Vega slashed his battle-claw through the head of a hulking goblin and shattered a group of smaller ones with the pair of combat-shotguns mounted to his IS-Standard suit's Modular Weapon Mount. As he advanced at the run, a pair of shots streaked over his shoulders and smashed two large goblins down; he turned briefly and saw two of the Belyye Ponozhi snipers waving from their positions before they aimed and fired again, their KSVK anti-materiel rifles thundering...

"Traverse left! Target!"

"Firing!"

"Good hit, now hose the rest with the co-ax! Fox-Two, hostiles right!"

"We've got'em, Fox-One; Armand, target!"

"Good tone! Missiles away!"

Fox Point advanced into Ellisburg, Michelle Kurita's Bandit in the lead and Benjamin Collier's Bandit trailing. Fox-One had been set up in a variation of the Clan-A configuration, an ER-Large Laser in the turret with the A-variant's SRMs replaced with MGs in the turret and bow; Fox-Two was set up in the Clan-Prime configuration with two Streak-SRM-6 launchers in the turret. Two blocks over, the Badgers of Cur- and Frost Points rolled forward, slinging lasers and missiles into every target they could acquire, and beyond them were Lurcher Point's Chevaliers and Mastiff Point's Von Luckners. Between each Dragoon Armor Point were the Tinker-modified tanks of the Red Roos, and each was supporting, and being supported by, Jager- and Dragoon infantry.

Taylor leapt up to the roof of a building that still stood and keyed her comm as she watched a knot of goblins congregating in front of a building. "Jayhawk-Actual, this is Dragoon-Actual; targets massing in the open, grid Romeo-six-five-two Lima-seven-four-two. Recommend east-west approach on your pass, rockets and guns."

"Roger, Dragoon-Actual; Jayhawks on approach now." The Jayhawks' UH-1 helicopters dropped out of the low clouds to rooftop-level one after the other and bored in; rocket-pods spat flame and miniguns roared as they whipped by and wheeled away, pursued by fast-moving spikes from the building's crenellated roof and flying creatures that flapped hard to try and catch them.

Taylor heard Mastiff-Two radio, "Jayhawk-Three, on my mark break right... Mark!" The Iroquois suddenly jerked aside and the flyer pursuing it flew straight into an air-bursting LB-X autocannon Cluster shell. "Bagged him!"

"All callsigns this is Sighthound; Bowie spotted! I say again, Bowie spotted on the field! He's fleeing north along Route Scotch on a six-legged horse!"

A rifle cracked over the radio and Missy spoke. "Horse dead; Bowie now fleeing east on foot along Route Bourbon. I have the shot, Dragoon-Actual."

"Negative, Coywolf; we want him captured alive if at all possible. Whippet-One, bring them in. Redleg, Fighter, once Bowie is in custody, execute Phase-Two."

Jamie 'Nilbog' Rinke rounded a corner and was suddenly smashed to the ground by a hammer-blow that burst the slurry-sac hidden in his puppet-body's hunchback. Elbert Kinser and Rashid Alsudani from

India Point bounded forward and roughly tore Rinke out of his meat-suit before two of the Jagers rushed up and cuffed him. The cameras mounted on everyone's helmets livestreamed it to the world as Jackal-One and Missy landed, Nilbog was unceremoniously hurled into a large biohazard crate in the troop-compartment along with a ConFoam grenade, and sealed inside before the Anhur took off again. "All callsigns, India-Actual," radioed Kinser. "Bowie is in custody!"

"All callsigns, withdraw and prepare for Phase-Two." The assaulting forces started pulling back, standing the pursuing goblins off with a hail of fire. The fighter Star dove in and strafed the town with lasers and PPCs while the artillery Star started dropping Acid-Warheads into Ellisburg, walking their salvos outward from the center of town.

Phase One had been to disable the spores and then a thunder-run to capture or kill Nilbog.

Phase Two was to kill every living thing inside the town. To that end, they were using Acid-Warheads from the Dragoon Hueys, followed by Inferno rounds; if any of the goblins remained alive the fire would force them to multiply and give their position away for the fighters, further salvos of acid from the Hueys, or rifle-fire from infantry on the walls.

...

As Phase Two continued and medics saw to the few wounded, Taylor watched as an Anhur landed just outside the CZ walls. A second Anhur landed across from the first, their tails facing one another. Taylor watched the crate with Nilbog inside was brought out of Jackal-One and the madman inside it was removed and made ready. Hard plastic gloves were fitted over his hands, still cuffed behind him; a gag was tied over his mouth after his mask was removed. Taylor stepped forward and faced Nilbog as Whippet-One's rear ramp lowered.

The cameras were still streaming as Taylor addressed Nilbog. "Jamie Rinke, also known as Nilbog, in accordance with both the PRT Kill-Order on you; and the terms of the contract the Wolf Dragoons, Red Roos, Schwarzwalder Jager, Belyye Ponozhi, Kansas Jayhawks, and Faultline's Crew accepted to come here; you are about to die. But your life is currently in my hands, it is not truly mine to take."

Taylor faced directly into one of the cameras and continued. "PHO user 'WolfMan', you have more right than any of we Dragoons to end Rinke; were you here I would hand you my own sidearm to do it. I hope that the individual who pulls the trigger on Rinke, being herself an Ellisburg Survivor, is sufficient proxy."

Down the ramp and off of Whippet-One came Emily Piggot. She was in pain, but she left crutches and cane behind to walk on her own feet until she stood in front of Nilbog. "Your monsters killed an entire town full of innocents. Your monsters destroyed my kidneys and forced me out of the field and into a desk-job. Your monsters killed my teammates, my brothers and sisters." All who watched could tell that it wasn't Emily Piggot, Director of PRT East-Northeast and unaffectionately called 'Miss Piggy', who reached under her arm to the shoulder-holster. Emily Piggot, PRT Strike-Team Trooper callsign 'Lady', drew a well-cared-for Springfield XD .45 from the holster. "This is for them." The pistol popped twice, and two Black-Talon JHPs shredded Nilbog's heart. When he'd fallen, Piggot calmly stepped forward, aimed, and put two more hollow-points into Nilbog's head.

Taylor nodded. "It's done. We'll continue working here until Ellisburg is completely free of his contamination, but Nilbog is dead. May the souls of his victims rest that much easier." She keyed her radio and said, "Big Iron, Rabid, help with Phase Two."

Tim Chaplin's Mad Dog and Leslie Barrett's Summoner stomped into view and entered Ellisburg, the cameras still streaming...

Last edited: May 26, 2018

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The morning after the Ellisburg operation, Taylor rolled out of her bunk and stretched, checked her messages, and decided that it was a day for taking things easy. She dressed in civilian clothes and sent an all-hands message to her command releasing the Dragoons to liberty after all essential tasks were completed. That being done, Taylor knocked out her paperwork quickly and called Chris.

"Mrglfrg... 'Lo..."

"Morning, Chris."

"Taylor?"

Taylor chuckled and replied, "Neg, it's the Good-Idea Fairy, Chris. Long night?"

By this point Kid Win sounded much more alert. "Very. Between the spontaneous block-parties and the conspiracy-theorists crying about the sky falling, no one got much sleep. Though Shadow Stalker's respect for Director Piggot has gone up. So, what's up, Taylor?"

Taylor started her kettle heating. "Today's a rest-and-recovery day; I was wondering if you felt up to seeing a movie with me."

"Let me check in at work to make sure they don't need me. If I'm free, meet at Fugly's?"

"Bargained well and done."

...

Missy jogged out of the barracks toward the paddock where the horses were kept and found Temujin brushing his blue mare's coat. "Morning, Temujin."

"Morning, Missy. You sleep well?"

Missy nodded. "Well-enough. I was going to saddle the red mare and go for a ride; want to join me?"

Temujin smiled and grabbed his saddle. "Sure. I have targets out to practice shooting mounted. Want to wager?"

Missy shrugged. "Not really. I just want to ride and relax. Maybe later?"

"Sure."

...

Frederick Grey and Chelsea Wolf both smiled as they walked toward the Fighter Hangar. "I hope you are ready; I will not be holding back," Chelsea said.

"I'd be insulted if you did, Star-Commander."

The pair climbed into their assigned fighters and prepared to take off. Grey launched first, his Sabutai devoid of markings save for the Dragoons insignia on the tail; Chelsea took off after him, the rising sun shining onto her Sabutai's nose-art, a pair of bluebirds over chalk-white cliffs...

...

Emily Piggot and Morgan Kell sat at the bar in the Black Rifle, cups of coffee growing cold by their elbows as they each told stories of comrades and kin...

Danny Hebert and Sofiya Wolf slept peacefully in his pickup outside the Black Rifle; Joe the bartender had Danny's keys. Danny's chin rested atop Sofiya's head while the scarred Dragoon leaned against his chest, his arms holding her close as he quietly snored...

...

Amy Dallon read the PHO thread where she, Lisa, and Taylor had fleshed out her cover-identity as Typhus, and the reposted advertisement from the New Avalon Institute of Science...

"Reading the thread?" asked Vicky from behind her.

"Yeah. I wonder what kind of scholarship options NAIS has..."

Vicky tilted her head. "Looking to leave us already, Ames? And here I thought Guts'n'Glory would be together forever..." she said jokingly, missing the twinge of pain that flashed through her sister's eyes.

Panacea smiled, though it was hollow. "Just think about it, Vicky; I'd be able to see whole-new planets, and a Thirty-First-Century Medical Degree would help me be an even-better healer here in the Twenty-First Century."

Vicky nodded thoughtfully. "True... Do you think Mom would be cool with it? I was honestly thinking about looking at schools there too."

Amy doubted that Vicky was serious, but humored her. "Oh? Which ones?"

"The other night at the Black Rifle, Missy's friend Morgan was telling stories about NAIS' College of Military Sciences, and the Nagelring."

"You realize those are military academies, right?" Amy replied with a grin.

"What?" chuckled Vicky. "You don't think I'd look good in uniform?"

The sisters' laughter woke Carol and Mark...

...

Taylor leaned against Chris as the opening credits to Beastly appeared on-screen and kissed her boyfriend's cheek...

Lisa, Mandy, and Getta sat back as Florian worked the tiller and the single fore-and-aft sail of the boat they'd rented from the marina. Mandy checked the GPS on her smartphone and grinned. "Twelve miles and change, Florian."

Florian lowered the sail and dropped the anchor over the side while Getta opened the cooler by his feet and passed out longnecks of Budweiser. Then the four Dragoons each picked up a fishing-rod and cast their lines out into International Waters...

Last edited: May 26, 2018

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"Lisa, is the Japanese contract still open?"

Lisa checked the listing, then nodded. "It is, Taylor. The payment on-offer has gone up, too. Eighty-five-hundred dollars per man per day, same logistics-cost split, same offer of the Ise to base ourselves off of and same offer to sell or lease the ship to us afterward, but they're throwing in full salvage-rights if we're willing to handle salvage-recovery on our own and give them first-refusal on any salvage we decide to sell."

Taylor closed her eyes and thought it over. "We'll take the contract; have Lydia's Star, the engineers, Golf-, Whiskey-, and Victor Points start prepping for deployment. Also, remind Yankee Point that they have a bird to Spain to be on in twelve hours."

"Anything else?"

"Get Dad to call Boeing, Sikorsky, and whoever else to price Chinook and Super Stallion airframes; we need better heavy-lift capability and if we can refit them with XL-Fusion powerplants that would seriously boost their horsepower."

...

The next afternoon, Yankee Point's transport landed, not at Alicante as originally planned, but at Murcia-San Javier; a fuel spill at Alicante had forced the Longhaul to divert. The cargo-plane moved toward a hangar and began offloading the men and the equipment; as the jump-troops were stacking gear to one side, a Spanish-Army VAMTAC rolled up and parked. Two soldiers stepped out of the vehicle while a third remained behind the wheel.

The two soldiers approached and Barrister stood up, read his rank, and saluted crisply. "Wolf Dragoons Jump-Infantry Point 'Yankee', reporting, Sir."

The Spanish Officer, a lean and intelligent-looking man near Barrister's own age, returned the salute and smiled. "Welcome to Spain, Dragoons," he said in lightly-accented English. I am Teniente Juan Rojas, your assigned liaison-officer to Grupo de Operaciones Especiales 'Valencia' III, the Third Special-Operations Group 'Valencia'. This is my assistant, Sargento primero Francisco de la Vega."

"Point-Commander Alvin Barrister, at your service, Teniente Rojas, and my Point's Executive Officer, Point-Officer Hamid Almahgribi." Alvin gestured to the Moroccan-born Dragoon, who was busy directing the unloading process. "Our ranks are roughly-equivalent to a Teniente and an Alférez, respectively. Each of the others in Yankee Point are a Point-Officer as well, though subordinate to Hamid and I."

Rojas nodded. "I'm certain that we can discuss the intricacies of rank-equivalents at a later moment, Teniente Barrister; for now you all must be tired from your flight. I have trucks standing by to carry you and your equipment to Alicante, and accomodations in the barracks are being prepared as we speak."

"Gracias, Teniente Rojas. It was a long flight, and our transports weren't made with comfort in mind. Once we've arrived and collected ourselves, we can sit down and discuss the training we've been contracted for."

Rojas nodded to de la Vega, who used a radio from his belt to call in several M250W trucks; the Dragoons loaded their equipment onto them, and each truck with gear aboard got two Dragoons assigned to ride with the equipment as guards. The convoy pulled away, headed to the Special-Operations Command base at Alférez Rojas Navarrete Barracks in Alicante...

...

"Big Iron, Rabid, prep your 'Mechs for deployment; you two, Hotel-, and India Points are being shipped out to Choibalsan, Mongolia, to run convoy-escort for the US Army," said Danny.

"Fucking finally," laughed Tim Chaplin as he stood from his spot on a weight-bench in the gym. He racked the dumbbells he'd been curling and grabbed his towel to dry the sweat off his face. "I thought we'd never see more than mop-ups."

Leslie Barrett stripped the gloves off her hands and stepped away from the bag she'd been punching. "Danny, just how are we even getting to Mongolia? I don't know that the Longhauls have enough space for our 'Mechs, and as far as I'm aware we also don't have any Dropships."

Danny nodded. "Taylor's trying to reach Ridli in Spain to see if he can teleport you; failing that our options are trying to get Strider and Rush to do it, or wait two weeks for our first two Dropships to finish fitting-out. Of course if we wait on the Droppers we'll have exceeded the deployment timeframe for the contract by a week and a half and thus broken the contract, so..."

Chaplin winced. "Point taken; do you suppose there's somebody on Outreach willing to either charter their Dropper or fight a Trial of Possession for it?"

Danny shrugged. "It's worth looking into at least. I'll let Taylor know you suggested it, but she's trying her best to keep things as in-house as possible. In the meantime, prep your mounts and pack your bags."

"Aff, Administrator Hebert."

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Taylor leaned against the front wall of the headquarters building with a cup of tea in one hand and a comedy-story anthology, The Dead Dekker Chronicles, pulled up on her datapad.

When Ridli and Ojancana arrived from Spain with the Phase-Shift equipment and a rifle-case, Taylor smiled warmly and greeted them. "Welcome back."

Ridli was nearly vibrating with excitement, and he had the same half-inspired/half-crazed look in his eye that Chris got before a marathon tinkering-session. Ojancana gave her teammate a look and Taylor chuckled. "Tinker-Fever, eh? Come on; Missy's just over at the paddock with Temujin."

"Temujin?" asked Ojancana as they walked.

"Coywolf-Two. He joined up with us while we were on a contract right after Canberra. He didn't have anywhere else to go, really; he's a war-orphan."

Taylor saw the blue-clad Thinker's hand come up to cover a quiet gasp. "That poor boy... What happened?"

"His uncle was one of our liaison's intelligence contacts. Our OpFor got wind of it and sent men; the uncle was visiting Temujin's family at the time."

They rounded the corner in time to see Missy, astride her red mare, gallop across the paddock and soar over the fence; she wheeled the mare and saw the others, and her face lit up. "Ojancana, Ridli! Welcome back to Camp Kerensky!" She slid down from the saddle and came over...

...

Ten minutes and a couple introductions later, Missy was taking her new CETME Model-2 rifle, Maria, to her bunk for some quality-time with a bottle of Hoppe's Number-Nine and a can of Rem-Oil, and the others were on their way to the Train-Station where Danny was waiting with the freight-train they'd need to travel to Mongolia.

Once they'd arrived, Taylor pitched in helping the two Guardianes set up the equipment. True to their word, it was a quick, simple process. Danny radioed for Rabid and Big-Iron, and the two Omnimechs thumped their way out of the freight-yard and onto the heavy-duty flatbed cars, where the MechTechs' Paramour Repair-Vehicles used their hoists to help lower them onto their backs.

After all was in readiness and the route to Choibalsan was plotted, Taylor passed Ridli a thumb-drive and a bottle. "As promised, everything I have about K-F Drives, and a bottle of Northwind Kearny Reserve 2677. When you have a prototype ready to test, let me know."

"I will. Thank you, Star-Colonel."

Taylor chuckled. "You're welcome, Ridli."

...

Lydia Wolf lined up her Sabutai on approach to the runway; First Dragoons Fighter Star had crossed the US and the Pacific Ocean, and were now landing at Naha, Okinawa, to rest and eat before flying on to Kure, where their base for the next six months, the Hyuga-Class Helicopter Destroyer Ise, was moored.

"Haha Tower, this is Wolf Dragoons Fighter-Actual, on approach with a Star of ten Sabutai fighters, requesting landing-clearance, over."

"Fighter-Actual and Dragoons Fighter Star, this is Naha Tower; you are cleared to land on Runway Zero-Nine, over."

...

Alvin Barrister looked over the Spanish soldiers his Point was to train, mildly-embarrassed still that he'd accidentally given his previous rank to Rojas the day before; he hadn't gotten used to the promotion yet. "Alright, Gentlemen; my name is Star-Commander Alvin Barrister, and this is my unit, Wolf Dragoons Jump-Infantry Point 'Yankee'." He paused while Rojas translated, then continued speaking. "We're here to teach you how to be jump-troops yourselves, and with any luck you'll go on to teach others from your army."

Alvin nodded to Hamid, who lowered the tailgate on one of the trucks and started pulling out crated jump-packs. "The first thing to do, toward that end, is issuing your packs. Form a single-file line and come get them. When your jump-pack is issued to you, you'll find a serial-number on the right-hand side; commit that number to memory, soldiers."

The line formed and the packs were issued, and Barrister smiled. "Now that everyone has a pack, we're going to get familiar with them. This is how you break a jump-pack down for maintenance..."

...

Yekaterina 'Katya' Zhukova, Calvin and Christine Davies, and Aisha LaBorn rolled across LZ Cormorant in Katya's one-third-scale T-34, the Russian teenager standing up in the Commander's hatch and scanning the opposite tree-line with the airsoft PKM mounted atop the turret. The crew of the New Fighting Girlfriend were all-business. They'd been training every day since they got the tank, and it all came down to this, their 'Trial of Position'. All they had to do was root Kilo- and India Points out of Cormorant, and Michelle would declare them qualified tankers in their own right, and moreover, start paying them for chasing the infantrymen on their morning runs to 'motivate' them...

"Christine, traverse right ten degrees; Calvin, load Canister." As the turret rotated, Katya smiled an evil smile. "Christine, on my burst." She swung the airsoft MG toward the trees and let a burst fly toward where she had spotted a figure crouched in the brush. The cannon spoke in a loud WHUMP of compressed air and sent a hail of plastic airsoft BBs into the bushes. An answering hail of airsoft from off to one side drove Katya down into the turret, and she secured the hatch on her way down. "Traverse left! Calvin, another Canister! Aisha, get us into cover!"

Aisha turned the tank and accelerated. As she did, she heard a series of thumps from inside the woods, and watched as Nerf footballs rose into the air...

"Shit! Those crafty bastards have Nerf-mortars inside the tree-line!" She shouted as she tried to dodge the falling projectiles. The tank's gun thumped again and Katya could see troopers reel out of their positions with upraised hanfs, hit.

"Calvin, load Solid! Christine, aim for the mortar pit!" Katya opened the hatch and retook her position on the MG; there were streaks of paint from the foam footballs down both sides of the tank but none had hit directly. Katya Zhukova stitched the trees until the fighting fell silent. Four paint-streaked, and one paint-covered (from a direct hit from a Solid-shot), Dragoons came out of the trees, hands in the air.

The lead trooper, Elbert Kinser, laughed. "You got us; India Point is defeated," he called out jovially.

"Wait, where's Kilo Point?" asked Christine, just as several Nerf-mortars fired from across the clearing behind the tank.

Katya laughed as the footballs started to fall. "Marko Manuelovich Vega, your PHO tags are well-earned... Aisha, get us moving! Calvin, Solid-shot and then Canister! Christine, targets behind us! URA!"

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Three days after his arrival in Mongolia, Timothy Chaplin was in the cockpit of his Mad Dog, which the Techs had converted to the 'B'-configuration. "Sparks, you and your crew are on your A-game today; I think you broke your record for fastest reconfiguration."

The crew-chief's voice was laughing as he replied by radio. "We only just missed breaking our record, Rabid."

Tim stood his 'Mech up from its crouch and keyed his radio. "Hotel-Actual, Rabid is go for mission; mount up."

"Roger that, Rabid. Hotel Point mounting up." Five thumps sounded as the Battle-Armor of Hotel Point jumped up and grabbed onto the hand-holds on the Mad Dog. "Hotel Point is mounted, Rabid. We are go for operation."

Tim grinned and walked his 'Mech down the wide streets of Camp Khan, the US Army's logistics base outside Choibalsan, and over to a waiting convoy. "Convoy-Lead, this is Dragoons Omnimech-Two, callsign Rabid, with Hotel BA Point aboard; we are ready to move at your leisure, over."

An Army Captain raised his hand and waved from next to a seven-ton truck, then brought a mic to his mouth. "Roger, Rabid; this is Captain Vespucci, 3rd BCT 1st Cavalry; I'll be running the convoy. If you and your infantry lead could dismount, I'm having a Commanders'-Call to go over the route before we set out."

Tim and Point-Commander Hector Varro both dismounted, Tim crouching his 'Mech and pulling a pair of fatigue-trousers on over his Cooling Suit before he opened the cockpit, leaving his neurohelmet with the 'Mech. Vespucci was waiting with the other vehicle-commanders when they reached the truck. As they approached, Hector removed his suit's helmet, revealing a Mediterranean face with an easy smile. "Folks," Hector said, nodding politely; no salutes in a combat zone. "Point-Commander Hector Varro, Battle-Armor Point 'Hotel'. This is Point-Commander Tim Chaplin, from our 'Mech Star, callsign 'Rabid'.

"Morning. Great weather, eh?"

Hands were shaken and names exchanged, and the route was gone over. It was a straight-shot run thirty-five miles southeast down a road marked 'Route Chisholm' to FOB Abilene, where several of the supply-trucks would drop out of the convoy, then a turn northeast along 'Route Goodnight' to FOB Dodge, the farthest-forward base the Americans had established, right on the border with Manchuria.

Once the briefing was over, Chaplin climbed back into his Mad Dog and got his hookups reconnected, then stood the Omnimech...

...

Lydia Wolf walked onto the flight-deck of the Ise and stretched, feeling the sunlight and the sea-breeze on her face. Her Star had arrived aboard ahead of schedule, and the Longhauls carrying Golf-, Whiskey-, and Victor Points, plus the assorted Techs, wouldn't arrive in Kure until that afternoon.

As she limbered up in preparation for her morning run, Lydia took in the modifications made to the former-SDF Helicopter Destroyer; to accommodate the greater heat generated by the Omnifighters' exhaust, the deck had been thoroughly reinforced to prevent it melting. There had been talk, according to the crew, of extending the deck into a ski-jump ramp and fitting arresting-cables to make the Ise a STOBAR Carrier, but thankfully their birds were just as capable of vertical takeoffs as the AV-8 Harrier and F-35B Lightning II. Though Lydia did admit to herself that she and her Star all needed to polish their skills with SRVL landings...

After her run, Lydia showered and got into her flight-gear. "Catherine, prep for launch," she told her bunk-mate and wingman, Catherine Wolf. As Catherine readied to fly, Lydia contacted the Hangar crew. "Hangar, this is Star-Commander Lydia; bring White Rose and Aragon onto the flight-deck and begin walk-arounds; get Third Point to assist you."

The two pilots jogged up to the deck and manned their aircraft after doing their own inspections. Lydia ran her hand gently over the recently-painted nose-art, which depicted a bouquet of thirteen white roses, and glanced over at Catherine's nose-art, a broken crown on the gold-and-red flag of Aragon with a banner around it reading 'A most poor woman and a stranger'.

After the inspections were completed, Lydia taxied into position, set her brakes, and began throttling up before releasing the brakes to start rolling forward. When she started vectoring thrust downward as well, the Sabutai fairly leapt skyward; she made her clearing turn, then orbited the ship until Catherine formed up on her wing. "Fighter-Four-Two, ascend to Angels-Twenty and come onto heading zero-nine-zero."

"Aff, Fighter-Four-Lead; climbing to Angels-Twenty and coming about onto zero-nine-zero."

The pair of fighters climbed and then slowed to cruising speed, enjoying their flight. A few minutes later they picked up contacts on their sensors. The pair descended slowly, until a voice came over the radio. "Unidentified aircraft approaching on bearing 090, you are approaching JASDF airspace; please respond and identify yourselves."

Lydia responded, "JASDF pilot, this is Star-Commander Lydia Wolf, Wolf Dragoons First Fighter Star; my wingman and I were out stretching our legs on a flight from Kure. Transmitting IFF data now."

"Data received, Star-Commander. I can't say I have ever heard of a 'Sabutai Heavy Omnifighter', though. I imagine it's some uptime design?"

Catherine chimed in. "Aff, it is. Seventy-five tons overall mass, with modular weapons- and equipment-loadout capability."

"That heavy? It must fly like a brick, then," commented a second Japanese pilot.

Oh, no he didn't... thought Lydia to herself. "Pilot, would you care to test that theory? I propose a duel, gun-cameras only; least kills in twenty minutes buys the first round once we've landed. Agreed?"

"Agreed; I'll match my F-2C against any bird on this or any other Earth."

"Bargained we'll and done; I am Lydia Wolf, and my wingman is Catherine Wolf, of the Wolf Dragoons First Fighter Star, Fourth Point. In my career I have earned the title of 'Ace' no less than eight times and Catherine is an Ace six times over. We will be your opponents today."

The Japanese pilot who had jokingly insulted their aircraft laughed over the radio and responded. "Well then, I am First Lieutenant Sawada Juichi, and my element-lead is Captain Hiruma Gohei; we are Blue-One and Blue-Two, of Blue Flight, Eighth Tactical Fighter Squadron out of Miho Airbase. We are neither of us Aces, but our Squadron's insignia isn't a black leopard for nothing; you'll find our claws are quite sharp, Wolves."

"Fighter-Four-Two," Lydia said, "take Blue-Two. I have Blue-One."

"Aff, Star-Commander. Fighter-Four-Two, engaging."

"Fighter-Four-Lead, rolling to engage."

...

The Shàngxiào in command of the Peoples' Liberation Army Ground Force 115th Mechanized Infantry Brigade's newest battalion listened to the report from his forward positions with a smile; the Americans were following their route perfectly... He frowned slightly when it was reported that accompanying the American convoy was a large bird-legged mecha with Wolf Dragoons insignia on one side and a foam-flecked, fanged maw painted on the nose.

Some new version of the 'Quasit' that had wrecked those two clowns... What were their names? Bah, it doesn't matter. We will have to adjust the plan, however...

"Arrow Company, strike quickly; focus on the cargo-trucks and make only one pass before retreating to Rally-Point Two. Dart Company, be ready to follow Arrow's strikes with your own."

Hidden under camouflage nets, Chinese soldiers prepared their new vehicles...

It is good, thought the Chinese Colonel, that two of the Northern Theater Command's Yangban Detachment Tinkers specialized in copying designs from incomplete pieces, and energy-generation technology...

Tim Chaplin's sensors suddenly lit up with contacts...

"Contact! Son of a bitch; how did the Chinese get Savannah Masters?!"

Last edited: May 29, 2018

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"Contact! Son of a bitch; how did the Chinese get Savannah Masters?!"

As the hovercraft broke from cover and charged the convoy, American M2HBs and M240s opened fire. Tim throttled forward, locked onto a sprinting Savannah Master, and drove a shot from an ER-Large Laser through it from back-to-front. He swung onto the next target as Hotel Point dismounted and got into the fray with their suits' battle-claws and lasers, heard the tone, and stabbed the firing-stud for his two Streak-SRM-6 launchers.

Two of the CUI hovercraft lined up on the convoy's trucks and fired, raking bursts of light autocannon fire along the sides of the vehicles before Rabid burned them down with Medium Pulse Lasers. The few remaining craft turned and darted away, but they didn't get far; Tim swept his MPLs across the retreating hovercraft and then switched weapons, waiting for good tone before the Mad Dog's LRM-20 launched a salvo. The missiles rained down and either killed or crippled the remainder. "Hotel, prisoners!" Tim shouted over the radio.

He could hear Captain Vespucci shouting for medics over the radio and popped his cockpit open briefly. "Specialist!" He yelled at a passing soldier. "Here! My First-Aid Kit! Use it to help the wounded!" He hurled the bag from under his command-couch out to the Specialist before resealing the canopy. "Convoy-Lead, this is Rabid; my scopes are clear. I'll keep watch while you tend the wounded. Hotel-Actual, status on the EPWs?"

"Plenty, all wounded. Lots of salvage, too. These aren't real Savannah Masters, either; they're fucking knock-offs, crap armor, what looks like crap engines, and the Cue-ies mounted a thirty-mike cannon instead of a laser." Hector snorted derisively. "My grandfather's L6/40 from World War Two could slaughter these things by the dozens." Tim saw one of the captured CUI pilots try to run; before Hector could even shout, one of the other BA-troopers, Tiffany Gainsborough, ran the fleeing prisoner down and stopped his flight by simple expedient of kicking the man's leg out from under him from behind.

The Dragoons watched as the soldiers loaded prisoners and called for medevac and recovery vehicles. As they waited, Hector radioed Tim on a private channel. "Refresh my memory, Tim; what's the salvage-call on this contract?"

"Sixty-forty cash-value split; we get the forty." Tim swapped channels again and called back to Camp Khan. "Khan, Khan, this is Rabid; do we have any recon assets following the hovercraft that just hit our convoy?"

"Rabid, Khan G-2; negative, we do not have eyes on at this time. We've got a pair of HumInt guys prepping to chat with your EPWs when you get back, so we should have a better picture shortly." The Division Intelligence shop sighed. "Yours wasn't the only group they hit; a half-company of the same hovercraft armed with ATGMs nailed a patrol from Second Battalion Seventh Cav out by FOB Deadwood."

Tim snarled; he had a special fondness for the Seventh, since he had family who'd served with them in Vietnam. "Roger that, G-2. When I get back to Camp Khan, I need to talk with you; I recognize the design of these hovercraft. Somehow the CUI managed to copy, thankfully poorly, an Inner-Sphere hovercraft called the 'Savannah Master'."

"Understood, Rabid. We'll be waiting to debrief you on your return."

...

It was dark by the time Tim and Hotel Point made it back to Camp Khan. Almost as soon as they were back in fatigues they were hustled into conference rooms for debriefing, analysts picking their brains for every scrap of knowledge they could glean.

After all of it, Tim was exhausted. The night was warm, so instead of going to his bunk Tim strung a hammock between the arms of his Mad Dog and wrapped up in a poncho-liner, his MP5K hanging by its sling next to him within easy reach...

...

"Fighter Star, form up on my wing and ascend to Angels-Twenty." The ten Sabutai Omnifighters climbed upward after departing from the Ise. First- through Third- Points were in the Prime-configuration, while Fourth and Fifth were in the C-configuration. All of them had their hardpoints loaded with AGM-84L Harpoon anti-shipping missiles.

"Our target is the CUI Naval base at Dalian; this will be a chaos-smokescreen mission," Lydia told her pilots, reiterating the key points of their initial briefing aboard the ship. "The Chinese have three aircraft carriers at Dalian."

"Aff, Lydia, we know. The Kuznetsov-Class Liaoning, and two copies of her, Haifong and Shanghai," replied Eddie in a bored tone. "You have thoroughly impressed upon us the need for those three carriers to sink."

"First Point, your target?"

"We have Liaoning."

"Second?"

"Our target is Shanghai."

"Third, you have Haifong. Fourth- and Fifth Points will engage targets of opportunity to further damage the CUI's naval capability. While Hiroyoshi's Point and mine kick the Chinese in the balls..."

"We stab them in the throat," replied Eddie, "and then we maul the corpse just to be certain. I... I dislike this, Star-Commander. It reminds me too closely of what I'd read about the First Succession War."

"At least we are confining ourselves solely to military targets; this is as clean as we can make it under the circumstances, against an enemy who likely would not follow Zellbrigen even were we to offer batchall."

"I still dislike it... But I understand the need for it. Heads up; bandits, ten o'clock low and climbing to meet us."

Lydia banked slightly to get a better view of the aircraft her TTS warbook had identified as Chengdu J-10C fighters. "I count twenty Firebird-Cs down there; that makes two for each of us. Choose your quarry and engage at will."

The ten Sabutais rolled over into dives, fighters and pilots howling as they lunged into their prey...

...

A/N: I went back and tweaked the TRO for the Race-Horse, and removed the heat-sinks.

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Vicky Dallon read her Private Messages on PHO and smiled brightly. She'd asked the Dragoons to put out feelers regarding her possibly enrolling at a service academy in their native dimension; Amy was already planning on attending NAIS with a dual-major in medicine and biomedical research.

Victoria Dallon wanted to earn her spurs as a Mechwarrior, not for war but for sport. Her Trigger Event had been missing a free-throw in front of talent-scouts, and her Cape Status meant she was barred from professional sports under the NEPEA-5 Law, but there wasn't such a law in the Dragoons' dimension. Vicky planned on trying for a slot with a fighting-stable on Solaris VII, if she could. If not, according to Taylor there were several prestigious mercenary commands willing to sponsor her at school in exchange for her working for them.

Vicky was still a little iffy about maybe turning merc, but the Dragoons' conduct and the Ellisburg operation had softened Glory Girl toward the mercenary trade somewhat. Vicky read the last message from Taylor and the others, and saw the attached textbook files. "Well, nothing else for it but to do it; Mom's going to shit a brick..."

After a quick talk with Amy, the sisters went down to find Carol in the kitchen. "Mom? Can we talk?"

Carol put down the recipe she'd been reading. "Yes, Vicky? Amy?" Her expression was lawyer-neutral, as it had been ever since the aftermath of Ellisburg and Amy asking her to leave the room for the Dragoons' asking for Amy's help beforehand.

Vicky took the lead, as she was often prone to doing. "Amy and I have been looking at colleges, for after we graduate from Arcadia; we've done our due-diligence and researched the schools, talked to alumni, and worked out the numbers for tuition and costs. We wanted to present you a fait accompli. We haven't actually enrolled yet, but we've already had it confirmed that we're both accepted to our school of choice."

Carol Dallon smiled with pride. "Oh? Which school have you decided on? Brockton Bay University? Harvard? Yale? NYU?"

Vicky took a breath, but it was Amy who spoke first. "I'll be dual-majoring in Medicine and Biomedical Research at the New Avalon Institute of Science, in the Wolf Dragoons' native dimension."

Vicky put her own words in quickly before Carol could react. "I'm going to NAIS as well, Mom; their College of Military Sciences has a Mechwarrior-Training Program in conjunction with other majors. I'm going to be majoring in Mechanical Engineering with a focus on Battlemech-Design as well as getting certified as a Mechwarrior. After that, depending on circumstances, I'll most-likely be going to Solaris VII to compete in the Arena Circuit there."

Carol's jaw went slack. "No."

Vicky met her mother's eyes. "No? Why not; Amy's intending to study things that would make her that much better as a healer. I'm not legally barred from professional sports in the Dragoons' dimension, and even if Solaris doesn't work out I'll have the Engineering degree to fall back on. It's honest work and above-board all the way through."

"What about the team, Vicky? You're one of our heaviest hitters, and now you want to leave the rest of New Wave without you for sports? And Amy, you do so much good here; now you want to go gallivanting across a whole other dimension when there are people who need you right here in this one?"

Vicky was so stunned by the blatant attempt at emotional blackmail that she nearly lost her temper and did lose her tenuous grip on her aura; Amy and Carol were both floored by a fear-aura so powerful that they were hard-pressed to keep control of their bladders and bowels.

"Vi-Vicky!" shouted Amy in a strangled voice, "Aura!"

Vicky reined in her aura as quickly as she could, and Carol stood, only to be immediately sent sprawling back to the floor when Amy slapped her across the face. "How dare you, Carol Dallon; how dare you try emotional blackmail on us?" Amy was snarling, her eyes alight with fury. "I work myself to the fucking bone, every fucking day, at the hospitals here in Brockton Bay. I help as many people as I possibly can, every day. I know in my mind that I can't possibly save everyone, heal everyone, but it doesn't stop me from trying, and it doesn't stop me from agonizing about the people I couldn't save. I'm going to NAIS because they have a Medical Program that's literally centuries ahead of any Med-School here on Earth-Bet, and by studying there I'll be able to become better. I still won't be able to save everyone, but I'll be able to save more." Amy glared at her adoptive mother as Carol rose up from the tile. "So don't accuse me of shirking responsibility over this."

When Carol, furious at having been struck, brought her hand back to return the favor her wrist was caught in an iron-hard grip. "I don't agree with Amy having hit you but she's got a point, Mom. And moreover, New Wave did fine without me before I Triggered; you'll do fine without me while I'm at NAIS. As to me leaving you for sports?" Vicky smiled slightly. "When i was little my first dream of what I wanted to be when I grew up wasn't a superhero like you, Mom. My dream was to be a professional athlete. I Triggered because I lost my shot at that dream and NEPEA-5 says I can't have another shot at that dream here on Earth-Bet. Listen, tempers are running high, so Amy and I will go crash at a friend's place tonight; that way we all have a chance to cool off."

...

Vicky messaged Taylor on their way out, and the Star-Colonel offered them bunks at Camp Kerensky; the duo of Guts'n'Glory landed outside the HQ building a few minutes later. Taylor walked out to greet them, Missy beside her. "Welcome back, though I'm sure we all wish it were under happier circumstances."

Amy nodded. "Thank you for letting us stay here, Taylor."

The tall Dragoon shrugged nonchalantly. "Think nothing of it, Amy; like I told your sister, the bunks would just lie empty otherwise, with folks deployed. It's right now..." Taylor checked her datapad's clock, "... eight a.m.; after Missy shows you to your bunks, feel free to avail yourselves of the Chow-Hall and recreational facilities. If you want to get a head-start on studying, Amy, Doctors Pierce and MacIntyre are off-duty today and had expressed interest in meeting you. Vicky, if you want to start learning 'Mechs I'm sure Sofiya would be amenable to giving you some lessons."

Vicky beamed and nodded enthusiastically. "Which one's Sofiya?"

"Blonde, blue eyes, burn-scarred face. This time of the morning she's likely in the Chow-Hall having breakfast. She's CO of Zulu Infantry Point along with being a former Mechwarrior and our Chief Instructor of Mechwarriors. Regrettably both our current active Mechwarriors are deployed, but Sofiya's got four other Trainees she's working on getting rated."

...

After they'd settled into the barracks, Amy went toward the Infirmary to meet with the doctors, and Vicky went in search of Point-Commander Sofiya Wolf. Glory Girl found the scarred Dragoon and four others she assumed were the Trainees walking out of the Chow-Hall and toward the 'Mech hangar. "Point-Commander Sofiya Wolf?"

The woman turned and Vicky stifled a wince at the extensive scars on Sofiya's face and neck. "Aff? Oh, good morning, Glory Girl." Sofiya nodded toward the others. "You caught me escorting the latest crop of Mechwarriors-in-Training to their lessons for the day. Care to join us?"

Vicky smiled and nodded. "That's exactly what I came to ask about, Point-Commander. If it's not too much trouble, of course."

"I believe a spot could be found for you. Follow me; we are working in the Simulators this morning."

"Lead on, Point-Commander."

When the group had entered the hangar, Sofiya pointed the four trainees to their sims. "Training Simulation Three-B; it's a Movement-Course. Focus on completion as opposed to speed. Victoria, you and I will be doing Sim One-A; Open terrain for training basic movement." She walked Victoria through the hookup and startup processes, then entered her own simulator.

As the screens lit up, Vicky Dallon saw the open plains around her 'Mech and Sofiya's Quasit standing off to one side. "Your first exercise is to walk. Your throttle is..."

...

Lydia's Star raced away from the burning ships in Dalian Harbor and circled around for another pass...

Number Thirty-One took careful aim...

Two lasers lanced out, one descending toward a stricken destroyer...

... And the other rose up and found its mark.

"Star-Commander! Fighter-Actual, respond! Fuck, Lydia's going in; does anyone see a parachute?!"

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"Star-Commander! Fighter-Actual, respond! Fuck, Lydia's going in; does anyone see a parachute?!" Manfred Wolf rolled his fighter around into a tight turn and looked around as Lydia's Sabutai crashed into the water.

Hiroyoshi circled and radioed, "I see it! The Star-Commander's hanging limp in her straps and drifting with the wind, though; it's carrying her back toward the shore!"

Manfred looked and saw the parachute, and he saw movement near the shoreline. A line of tracers from a Chinese machine-gun licked upward toward Lydia as she descended, and Lydia's wingman, Catherine, screamed in and strafed the position. Manfred keyed his radio and called for any friendly unit available to send a rescue bird, that they had a downed pilot in hostile territory.

"Dragoons Fighter Star, this is Jayhawk-Actual; we're detaching a Huey and two Zulu Cobras from our operations in Yingkou to retrieve the Star-Commander, but even with the hammer down we're almost an hour away. Can you secure an LZ for us and hold it that long?"

"We'll hold it, Jayhawk," said Manfred as he stood his Sabutai on its wing and fired his ERPPC into a knot of CUI infantrymen advancing toward where Lydia had come to earth. He banked and avoided a burst of fire from the ground, and heard his wingman George Twane silence the gunner with his fighter's Gauss Rifle.

"Fighter-Two-Lead, this is Golf-Actual; Whiskey Point and Victor Point are inbound now in Ise's launches, ETA undetermined but making best possible speed."

Manfred's TTS lit up with multiple inbound hostile contacts in the air and on the ground. "Manfred..." said Eddie warily...

"I see them. First Point, Third Point, clear the skies; Four-Trail, with them. Fifth Point, Two-Trail, we'll clear the ground."

...

The fighters wheeled and circled above Lydia, five Sabutais flashing around and through swarms of Chinese fighters like sea lions around a school of fish. There were no fancy maneuvers, no holding back to make the fight more interesting, no joking banter; one of their own was down, maybe wounded and maybe dead, and any scavenger come to claim Lydia from them would die. Lasers pierced the air and PPC bolts cracked like lightning,

Gauss Rifles threw their slugs and over

over Dalian the battle raged...

...

"Two-Lead, the skies are clearing," said Hiroyoshi almost an hour later, "but Fifth Point is shot to doll-rags; the individual hits were miniscule but there were a lot of hits. My Point has to withdraw or else we'll have more than the Star-Commander shot down."

Manfred nodded, circling over Lydia. "Go. All Fighter Points, withdraw at your discretion. Whiskey-Actual, Jayhawk-Actual, ETA?"

"Fighter-Two-Lead, this is Whiskey-Actual; we've entered the harbor now." Manfred heard Gary Malone's third-in-command, Carlene Kittinger, shriek a command over the still-open mic. "We'll be ashore in three minutes."

...

A pair of motor launches bounded over the waves and into the harbor. As Malone talked to Manfred, Carlene whipped out a blade and shouted over the engine, "Fix Bayonets!"

The Dragoon infantrymen aboard barely waited for the keels to scrape before they leapt ashore. Other than shouted commands and the report of rifles, they made no sound as they ran forward to where Lydia lay. The Jayhawks' helicopters dropped out of the sky then, the Huey landing as the Cobras hovered and wheeled, pouring rockets and cannons out.

Manfred circled high above. "Whiskey-Actual, SITREP?"

"Fighter-Two-Lead, Whiskey-Actual reports..."

...

Taylor read the report from Manfred Wolf, then read it again. Every Sabutai in the Fighter Star was damaged, one was a total-loss, and Lydia...

Taylor stood...

In the Fighter hangars, Greg Veder paused in his studies when the PA crackled and Taylor spoke.

"Attention, Dragoons. At approximately fourteen-thirty local time, our First Fighter Star engaged in a combat operation against the Chinese Union-Imperial Navy base at Dalian, China. While the mission's objectives were all accomplished, the Fighter Star was taken under intense anti-aircraft fire, and Star-Commander Lydia Wolf was shot down. Her comrades, in concert with rotary-wing assets from the Kansas Jayhawks PMC, were able to secure where her parachute landed, and recover her...

However, the laser which felled her Sabutai also penetrated the cockpit and Star-Commander Lydia Wolf was mortally wounded. It is with a heavy heart that I must report that as of fifteen-hundred local time, Star-Commander Lydia Wolf was Killed in Action."

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Manfred Wolf and the eight other pilots from the Fighter Star were dressed in their Grays and stone-faced as they carried Lydia's coffin up the ramp and onto the Longhaul at Kure...

...

Taylor was in her Grays, and stone-faced, as Chelsea, Greg, Frederick, Reuben, and Yeager carried Lydia's coffin down the ramp at Camp Kerensky.

Unlike the members of Fox Point who had been killed during the Wolfpack Fight, Lydia had no local family outside the Dragoons; that said, Taylor and the others planned to give Lydia a proper send-off...

...

Greg was in the pilots' ready-room getting his flight-suit on in preparation for a flight in the Tweet when Chelsea, Frederick, Isaac, and Gilbert stepped into the room. "What are you up to, Gregory?" asked Chelsea.

"I need to clear my head before the funeral; I'm taking the T-37 up."

Chelsea smiled slightly. "Neg; I need you to come with us, Gregory. There are... certain things... that we need to address."

"Aff, Star-Commander..." Greg said nervously. He followed the three fighter-pilots and the helicopter-pilot out of the room and toward the hangars.

Just before they entered, Chelsea stopped Greg. "Before we go into the hangar, I need to correct your uniform, Gregory."

Greg raised an eyebrow. "Really? What did I get wrong, Chelsea?"

The Star-Commander tapped the breast of his flight-suit over his heart. "Your wings. You passed your check-ride yesterday, and you've earned your wings." She produced a set of pilot's wings from her pocket; they were old, and the bright sheen of them had worn away in places. As she pinned them onto Greg's chest, she told him, "These were Lydia's. She specified in her Will that you get them when you were rated on your first Clan fighter. Follow me; there's one more bequest from Lydia for you."

They entered, and the pilots and copilots of the Dragoons' Aerospace forces stood inside to meet them. Jackal Point and Whippet Point, the crews of the Longhauls, and the trainee crews of the Donar Points working up stood there, waiting.

Next to them was a Sabutai; the nose-art depicted a knight in mismatched armor, a-horseback and charging with levelled lance. Under the rim of the cockpit a name and callsign were painted in an a fancy font...

Gregory 'Quixote' Veder.

"It was Lydia's designated spare. Now it's yours. You are still non-deployable and need to undergo a final Trial of Position, but otherwise you are fully-rated on the Sabutai Omnifighter. I, We, would like you to fly in the Missing-Man for Lydia, Pilot Gregory."

Greg was silent for a long moment, then nodded strongly. "I would be honored, Chelsea. And, still needing to clear my head, I have a tribute of my own for Lydia. Do you happen to know what her career kill-count was, Star-Commander?"

Chelsea told him, and he smiled. "Let me get my neurohelmet set up and then... Watch the Bay."

...

A radio broadcast in the clear to the Protectorate Rig. "Rig ATC, this is Wolf Dragoons Fighter Trainee callsign Quixote, requesting clearance for low-level maneuvers over the Bay and your airspace, over."

"Clearance granted, Quixote."

...

The ship's launches from the Ise slid quietly back into the harbor at Dalian, China that night; Golf Point in their Elemental armor rolled into the water directly over where Star-Commander Lydia Wolf's fighter had crashed and sank to the bottom. The five Elementals set immediately to work stripping what parts they could from the wreck and setting charges on what parts they couldn't; they were determined not to let any more advanced technology fall into CUI hands. They moved along the bottom toward shore while Whiskey Point and Victor Point piloted the boats closer to the piers.

Each trooper climbed out and moved silently among the bombed-out, burned ruins of the base; sentry after sentry was lowered dead to the ground by Dragoon infantry before the troopers wiped red-running blades on their uniforms, Chinese equipment made its way back to the boats, and Gary Malone returned with not only gear but a dozen Chinese scalps on his belt, before the withdrawal order was given.

Fifty Dragoons hefted identical weapons to their shoulders, and when Gary snarled, "This is for Lydia, you Chinese fucks," They all triggered their weapons. Fifty Dragonsbane Disposable Pulse-Lasers fired, sowing yet more chaos before the burned-out weapons were tossed and the boats roared away...

...

Greg heard the clearance from the Rig and saw the Wards standing outside watching. "Lydia Wolf can't do her victory-rolls, so I'm doing them for her!" he shouted; he brought his Sabutai into a shallow dive toward the water and launched into a long succession of snap-rolls, one for each of White-Rose's confirmed air-to-air kills. When he had completed the final, hundred-fifth roll, he was so low his fighter was just above the bay, and he slammed the throttle forward and threw a towering rooster-tail of water up before going into a steep zoom-climb...

Down below, the Wards-ENE were saluting...

...

Taylor stood in front of the assembled Dragoons and spoke. "Lydia Wolf died in battle. She died fighting, as befits a Warrior; she died with her enemies' blood on her fangs, as befits a Wolf. I... I cannot say I knew her as well as her Point-mates did, as her peers did, and that pains me in ways I cannot express. She was a true Wolf, and any who deny it are welcome to argue it in the Circle of Equals with me."

L33t, standing with the Dragoons in a suit and domino-mask, spoke up. "Or with me; I counted her a friend, and she set me straight on a lot of fighters and fighter-tactics."

Uber, dressed in similar attire to his partner, nodded. "Or with me; she was a friend and I'll break the backs of any who speak ill of her."

Greg, listening by radio, responded with, "The first time I ever trained against her she stomped me flat a dozen times or more, and when she taunted me over comms I snapped back from frustration and wounded pride that I'd never be a match for her. She told me then, that a student should never strive to merely match their teacher; if the Clan and Dragoons wanted copies they'd just get Retreads. A student should always strive to surpass their teacher. So this is my vow, my Rede. Lydia Wolf died with a career kill-count of one hundred-five confirmed; I will double that in honor of Lydia Wolf."

Taylor smiled and nodded. "Lydia made an impression on the people she met. My tribute to her memory is this; here, in Earth-Bet, I feel she's more than earned her Bloodname, and more than earned a better rank. We here commit the earthly body of Star-Commander Lydia Wolf to the ground, but we will always remember the name and deeds of Star-Colonel Lydia Rhyde. As well, the First Fighter Star of the Wolf Dragoons Brockton Bay shall henceforth be known as the White Roses, in honor of her."

Four Sabutais screamed overhead, and one, its nose painted with a charging mismatched knight that bore a white rose tucked into his armor, abruptly pulled up and soared toward the heavens...

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"India-Actual, this is Big-Iron; Godfather wants to talk to you at the CP. How copy, over."

"Solid copy, Big-Iron."

Point-Commander Elbert Kinser shrugged to settle his vest and picked up his M61A before jogging over to the Camp Khan Command-Post. Once he'd entered, he found himself ushered into the office of Colonel Chigurh Andrade, US Air Force, callsign 'Godfather'; Andrade was the Theater JSOC Liaison. The Colonel was waiting alongside a tall man in MultiCam ACU uniform and an open video-chat monitor with Star-Colonel Hebert watching. "Point-Commander Kinser reporting, Sir, Ma'am."

Andrade nodded. "At ease, Point-Commander. I called you here because I have a job for you. We, by which I mean JSOC, negotiated an expansion of your contract beyond simple convoy-security; you're still mainly going to be escorting trucks, but from time to time as missions dictate your team will be detached to work with my shooters, at least until First Cav starts getting M2011 suits."

Taylor nodded and spoke then. "India Point, when working with Colonel Andrade's men, will act as heavy support on-site during missions. The first of which you are about to be briefed on. Good luck." Her monitor went black as she signed off.

Andrade opened a file and spread several aerial photographs out on his desk that showed IR-images of a sizeable vehicle depot. "This imagery is current as of this morning; what you're looking at is a CUI FARP and repair-depot located thirty miles southeast of FOB Dodge in Jilin Province, Manchuria, which we've codenamed 'Exxon'. This FARP is also the origin-point for most of the raids in the Dodge AO by CUI One-Trick Pony units." Godfather smiled ruefully when he mentioned the American nickname for the Chinese Savannah Master knock-offs; in the three weeks since their debut in combat, the so-called One-Trick Ponies had learnedmore than a few tricks, and between the autocannon-armed and ATGM-armed variants, as well as a new variant that mounted artillery- and airstrike-spotting equipment, they'd made quite a nuisance of themselves.

"Point-Commander Kinser," said Andrade, gesturing to the Army Captain standing nearby, "this is Captain Kristian Emerson; he leads a two-squad chalk from Bravo Company First of the Seventy-Fifth, callsign 'Hitman'. Your Point will be attached to his chalk for this op. The objectives are as follows: First, recovery of any intelligence documents that may be on-site. Second, Capture or Elimination of enemy HVPs known to frequent the site; HUMINT and SIGINT sources both say they'll be there when you arrive."

Andrade laid out four photographs. "HVP-1, Colonel Bao Li Shen, codename 'Jurchen'; he commands the OTP units in the Dodge AO and along the Manchurian border. HVP-2, Captain Han Ji-Han, codename 'Goryeo'; he's Korean, a deserter from Pyongyang, and Jurchen's XO and top field-commander. HVP-3, Ivan Dobrinski, codename 'Power-Cell'; Russian by birth, Yangban by choice, Tinker with a Power-Generation Tech specialty." He pointed to the final photo. "HVP-4, Sherrel Bailey, codename 'Squealer'; sometime between vanishing from a prison-transport and reappearing here, she's both sobered up and Second-Triggered, with a power that lets her copy vehicle designs from wreckage or debris. Power-Cell and Squealer are apparently the ones responsible for the OTPs. With all of these, capture is preferred, but if you can't get them out, take them out."

Kinser and Emerson both nodded, and the Ranger spoke up. "Further objectives, Sir?" he inquired, a trace of the Bronx in his accent. "I assume you want Exxon put out of commission."

Andrade nodded. "Your third objective will be to mark priority targets for destruction using IR-strobes; we'll have air-support on-deck to strike your targets. Insertion will be by air here." He pointed to an area ten miles from the FARP. "You'll have to hump in the rest of the way on foot, though; any closer and we'd be risking triple-A or SAMs. Concurrent with this mission, First Cavalry will be pushing into Jilin Province north of you, and there will be Air Force and Marine Corps fighters flying SEAD missions, so your extraction will be by air from here." Andrade indicated a point a quarter-mile from the Chinese camp. "Alternate LZs marked by strobe as required. Your ride in is callsign 'Gunrunner', your ride out is callsign 'Bootlegger'. The bird on-deck to hit your targets is callsign 'Drive-By'. H-Hour for this mission is 2330 two days from now. Understood?"

"Understood, Sir."

"Solid copy, Godfather."

...

Taylor smiled widely as she radioed PHQ. "PHQ, this is Star-Colonel Hebert; in approximately two minutes everyone's scopes are going to get some big returns coming down from the upper-atmosphere; my unit's getting some new gear but they're too large to bring across while grounded. Don't panic."

"Star-Colonel, when someone says not to panic, that typically counts as good cause to panic," responded Clockblocker from the PHQ Dispatch Console. "I see all the paperwork's filed, though all it says about whatever you're getting is 'Fleet Assets'. Just what are you getting in for the Dragoons?"

Taylor couldn't help chuckling. "Four Dropships. Miraborg-Class Dropship CWS Blackbird, Sassanid-Class CWS Growl, Union-C-Class CWS Gray Brother, and Dove-Class CWS Lupa Capitolina. They are, in order, a Fighter-Carrier that's been refitted from carrying a Trinary of Fighters to carrying a Fighter Binary and a VTOL Star, a Battle-Armor Transport, an Omnimech Transport that's had some of its Mech-Bays refitted into Vehicle-Bays, and a Hospital-Ship." She looked up and saw drive-plumes appear. "Here they come now, in fact..."

The Droppers descended swiftly onto their designated landing-pads, or in the case of the Lupa, onto the runway that the Dragoons' engineers had laid out over the past three weeks. The Dragoons, in anticipation of getting Dropships of their own, had purchased another four-hundred acres adjoining the western edge of Camp Kerensky, and a proper Drop-Port was built. It was still largely-incomplete, but a runway rated for Aerodyne Dropships and Spheroid-Dropship landing-pads were the first things built. The crews would be living aboard their ships until barracks could be built.

Taylor climbed onto her Bluestreak and radioed the ships. "Dropships, this is Star-Colonel Taylor Kerensky; I am en route to meet you at the port. Welcome to Earth-Bet."

Last edited: Jun 25, 2018

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Taylor rolled up to the Dropships and parked the Bluestreak, replaced her helmet with a patrol-cap, and walked over to the group of people clustered around the base of Gray Brother's ramp. They snapped to attention and started to salute just as she called out, "At ease, Dragoons, and relax. Welcome to Camp Kerensky; I am Star-Colonel Taylor Kerensky, though I often also answer to my father's surname of Hebert."

A tall, olive-complected woman stepped forward. "I am Star-Captain Talia McKenna, Captain of the Gray Brother." She pointed to a short man with storm-gray eyes, and to a redheaded woman. "My Executive Officer, Star-Commander Nolan, and my Chief-of-Boat, Star-Commander Sarah." She gestured to the others in turn. "Star-Captain Adele Siegel, Star-Commander Fritz Lankenau, and Star-Commander Trudy; CO, XO, and CoB aboard the Growl."

Taylor smiled. "Good to see you again, Adele, Fritz. Trudy; I see you have a new eye."

Trudy laughed, the Abtakha Snow Raven pointing to the prosthetic that resided in her left socket. "Do you like it, Star-Colonel?" The eye in question was fashioned to resemble that of her birth-clan's totem corvid, a deep reddish-brown that contrasted sharply with her natural green right eye; a long scar ran from the center of her forehead diagonally across her left eye and down to her cheekbone. "A New-Belter boarding-party tried for the Growl over Novo Cressidas."

Talia nodded to another trio, continuing the introductions. "Star-Captain Joseph Crow, Star-Commander Nadia McKenna, and Doctor Sherman; CO, XO, and CMO of the Lupa Capitolina. Star-Captain Devon Furey, Star-Commander Annette Weaver, and Star-Commander Hillary Chrisholm; CO, XO, and CoB, CWS Blackbird."

Taylor nodded to them, and shook hands. "A pleasure to meet you all. I apologize for the incomplete status of our Drop-Port and its current lack of berthing ashore for your crews. That said, we intend to station several trucks here for your use."

...

That evening, Taylor, Anika, and the Dropship Skippers sat at the bar in the Black Rifle, their drinks of choice in front of them while other off-duty Dragoons relaxed. Stories were told and scuttlebutt exchanged; Adele and Fritz told Taylor about the shit-show battle over Novo Cressidas and how the Wolves were savaged by Susie Morgraine-Ryan's New Belt Pirates after the Dropship Loping Wolf was lost with all hands before making planetfall.

As the others talked, Trudy stepped away from the bar and went to browse the songs on the jukebox. Just before she reached into her pocket for coins to choose a song, a voice reached her ear. "- bored; maybe one of the Dragoons feels like answering a challenge..."

Trudy turned and spotted the speaker, a blonde woman in a long coat and heavy boots, leaning against a pool table. "A challenge, you say? To what, and for what?"

The woman smiled, nodding toward an arcade-game near the back wall. "To a game of Silent Scope, and for a round of drinks..." She quirked an eyebrow questioningly.

"Trudy. Star-Commander Trudy Crow, Chief-of-Boat aboard the CWS Growl..." She returned the raised eyebrow.

"Victoria Creed, Star-Commander Crow."

The pair went to the game and Trudy looked at the rifle. "What are the terms?"

"The one who completes the game with the fewest continues wins."

Trudy grinned. "That sounds agreeable. Bargained well and Done."

Victoria nodded. "After you, then." Trudy dropped her coins in and started playing, snugging into the rifle with a calm, detached air. Her movements were crisp and precise, her breathing steady, and as headshot after headshot racked up, Victoria Creed felt her jaw go slack...

In the end, Trudy completed the game without any continues, and Victoria with only one continue. After Creed returned with their drinks, she asked Trudy, "How in the world does a sailor come to shoot like that? I'm seriously impressed."

Trudy took her sunglasses off and revealed her mismatched eyes, smirking; she sipped her beer before answering, "Before I was a Star-Commander and a sailor on a Wolf Dropship, I was a Snow Raven and a Point-Commander of Marines aboard the Cameron-Class battlecruiser CSR Blizzard."

Victoria laughed aloud. "Then I think a better introduction's warranted from me. Victoria Creed, former-Corporal of Marines with the US Marine Corps' Fourth Raider Battalion. A pleasure to meet a fellow Marine, Star-Commander."

...

Taylor took a drink of her tea and turned back to Talia. "So, three Dropships crewed mainly by Abtakha from Clan Snow Raven, and one crewed by Abtakha Smoke Jaguars. I have to know, how did the Blackbird come to be a Clan Wolf vessel?"

Talia chuckled and Devon blushed with embarrassment. "She was taken in Trial of Possession by Clan Ghost Bear, actually, and named Arcadian Mist. Clan Wolf won her from the Bears not long after," Talia said. "Her crew at the time was a bit green, so it was rather less than difficult to board and seize her during the Trial. Now, I have to know, why request the Blackbird be assigned to your unit, Star-Colonel?"

Taylor shrugged. "I was on a time-crunch to bring the Dragoons up to full Cluster-level, and the Blackbird was the only fighter-carrier readily-available on- or over Outreach that had the right capacity, that wasn't already attached to other units. I needed a carrier that could handle at least a Binary of fighters, with room to refit and carry a Star of Donar helicopters as well."

The conversation flowed onward from there, until a cry arose from the video-games; Uber and L33t had come in and were competing against Victoria and Trudy to see who could speed-run Silent Scope fastest, with three rounds on the line.

Taylor laughed and raised her mug of tea. "To the newest formation in the Wolf Dragoons, the-"

Sirens began to blare.

"Warning, Warning, this is not a drill; the Endbringer Leviathan has been spotted on approach to Cádiz, Spain. His estimated time to landfall is two hours from now."

Taylor stood, looked over the silent crowd there in the Black Rifle, and drew a breath as she keyed her radio.

"Wolf Dragoons, fall in at Camp Kerensky for immediate deployment by Dropship to Spain."

As a hailstorm of affirmatives came over her radio and the other Dragoons rushed out of the bar, Taylor turned to the Dropship Skippers with a sardonic smile. "Welcome to Earth-Bet, and follow me."

Last edited: Jun 17, 2018

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Taylor gunned the throttle of her Bluestreak and wove between the other vehicles on the road as she raced back toward base; this was no time for obeying the rules of the road. As she rode, she used her helmet's mic and her radio to contact PHQ. "PHQ or any PRT/Protectorate station this net, this is Star-Colonel Hebert; the Dragoons are deploying in support of Cadiz. We'll need an LZ marked in Spain for our transports however."

"Roger, Star-Colonel; this is Armsmaster. Protectorate- and Wards-ENE are deploying with Strider as soon as he arrives; I'll see to it your ships have a place to land. You'll be doing SAR again?"

Taylor blew through a red-light and almost laid her monocycle down making a turn. "Aff, Armsmaster, and then some. The Dragoons are deploying every asset available for this."

...

Greg sprinted into the hangar and started toward his Sabutai only to be checked up by his crew-chief, Technician Todd. "Neg, Pilot Gregory; orders are you're non-deployable, remember?"

Greg snarled, "Fuck that, Todd; this is an Endbringer, not a contract! We only have four fighters available, so I'm going! Now outta my way!" When Todd tried to grab Greg's flightsuit to stop him Greg swung; between Greg's improved physique, a product of doing PT every day, and sheer surprise, the uppercut into Todd's belly folded him over and left the AeroTech gasping on the ground.

Greg looked at the rest of the crew. "Drag him out of the way and start getting my fighter ready, Prime-loadout! Well?! Move your asses!"

The Techs moved their asses, and Greg began to taxi out onto the runway. "Bluebird, this is Quixote; I'm coming with you."

"Are you certain you want to do this, Quixote?"

"I'm sure. It's an Endbringer; I'm terrified but I'm also willing to do my part. Hell, I just decked my own crew-chief for trying to stop me."

Chelsea responded after a moment. "Roger that; for the duration of this deployment you'll be flying in Second Point with Isaac. Beagle's Two-Lead and you're Two-Trail."

Greg streaked off the runway and turned to rendezvous with the Blackbird...

...

Gilbert Yaeger looked at his Star as the Dropships lifted off. The men and women before him were a motley lot of rotor-jockeys. Some were Army with experience on Blackhawks, Kiowas, and Apaches; Two-Lead was crewed by a pair of ex-PRT pilots; some were Marines like he'd been, trained by Uncle Sam on Zulu-Cobras and Huey Venoms. Gilbert raised his voice. "Alright, here's the deal; we're gonna go to Spain. We're gonna fly in the rain. We're gonna bring the fuckin' pain. Pilots, keep your birds in the air; gunners, shoot straight. Y'all do that," said the lean Oklahoman, "and we should all make it back in one piece. Once the Blackbird is on the ground, get your choppers airborne. Understood?"

They understood.

...

The Dropships landed and started unloading troops and vehicles; Taylor, armored-up, bounded up to Armsmaster and the others. "The Wolf Dragoons are on-site and deploying; we've got two Fighter-Points, a Star of attack-helicopters, and a Star of Artillery-Tracks to fight with, as well as what weapons are on our Dropships. The rest of us will work SAR; we brought our MASH truck and the Lupa Capitolina is a hospital-ship with ten surgical-theaters and room for a hundred-fifty patients."

"Luppa Cappa-whatnow?" asked Clockblocker from nearby.

"Lupa Capitolina, young...?" A strong voice asked from behind them. Taylor turned and saw Spinola, with the rest of the Guardianes behind him.

"Clockblocker, Spinola," said Taylor. "He's one of Brockton Bay's Wards. Clock, this is Spinola, with the Guardianes out of Madrid. Good to see you again, Spinola."

"And you also, Star-Colonel," replied the Spanish hero. "As I was saying, Clockblocker, the Dragoons' hospital-ship is called Lupa Capitolina; it's Latin, meaning Capitoline She-wolf, after the mother wolf who nursed Romulus and Remus, who went on to found Rome."

Missy jogged up, her rifles left behind and her vest loaded down with extra medical-kits and a TAG laser-designator. "Taylor, our birds are in the air and Star-Commander McAllister is setting up his Star's firing-point. Fox- and Hound Points are being unloaded now, Dog Point's already unloaded, and Anika wants to know if we need armbands for the vehicle-crews or if Dragon can splice their IFFs into the net."

"Understood, Missy. Armsmaster?" The blue-armored Tinker made a radio-call to Dragon, and the Dragoons' IFF transponders were added to the armband net.

Legend was giving a creditable pre-fight speech when someone shouted, "Wave!"

Everyone scattered as best they could; Taylor and the Dragoons' BA and Elementals hurled themselves upward and onto nearby buildings. "Dragoons, scatter by Points and start doing SAR! Just like Canberra!"

Her HUD beeped and a navigation waypoint appeared. Leviathan sighted, Grid A4. Rolito down, A4; Stahl deceased, A4; Wallaroo deceased, A4...

Taylor bounded away, heading into the fray to help...

...

"Donar-Three-Lead, this is Four-Lead; target moving in your direction."

"Sighted. Engaging with Laser. Got him! Take that, you over-hyped iguana!"

"Three-Trail making laser-pass; hit! Curry, swing us around for a missile-volley; Donar-Three-Trail locked-on... Missiles away! Fuck! Water-echo intercepted the missiles!"

"Three, Four, this is Donar-Actual. Capes engaging target closely; weapons tight and orbit until cleared to engage again."

...

Chelsea muted the ever-growing list of wounded and slain; as callous as it may sound to others, it wasn't her concern. "Goose, on my four. Beagle, Quixote, First Point will make a strafing run from bearing 180; you two follow up with a run from 090. In position..."

On the ground, Leviathan writhed and flung attacking Capes away...

"Capes clear; Point One rolling to engage." Chelsea banked and dove, her Sabutai-Prime hurtling downward as she lined up her shots. Her two ERPPCs spat lightning, and her Gauss Rifle barked, before her two Large Pulse-Lasers traced fire along the Endbringer's back; her wingman, Frederick 'Goose' Grey, slashed in behind her, firing his Sabutai-B's five LRM-20 launchers simultaneously, followed by a volley of NARC beacons. The beacons lodged themselves into the open wounds and started transmitting even as a hundred Long-Range Missiles exploded all around the Endbringer and along its side.

Isaac and Greg dove in, made their strafing-run, and peeled away...

...

Missy moved from rooftop-to-rooftop, Temujin on her six, and came to rest by a wounded Cape; it was Horse Soldier, from San Antonio. "Horse Soldier! Can you hear me?!" Missy shouted over the din of battle. She checked him and found his right leg gone from the knee down.

"I hear you," croaked the Texan. "Fuck me, it hurts..." Missy ripped the yellow hat-cord off the Ward's Stetson and got it around Horse Soldier's leg for a tourniquet, then called for a medevac while Temujin ran an IV.

"Listen, brother," Missy said, trying to keep his attention and keep him conscious, "there's a dustoff bird on the way; we're gonna get you fixed up quick. You gotta stay with me, though, Horse Soldier. You gotta stay awake." Horse Soldier's eyes rolled back and Missy shook him by the shoulders. "Horse Soldier! Stay awake! Stay with us!" she roared.

Horse Soldier deceased, B5; Leviathan spotted, B7...

Coywolf Point moved off, heading toward B7...

A few moments later Missy dropped onto a rooftop next to Victor. "Victor, where's Kaiser?!"

"Down below; why?!"

"I've got a designator; if we can pin Leviathan in place I can call artillery in on him!"

Victor laughed a fatalistic laugh. "Not like we have any better plan; do it!" He keyed his armband and broadcast. "We need Barrier-Capes at B7; Shielder, Kaiser, Bastion, anyone who can hem Leviathan in. If we can fix him in place Coywolf-Actual has an artillery-designator."

Very quickly Capes began arriving; forcefields from Narwhal and others sprang up, and with Rush boosting his powers Kaiser demonstrated why he was sometimes called the Iron Prince as dozens of spears erupted from every surface to pierce Leviathan, then forked and barbed inside him like the Hound of Ulster's Gae Bolg.

Missy brought the TAG up and focused on Leviathan as she keyed her radio. "Battle-King, Battle-King, this is Coywolf-Actual; fire mission, Endbringer in the open, Grid Bravo-Seven! I am marking target with TAG now! Be advised, friendlies are in the area!"

"Roger, Coywolf, Battle-King confirms fire mission against Endbringer in grid Bravo-Seven Danger-Close; confirm TAG uplink."

"Uplink green! Target marked! Fire for effect!"

"Battle-King launching salvo, HEPD. Shot! Estimated time to impact five-five seconds."

Missy broadcast in the clear, "Incoming missiles Grid B7, danger-close! Get clear or get under cover!"

The Arrow-IV missiles reached the apogee of their flight and began to descend as Missy held the TAG steady on Leviathan's struggling form...

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Missy broadcast in the clear, "Incoming missiles Grid B7, danger-close! Get clear or get under cover!"

The Arrow-IV missiles fell, driving through Leviathan's water-echo to strike the Endbringer himself. The concussion of each High-Explosive Point-Detonating warhead going off was a physical blow to those nearby, and when the smoke cleared, Leviathan still stood...

Though not unmarked; his right foreleg was gone at the shoulder and all along his neck and right side he bled from deep, crater-like wounds.

"Capes, this is Donar-Actual; we'll keep him busy while you pull your wounded out."

"Second Fighter Star will assist. Engaging now."

Chelsea stood her Sabutai on its wing and dove, Grey right behind her. Pillars of water erupted upward from the flooded streets of Cadiz, and the fighters dodged madly around them as they bored in for their runs. The Donars jinked and juked, pouring lasers and missiles into Leviathan, harrying him like pitbulls on a bayed boar.

Donar-Actual dodged a pillar close-aside and caught the tail of the water-echo, shattering the canopy and only barely missing Grady and Gilbert. "Fuck, we just lost the canopy! Blowing the remnants!" Gilbert triggered the explosive-bolts and jettisoned the broken canopy just as a pillar pistoned into the air nearby.

Glory Girl down, B7.

Grady squinted against the stinging rain and saw Glory Girl plummeting downward as Donar-Actual, its canopy blown out, raced forward; the unconscious teen was tumbling limply...

"Grady, I can't see shit in this rain; you gotta be my eyes!" shouted Gilbert to his gunner.

"Steady forward, steady... Motherfuckermotherfuckermuthafucka FLARE!"

The attack-helicopter slammed to a stop and its tail swung sharply downward as the Donar went almost-vertical; the tips of the rotor-blades clipped a lock of Vicky Dallon's hair off in passing as she dropped onto Grady's chest and he grabbed her, clinging tightly. "I've got her; get us outta here!"

"Whadda you mean, you got her?!"

"I mean I just caught Glory Girl, Gilbert, now get us the Hell outta here!"

Gilbert nodded sharply and focused on his instruments as he radioed, "Command, this is Donar-Actual; we have Glory Girl, and we also have sustained damage. Donar-Actual is RTB; Donar-One-Two, you have command."

"Roger, Donar-Actual; Donar-One-Two has command," responded the pilot of One-Two, Connie Hammer. "By the way, Downs says he managed to get that catch just now on his gun-cam; I reckon it'll look good on PHO. Anyway, fly safe, Goat. Hammer-Down out."

...

The scourging Leviathan had taken had reaped a toll on the Endbringer, but he didn't retreat. If anything, the Bane of Newfoundland and Kyushu redoubled his fight, and the defenders rose to meet him with redoubled effort. As casualties mounted, a fur-covered, bandanna-masked Spanish Tinker talked frantically with a teenage gamer-geek turned fighter-pilot.

"Command, Quixote is breaking off for rearm with Special-Munitions, November-November."

"Spínola, vuelvo enseguida. No te preocupes, tengo un plan."

Spínola, seeing the manic gleam in his team's Tinker's eyes when he said not to worry, that he had a plan, reflexively crossed himself and murmured, "Que Dios nos pille confesados..."

...

By the time Greg reached Madrid and landed in the street outside Ridli's lab, Ridli was already there, connecting extra energy-cells and other tech to a construct almost a third the length of Greg's Sabutai. Greg leapt out of the cockpit and dashed over. "Alright, Ridli; what's the plan?"

"Help me attach the Phase-Shift equipment to the casing; the power-cells for those are internal and I already disabled the safeties on them. I already had the core set up for remote activation, so I can wire a timer into that, but it means-"

"It means I'll have to be precise with my release-point." Greg looked at the device, then at his fighter. "Once we do that, help me remove the ERPPCs and LPLs off my fighter, and the Gauss Rifle; I've already expended all the ammo for that and I'm gonna need to trade weight for speed."

"Okay." The two scrambled to make ready, then Greg took off, the device slung under his fighter on improvised mountings, and Ridli teleported back to the fight...

...

When Ridli arrived, the first person he saw was Taylor. "Star-Colonel, we need everyone to fall back from Leviathan! Greg is incoming! Everyone needs to fall back far!"

"How far is 'far', Ridli?" Taylor asked, carrying Miss Militia across her suit's shoulders.

"Eight kilometres; ten, preferably, but eight's the absolute minimum safe distance!"

"Kerensky's Bones, just what is Greg delivering?!"

Ridli told her, and saw through the face-plate of her armor as Taylor blanched. "You're a savashri madman, Ridli, but we're on the ropes already..."

Taylor transmitted in the clear. "Warning, All Defending Personnel; Dragoon fighter inbound with Tinkertech Special-Munition! All personnel, withdraw immediately; Minimum Safe Distance is ten kilometres!"

As Capes rushed to clear the area, Taylor heard Greg's voice over the radio...

"Dragoon-Actual, this is Quixote; estimated time to release-point is five minutes. I had to strip a bunch of weapons off in a helluva hurry to get even this much speed carrying this heavy thing." Greg spoke in an oddly-calm voice over the radio. "I'm streaming this to the same site as the Ellisburg Op, so there's at least a record in case..." He chuckled a bit. "Well, you know. Untested Tinkertech, Endbringer... But Hell, I'm from Brockton Fucking Bay; compared to that, an Endbringer ain't shit. Two minutes till release; Capes clear?"

"Clearing, Quixote! Almost!" responded Taylor as she deposited Miss Militia with the medics and turned back to help evacuate others.

"Good. Thank God all of the Shelters are further inland. One minute till release... Thirty seconds... Ten... Five..."

"CAPES CLEAR!"

"Pickle!" Greg felt the device detach and immediately pulled up into a vertical climb, racing at full-power straight up and away from the Endbringer...

The Phase-Shift activated and the device, out-of-sync with its surroundings, plowed quite-literally into Leviathan's chest, just before the timer ran out and Ridli's prototype Small-Craft-scale Kearney-Fuchida Jump-Drive activated inside Leviathan.

When the blinding flash of light faded, all was silent. A circle of buildings eight kilometres across, and Leviathan in his entirety, were simply gone.

As people began to look around, blinking spots from their vision even twenty minutes after the flash, Ridli keyed his armband. "Dragon, I need you to check something for me, if you have access to a telescope. Focus it on these coordinates and tell me what you see."

After a very long few minutes, and a redirection of the Hubble Telescope, Dragon responded, in the clear to all of the Capes. "Neptune! Leviathan is currently in orbit over the north pole of the planet Neptune, and frozen solid by the look of him!"

A wild, joyous cheer rose from the Capes and Dragoons; Leviathan was dead! Newfoundland and Kyushu were avenged! An Endbringer was dead!

But it had come at a cost, and the cheering faded as the Dragoons started back into the city and started pulling out the slain...

Greg landed in the Blackbird's hangar, and climbed out of his Sabutai. Chelsea and Grey were waiting for him. "Welcome back, Gregory," Chelsea said, "and bravo."

"Where's Isaac? Don't tell me he..."

Grey shook his head. "Isaac's still alive; he's aboard the Lupa helping with casualties. None of us fighters took more than minor damage, your stripped-down fighter notwithstanding... But the other units took bad hits. Half of X-Ray and half of Zulu, both gone; Vega from Kilo needs a new arm and lost three men; Donar-Actual needs a new canopy and Donar-Three-One, Three-Two, Four-Two, and Five-One were all four complete write-offs but the crews ejected cleanly. Broken bones and concussions all around for them, but they'll live."

Grey sighed. "That's our casualties so far. We still haven't gotten a response from Cur-One, but their IFF is still pinging, so..."

Greg looked over his shoulder at the clearing clouds, and sighed tiredly as the dark waters receded from the shore and began to turn blue once more...

"Helluva day, eh?"

Last edited: Jun 21, 2018

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Threadmarks Interlude: PHO Three New

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Topic: Identifying the UFOs

In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► Wolf Dragoons

BlueBird (Original Poster) (Wolf Dragoons)(Clan Wolf) (Verified Extradimensional)

Posted On Jun 4th 2011:

I am certain by now that many of you noticed the quartet of large airborne vehicles that descended over Brockton Bay earlier; do not, I say again Do Not panic. They are the latest additions to the Wolf Dragoons, four Dropships. We needed better transport-capability and the Clan provided, is all. While I cannot give specific technical details due to operational-security concerns, I can however identify them by Name and Class. They are:

CWS Gray Brother- Union-C

CWS Lupa Capitolina- Dove

CWS Growl- Sassanid

CWS Blackbird- Miraborg

(Showing page 1 of 3)

►Coywolf_Actual (Verified Cape) (Wolf Dragoons) (Clan Wolf) (Verified HOG) (Veteran: Wards-ENE)

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

YES! We have Dropships! And the Growl is the same one Taylor and I went to Arc-Royal and back on!

►L3ct0r

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

Uff now im more calm... i was looking the Video of the Ziz-swarmed in my room when suddenly i see this 4 balls of fire falling from the sky... for a moment i thinked that Ziz was taking revenge from the Dragoons launching dervis at them ( and us by proximity)

PD i wanted to ask, what happend the other day in the Bay? i saw this fighter of yours making crazy acrobatics manouvres... some of your duels or what?

►BlueBird (Original Poster) (Wolf Dragoons) (Clan Wolf) (Verified Extradimensional)

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

That was Pilot Gregory Veder in his newly-issued Sabutai, L3ct0r, paying tribute to Star-Commander Lydia Wolf, who was recently killed in action. He did a hundred-five victory-rolls, one for each of her career confirmed kills. He was also the one during her funeral who climbed away during the Missing-Man flyover.

►L3ct0r

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

Wow... didnt know

My condolences for you and all your Dragoons...

►MostPoorAndStrange (Wolf Dragoons) (Clan Wolf) (Verified Extradimensional)

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

She fell in battle, and it was quick and clean; that's a better end than many meet, certainly. L33t and Uber were asking the Star-Colonel about deploying their latest build (something called 'Liberty-Prime') to China against the CUI as vengeance, and while the BA Point that deployed with us scuttled Lydia's fighter two of our Infantry Points looted the Dalian Naval Base (Aff, Beijing, we stole your sh*t) and one of the Infantrymen went so far as to collect scalps, before both twenty-five-man Points hit the base with Dragonsbane DPLs.

►L3ct0r

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

*clong*... (mouth hit the floor):eek:

Uau, shit, lets hope this dont scale too gast too much...

Please, please DONT let L33t to deploy the Liberty Prime, even if it is for what they were built, our guys there and the rest of the world dont need that CUI reverse-engineer some knock off of them... even if its L33t-tech

►Dragoon_Actual (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

A final decision regarding the deployment of Liberty-Prime to China has not yet been made. That said, he has assured me that it is not nuclear-capable, and any Dragoons forces escorting it would be under orders to prevent it falling into CUI hands at all cost.

Also, BigCountry;

At your earliest convenience, contact me via video-chat. We need to have words about why scalping enemy personnel is not something we do.

►BigCountry (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

In my own defense, Ma'am, my blood was up. Me and Lydia had gotten to be, uh, more-than-friends, if you take my meaning, and I took her death kinda hard...

►Dragoon_Actual (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

That doesn't change the fact that you scalped a dozen me-

You know what, just answer one question and then we'll drop the topic here; I'd rather not chew your ass on a public forum. Did you lift their hair before or after killing them?

►BigCountry (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

Um... Before?

►kitsunedarkfire

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

Dragoon_Actual;

It doesn' really need the nukes. It's a fourty foot tall death bot with disintegration beam cannons.

►Medaunhelao (Veteran Member)

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

I just watched the video on the UFO sighting section of the forum before the mods move it here.

These thruster plumes... You don't need weapons! In your home universe there are the Ringworld books? If not I should talk to you about The Kzinti Lesson.

►Coywolf_Actual (Verified Cape) (Wolf Dragoons) (Clan Wolf) (Verified HOG) (Veteran: Wards-ENE)

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

Amalthea told me about that one; there's an attack using the plumes from a 'Mech's jump-jets. There's enough people in her old Clan who did it that it's called the "I am Jade Falcon!" Attack.

►CharginChuck (Moderator) (Veteran: US Army)

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

I have two questions, Dragoon_Actual;

First, did I read your man BigCountry right when he said he lifted Chinese hair antemortem?

Second, XxVoid_CowboyxX has his own fighter now; what's his nose-art and callsign?

►Dragoon_Actual (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

CharginChuck;

First, Aff, you read correctly.

Second, his nose-art is a knight in mismatched plate with a white rose tucked into the breastplate, charging with couched lance, which matches his callsign, 'Quixote'.

►RotorGoat (Wolf Dragoons) (Veteran: USMC)

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

Leviathan's moving. They caught sight of him early; he's on-track to hit Cadiz, Spain, in two hours.

Fuckin' Murphy! The Dragoons are going all hands available on-deck but we've got troops scattered to Hell'n'Gone; our 'Mechs are in Mongolia with two BA Points, an Elemental Point and two Infantry Points off the China coast along with the bulk of our fighters, and Charlie Point's still in Yuma! I'm typing this as I get my Donar loaded.

►Medaunhelao (Veteran Member)

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

Someone know what's happening in Spain? All TV channels are in lockdown, as ussual.

►RotorGoat (Wolf Dragoons) (Veteran: USMC)

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

Leviathan got spotted bee-lining toward Cadiz, yo. You didn't hear the sirens? The troops are mustering and I'm posting by speech-to-tex- Grady! Getcher ass up here, we'll run the preflight in-transit!

Fuckin' Murphy...

►Medaunhelao (Veteran Member)

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

That's why I'm asking. The TV channels stopped their emisions, same with the radios and all the normal people is praying or being nervious looking the ceiling.

End of Page. 1, 2, 3

(Showing page 2 of 3)

►Silver_Sun_17

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

Dragoon_Actual, Good Hunting and come back alive okay? for all the bellyaching people do about you being mercs you've given hope that there is a future because of your origins and your actions in the last EB attack.

►Aquahawk0085

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

Give that over sized lizard hell dragoons.

►Dragoon_Actual (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

Silver_Sun_17, AquaHawk0085;

Thank you, and we'll do our best.

►SnowCrow (Wolf Dragoons) (Clan Wolf) (Verified Extradimensional) (Clan Snow Raven)

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

Helluva first day in-dimension; I was one level away from winning an impromptu Trial of Possession at the Black Rifle, and now I'm deploying against a creature that's devastated nations...

Kerensky's Bones, what a welcome...

►Deus_Ex_Transhuman

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

Welcome to Earth Bet, where Godzilla's fucked-up cousins cause all kinds of shit and those with sanity flee in terror. Please remember to leave your sanity at the door and feel free to pick a pair of Adamantium ball up either at the door or on the way out.

You'll have earned them by the time you leave...

►reddaeth

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

What were you going to win?...Oh um Snow Raven?

Hope Spain comes out okay...

►SnowCrow (Wolf Dragoons) (Clan Wolf) (Verified Extradimensional) (Clan Snow Raven)

Replied On Jun 4th 2011:

Deus_Ex_Transhuman;

Who says I haven't already?

Selfie Pic

See the eye and the scar? Boarding-action, by pirates, in a spacecraft, with a cutlass. Ten minutes after losing the eye I was in an EVO suit on the hull taking potshots at fleeing pirates with a laser-rifle.

reddaeth;

I would have won three rounds of drinks each from Uber and L33t, and a dinner paid for by a fellow Marine, Victoria Creed; she was formerly a Corporal of Marines, USMC.

My username is 'SnowCrow', because I was once a member of Clan Snow Raven and my actual name is Star-Commander Trudy Crow. I was once a Point-Commander of Marines aboard the CSR Blizzard, and now I'm Chief-of-Boat aboard the CWS Growl.

End of Page. 1, 2

Topic: I Can't Believe It

In: Boards ► General ►World Events ► Endbringers

Tempest (Original Poster) (Verified Cape)(Wards New Orleans)

Posted On Jun 5th 2011:

Folks, I can't believe I'm saying this and it being true. Hell I wouldn't believe it myself if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes and heard Dragon confirm it...

Two Impossible Sentences, Both True:

Leviathan's dead.

XxVoid_CowboyxX killed Leviathan.

(Showing page 1 of 3)

►Silver_Sun_17

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

Wat?

►Anime_Fan35

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

HAHAHA! take that Leviathan Kyushu is avenged.

►chuck_u_farley

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

I think making jokes like that is terrible. Lots of capes have died fighting that thing.

►Amsterdamned

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

You're not joking, are you? Please tell me you're not joking.

►Tempest (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards New Orleans)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

I shit you not, mon ami; XxVoid_CowboyxX and some Spanish Tinker named after a hack-job movie-director hit Leviathan with a bomb that teleported Levi's iguana-ass into orbit.

Around fucking Neptune.

►Dragon (Verified Cape) (Guild)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

chuck_u_farley, Amsterdamned;

Tempest isn't joking.

►Armsmaster (Verified Cape) (Protectorate-ENE)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

I can confirm that Tempest is serious. The pilot who releasedthe weapon, Wolf Dragoons Pilot Gregory Veder, callsign 'Quixote' and PHO-username 'XxVoid_CowboyxX', had his gun-cameras streaming to the same site as the Ellisburg operation.

Link

►Medaunhelao (Veteran Member)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

Going to the bar I need get drunk. Hard.

►Sikan

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

Well I'm not sure if the bastard is dead dead, but stuck out at Neptune is close enough for Government Work. And I got my copy of that before the server crashed. Eight Billion downloads at once will do that.

And holy shit, from what I understand Quixote got to orbit to land on the Dragoon carrier after this? Does that technically make him an astronaut? Because his last transmission before telefraging Levi's ass certainly qualifies him for a steely-eyed missile man.

Also, what does an Endbringer Kill Marker look like, and how much paint do you use?:evil:

►chuck_u_farley

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

Well I guess some people are full of surprises. I would have never guessed that guy would be the one to pull it off.

Oh and leviathan dead there are going to be tons of parties tonight.

►Aquahawk0085

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

Yep that is appropriate, just goes to show you what some military might can do.

►XxVoid_CowboyxX (Wolf Dragoons) (Avenger of Kyushu) (Avenger of Newfoundland) (Verified Endbringer-Ender)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

Listen, guys; all I did was drop the damn bomb.

If you want to praise somebody, Ridli Scott should get the credit; he's the one who built the bomb. It was his prototype K-F jump-drive with some Phase-Shift equipment attached to get it inside Leviathan before it triggered. It was Ridli's device and Ridli's plan; I just delivered it.

►Uber (Verified Cape)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

I will not lie. I was there with the medical teams providing support for the trauma medics, when we saw Levitian get voiped. And after we heard who did it, we all had to make sure someone didn't spill a massive amount of raw ether. Panacea can verify that as well. Now if you excuse me, L33t just came back with a few crates of Madeira wine. He and I are going to get shit faced untill the universe makes sense again. Anyone else from the battle, including Panacea, GG, Coywolf and the Dragoons MASH is welcome to join us.

►bissek

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

When Hitler died, the people of Russia took a week off to CONSUME EVERY LAST DROP OF VODKA IN MOSCOW. How long will it take for the people of Tokyo to duplicate the feat with sake?

►Sikan

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

XxVoid_CowboyxX;

Yeah, and I'm sure he will be able to do a Scrooge McDuck with all the money about to come his way for at least a couple more. I got that download before the first server crash. That drop was so on target it landed IN Leviathan before the bomb went off. And do your remember what you said before you hit him dead on? Because I guarantee our grandkids will.

Sorry man, you are just going to have to live with everyone buying you drinks for the rest of your life.

bissek;

The current stock, or the equivalent amount? Because I think they already broke the latter, total and per-capita.

►Winged_One (Veteran Member)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

I...

I did not see that one coming.

►bissek

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

Sikan;

Actual stock. The first day was spent clearing out every liquor store in the city. The rest of the week was the largest drunken party in history.

And what Quixote said before bombing the Citykiller was "Pickle". I hope he likes gherkins.

►Chica_electrizante (Verified Cape) (Guardianes)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

Texting in a bed of the Lupa Capitolina. I made it... I survived. maybe my legs bones don't but I survive thanks to Ridli modular armor. I am not one of the original Guardines, but I know them, I know how they hate Leviathan because he was the cause of the creation of the original Guardianes. I didn't hate him until now, I wasn't before in an EB battle, Now I understand. I understand everything and maybe more.

Maybe are the drugs that the Dragoons gave me but I think I don't really hate Leviathan he is a creature, an animal in some cases. Maybe intelligent but not as evil as the Blasphemies or the fucking Nazis at the north. I can't hate a bear for attacking me in the woods. In a way, I only think that he was a best that we needed to put down.

Oh yes... the drugs are the ones talking I fell dizzy.

Tempest;

Hey! your asshole. Ridli isn't named by Ridley Scott. He was named Ridli Scott by Cuervo, one of the original Guardians, because he looked like a comic character with that name.

Si... si... I know that Ridli Scott was a parody/tribute to the director.

Después... after that he chose to play the entire thing and dress and act as the original Ridli even if he was incapable of sweat molecular acid.

Me siento mareada,,,,,,,, ojala pueda ir a la celebracion ´ç

►Coywolf_Two (Unverified Cape) (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

Uber;

Minii khuvtsas solikh gurvan sav baidag. Bi ta nartai khamt uukhaar irj baina. Bi "Namaig ineemseglen" avchirch baina.

End of Page. 1, 2, 3

(Showing page 2 of 3)

►Coywolf_Actual (Verified Cape) (Wolf Dragoons) (Clan Wolf) (Verified HOG) (Veteran: Wards-ENE)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

You're in for a treat, Uber; Temujin just offered to split three bottles of airag with you.

Also, Pay No Attention to him calling me by a nickname in Mongolian...:whistle:

►Nikas

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

bissek;

That's pilot speak for "grab the dirt ground pounders, I just dropped a bomb". I mean this "Well, you know. Untested Tinkertech, Endbringer... But Hell, I'm from Brockton Fucking Bay; compared to that, an Endbringer ain't shit."

Edit: BTW, don't the Dragoons have troops in Japan right now? Man, bet they are being swamped with well wishers if they step outside.

►Kyushu_no_Ryu (Verified Cape)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

XxVoid_CowboyxX, Ridli Scott;

*Video showing Lung*

Lung slowly, deeply bows.

Lung: Ryōhō tomo hijō ni arigatō.

*Video ends*

►L3ct0r

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

Me cago en la hostia, put#

Ridli, Void both of you are los putos amos one less... um pleas lets not try this with Ziz, okay. We dont want that THING with access to your tech OK? We dont want she goes for his Bastardo of Little Brother OK? Or worse jumping to the Dragoons dimension? Apart of that you are going to Beber, Comer y Broke a lot of Beds for all your life free

►chuck_u_farley

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

XxVoid_CowboyxX;

Face it in the short term the trigger pullers always get the credit from the public. The long term is a different story however. The men that dropped the bombs that end ww2 pacific were huge news at the time. Does anyone (not a historian) remember their names today?

►Glory Girl (Verified Cape) (New Wave)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

L3ct0r;

I think I can verify the last bit. A few minuets ago Void dropped in after freaking Lung posted his video, I watched Shadow Stalker walk up to him, tilted her mask up and promply shoved her tounge down his throat before dragging him off with a shout of "Dibs!" Looks like our former Tinfoil king is now Earth-Bet's most eligible bachelor...

►Dragoon_Actual (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

Before I join the partying, I still have business I have to attend to...

Zulu_Actual, MandyCore, XRaySpecs, I'm sending the Gray Brother back to Brockton Bay in the morning for the engineers, their vehicles, and the Quasits; I need you three to pilot them and help with cleanup.

When we all get back to the Bay, we'll bury our dead and reorganize.

To everyone in general, I ask this favor: drink a toast to the heroes who didn't make it out.

To Shadow Stalker in particular, I ask that you please not break my Pilot; he has to be fit for duty in the morning, and right now I'm certain the Youth Guard and New Hampshire CPS are ready to throw a rod over him being here in the first place.

►XxVoid_CowboyxX (Wolf Dragoons) (Avenger of Kyushu) (Avenger of Newfoundland) (Verified Endbringer-Ender)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

It's not like anyone forced me to fight, Taylor; I came of my own free will, and Hell, I had to deck my own crew-chief with an uppercut to keep him from trying to stop me taking off.

To any Youth Guard or NHCPS reading this, I'm well-aware that I'm legally non-deployable until i'm eighteen. You want to gripe, wait till I get home and gripe to me.

Now, where were we, Shadow Stal-

►Chef deMadds (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

Stalker, you greedy bitch! I hope you have an account on PHOs more infamous sister site, because we want details.

Copious Details

►Crimson Survivor (Banned)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

[Comment deleted by Moderator Tin_Mother]

Tin_Mother: Just because XxVoid_CowboyxX has redeemed himself in the eyes of the world doesn't mean we are holding open autditions for a replacement. And seriously, aside from your attempt to out Shadow Stalker, whatever issues you have with Dragoon_Actual are probably better shared with a psychiatrist. And not with the sort of language you just used.

Enjoy your two week ban to cool off.

►Dragoon_Actual (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

Tin_mother;

Let me guess, some twaddle about 'Predators' and 'Prey', accusations of me being 'weak', et cetera ad nauseam. Aff, she's been on about that for almost two years now.

Could whoever's on here and closest to Crimson Survivor please read her this message from me?

Message Begins:

Emma, it's only because we used to be friends that I'm even offering this to you instead of just ignoring you. I'll make the same offer to you that I made to Sophia the day i withdrew from Winslow, though with Sophia I was somewhat more subtle in my wording; if you truly wish to settle accounts with me, the address for Camp Kerensky is in the phone-book, so you know where to find me. I'll even cede Right of Attack and thus choice of weapons to you. So if you truly think you're a Predator, come claim your Prize.

Otherwise, cease your incessant yapping and slink away like the whipped, cringing, Tame Dog that you are.

Much Love,

Taylor

Message Ends.

►Robot_Raven

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

Pretty much, along with several remarks of calling everyone in Madrid a liar for saying Void killed Levithian, several remarks about his manhood, calling Shadow Stalker seveveral unspeakable names for a lady along with every other word being some variation of 'weak' and 'traitor' and of course the name drop.

As for her words for you, I'm tempted to call a priest given how vile that was. I would recommend you be careful. While I agree she needs to come to terms with reality, she rubs me as the type that is likely to show up at your house with an AK-47 and open fire at anyone that even looks like you.

►Wild Transient (Wolf Dragoons) (Verified Ambusher)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

Well our boy greg is having the time of his life making out with Shadow Stalker right here: Link :D

Getting the kill shot on Levi from what i was told has guranteed him a place on the 'Remembrance'. Its basically an epic poem detailing epic deeds in Clan Wolfs history.

And a moment of prayer to those who fell in the line of duty against Leviathan. :(

►Dragoon_Actual (Wolf Dragoons)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

I'll take care, Robot_Raven.

Point-Commander Vega, I am frankly amazed that you're coherent-enough to post on PHO, given last I saw you, you were "out amongst the fuzzy-bunnies" (your exact words and i have it recorded) on pain-meds after having lost your left arm to the shoulder...

Did you hear the full butcher's-bill for the Dragoons, Marc?

-Myers, Temple, and Gladstone from your Point KIA, and you WIA and combat-ineffective until we replace your arm.

-Zulu Point took 50% casualties, all but two were KIA

-X-Ray Point took 50% casualties, all KIA

\- Eight crewmen from the Donars, who are now officially 'Ridgeback' Point, WIA but Stable, four helicopters totalled, and one with a canopy that needs replaced.

Comparatively, I know we got away lightly, but I'd be lying if I said losing even one man doesn't hurt like Hell.

►Wild Transient (Wolf Dragoons) (Verified Ambusher)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

Dragoon_Actual, the effects of the 'Happy Juice' has mostly passed :p

And yeah i did get the full list of our casualties. :(

It's...it's kinda why i felt the need to post now. Bottling up my feelings of frustration, anger and sadness for too long would have eaten me from the inside out.

Im gonna miss my teammates and the others. We got damn close and had fun in practically everything we did.

For them to just...just no longer be here, it hurts. It hurts a lot.

►Bravo_Actual (Wolf Dragoons) (Clan Wolf) (Verified Extradimensional)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

Aff. Wish I could say it stops hurting eventually, but it doesn't. It fades, goes from Agony to Ache, given time, but it always hurts. And I wouldn't wish away all this pain, this aching not of the Body but of the Heart, for my dearest dreams.

The pain you feel in missing Point-mates, Star-mates, Trothkin, Family, is proof of how much you loved and cared for them in their lives; to erase that pain would be to erase the ones you felt that pain for...

I'm drunk, and I'm rambling... I apologize...

►Wild Transient (Wolf Dragoons) (Verified Ambusher)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

No need to apologize and i WISH i could get drunk right aboutnow, that is if i wasnt still confined to a bed. Im gonna have to settle for another dose of 'Happy Juice' which is due to be administered by a nurse in about 11 minutes from now.

►Shade Argost

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

now that I think about it, how are we gonna deal with that hole?

►Ridli Scott (Verified Cape) (Avenger of Kyushu) (Avenger of Newfoundland) (Verified Endbringer-Ender) (Guardianes) (Case 53)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

I'm alive... barely... fucking alcohol. I'm texting in my phone in a... HOW THE FUCK I ENDED IN A BEACH IN GRANADA?

¡Oh mierda!

I need to call Spínola.

For the record, I'm in the Chiringuito Casa Emilio in Salobreña with 8 drunk capes and 5 civs. Almost 330 km from the place I started drinking. That's a good thing since we didn't end in Burgos or Cuenca, a tradition here in Spain.

►WindRider (Wolf Dragoons) (Clan Wolf) (Verified Extradimensional)

Replied On Jun 5th 2011:

You might want to check fingers for rings, Ridli Scott; I somehow managed to commandeer a sailing-yacht for our partying last night, and I distinctly remember, in my capacity as a (temporary?) Ship's-Captain, marrying you to somebody. I'd tell you who but it's really all one big blur.

Also, a favor; when you're done in the restaurant, could you resupply me? I'm anchored just off the beach, and the rum's gone.

End of Page. 1, 2

That Guy. Yes, That Guy.

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#2,600

The afternoon after Leviathan's defeat, Taylor rolled out of her rack aboard the Growl, bounced off a body under a poncho-liner, and sat up reaching for a sidearm she wasn't wearing before she realized what was what.

The body, meanwhile, also sat up, revealing the red-eyed visage of Mykel Ward. "Star-Colonel, good..." He checked the chronometer on the wall. "Good afternoon. Request permission to pass out again?"

"Granted, Point-Commander." Mykel's head was pillowed on a pair of combat-boots before the final syllable left Taylor's mouth, and the bulkheads almost vibrated with his snoring.

Taylor stood and walked out of her compartment, stepped over several Dragoons and Capes lying prostrate in the corridor, and made her way to the Mess Deck, where she poured a cup of tea for herself and radioed for status-reports.

Most of her troops were scattered around the Dropships or in Madrid, though according to Florian, she and several others had made their way to Granada in a drunken haze after the Feist-Point Vehicle-Commander had commandeered the Mayor of Cadiz's personal sailing-yacht.

Taylor had to ask Florian to repeat part of her report, however; she couldn't have heard her correctly...

"Aff, Star-Colonel; at some point last night I, acting in my capacity as Acting-Skipper of the yacht Sol sureño, officiated a wedding-ceremony between Ridli Scott and Nova-Commander Gohcourt. Not certain how legal it was, strictly-speaking, but it was certainly romantic, especially when he welded the ring to her armor's battle-claw and kissed her face-plate."

Taylor pinched her nose before replying, "Understood, and I'll check the legality of a marriage officiated by an Acting-Captain aboard a private vessel, that's been commandeered. In the meantime, collect the newlyweds and any other Dragoons in your AO, and return to Cadiz, preferably without sinking the yacht, since I'm sure the Mayor would like it back."

...

After Taylor finished her tea and checked who hadn't been accounted for, she walked outside. A sudden whip-CRACK sent Taylor ducking to the ground, before hearing a second shot, now recognizable as Missy's Thunderstroke, 'Matilde', firing. A third shot rang out, and a fourth, with metronomic regularity as Taylor made her way toward the source of the shots.

Missy was lying prone atop the hull of Mastiff-Two, her Gauss Rifle connected to a Fusion-Recharger Unit on the ground and several crates of ammunition broken open around her. The youngest Dragoon silently swapped magazines and resumed firing; Taylor looked out toward the ocean where Missy was aiming, and saw that someone had set up a series of metal targets on buoys, stretching out nearly to the horizon, each emblazoned with an image of Leviathan.

Temujin tapped Taylor on the shoulder. "She is like this all night; sadness I think. Gallant is bad-hurt and Aegis is dead. She tried shooting into space at Leviathan but I stopped her. She won't talk, won't move except to shoot."

Taylor nodded. "Missy? A word?" Missy ignored her. Taylor drew a deep breath and bellowed, "Point-Commander Biron, Cease Fire; Unload, Show Clear!"

Missy reflexively pulled the magazine from her rifle, locked the bolt back and disconnected the power-feed, then slid back from the weapon before focusing on Taylor. "Tay- Taylor?" she croaked in a hoarse voice. Before Taylor could reply, Missy was off the tank and sobbing in her friend's arms. She hadn't cried when she had found out about Carlos' death and Dean's injury, but now she wept, releasing the emotions she had bottled up behind a facade of cold professionalism.

"It's alright, Missy; let it out. I know it hurts, I know..."

...

Anika looked across the table at Ridli. "Apparently we are married. I do not recall the ceremony."

"Neither do I," replied the furry Tinker.

"I have however seen the footage of the ceremony. You and I both swore oaths; barring legal impediment, I am inclined to hold to my oaths once sworn. I have never been married before."

"I'm a Case-53 Cape; if I was married before I was furry, I can't recall it. Functionally, this is new to both of us."

"So unless and until the law of the land says otherwise, we treat it like it's for keeps, and figure out how to be married as we go along?"

"Unless you have a better plan, I suppose so. So, you move to Madrid, I move to Brockton Bay, or we figure out how to work it long-distance?"

Anika chuckled. "It would be long-distance no matter what we did; being a soldier, much less a mercenary, means I can be deployed far-afield at a moment's notice."

"We'll do our best to make it work?"

"Bargained well and Done... Husband."

"Bargained well and Done... Wife."

...

Nova-Commander Sarah Connors looked at Point-Commander Sofiya Wolf of Zulu Point, then at Point-Commander Waylon Jennings of X-Ray Point. "Sofiya Wolf, Waylon Jennings, you each represent Points reduced by combat-losses to half-strength. Sofiya, you claim that X-Ray Point should be folded into your Zulu Point, and have challenged to Trial of Absorption accordingly. Waylon, you claim the opposite, and have accepted Sofiya's challenge. The terms have been agreed-upon, and the Circle of Equals drawn. Stand you ready?"

Sofiya nodded. "Aff."

Waylon nodded. "Aff."

"Then let Combat be thy Judge and Victory thy Jury. Begin."

Sofiya, knowing that the Dragoons didn't need any more combat-losses, and having chosen her weapons accordingly, placed the first stone on the Goban between herself and Waylon, moved a pawn forward one space on the chessboard, and made her first move on the checkerboard...

...

When the sun set that evening, someone set a bonfire on the beach, and Capes and Dragoons alike sat around it. Shadow Stalker sat by Greg, and when she saw a guitar come out, she elbowed him. "Veder, sing. I know you can do it; you sang to me last night."

Greg blushed, but nodded. "Okay, Stalker. I'll sing. But on your head be the consequences." He whispered in the guitarist's ear, who spoke softly to a couple others, who produced a fiddle and a mandolin. They began to play, and the tune was Mingulay Boat Song. Greg sang; his singing-voice wasn't the best, but it wasn't bad, either...

Heel ya'ho, Boys;

Let her go, Boys;

Heave her head 'round,

Into the weather;

Heel ya'ho, Boys;

Let her go, Boys;

Sailin' homeward,

To Brockton Bay...

What care we though

High the sea is;

What care we, Boys,

For windy weather?

When we know that,

Ev'ry inch is,

One more homeward,

To Brockton Bay...

Heel ya'ho, Boys;

Let her go, Boys;

Heave her head 'round,

Into the weather...

That Guy. Yes, That Guy.

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#2,647

Elbert Kinser knelt with his Point, overlooking the CUI FARP that JSOC had codenamed 'Exxon' as two squads of Army Rangers, callsign 'Hitman', moved in.

"Hitman-Actual, India-Three; sentry at your ten."

"Roger. Hitman-One-Five, on our ten."

"Roger." A suppressed SR-25 wielded by Jack Black, the Hitman First-Squad Designated Marksman, coughed once. "Sentry down."

"India-Three confirms sentry down."

The Rangers slipped into the camp, and India Point waited...

...

Taylor greeted Sophia at the front gate, the Dragoons' CO not being too proud to stand sentry-duty like her troops. "Sophia, welcome to Camp Kerensky. Give me a moment to get someone up to relieve me, and we can go have our discussion."

"Okay, Hebert. Or, I suppose it's Kerensky, these days."

"I answer equally to both." Taylor keyed her radio and called for her relief; after a few minutes Lurcher-Two's commander, Richard Riddick, walked up.

When the two girls arrived at the base's gym, Alpha- and Bravo Points were working out on the free-weights, while Delta- and Echo were in the sparring-area practicing their grappling. They all stood and watched as Taylor walked up to the edge of the mats. "Good morning, and please, as you were, Elementals. I just need to use the mats for a short time. Sophia, you've met Alpha Point before; these are Points Bravo, Delta, and Echo. Bravo Point's commander is my XO. Ladies and Gentlemen, Sophia Hess. Sophia, the changing-room is through there, if you want to get into gym-clothes."

When Sophia returned, barefoot and in shorts and a tee, Taylor had simply taken her boots and uniform-blouse off, leaving her in fatigue-trousers and undershirt. "So how we doing this?"

Taylor tossed a pair of fingerless sparring-gloves to Sophia. "Fists, kicks, knees, elbows; no grappling. To submission or ten-count. Sound fair?" Taylor pulled on her own gloves as she spoke.

Hess donned her gloves and nodded. "Sounds fair to me." They both dropped into their stances, and at a silent signal between them, the fight was on.

Taylor darted a lightning-fast jab in just as Sophia flung a low roundhouse kick into Taylor's leg; Taylor's punch missed over Sophia's shoulder, but her follow-up chopping right connected solidly on Hess' ear and drove the Ward down. Sophia responded by feinting with her left leg before suddenly throwing a high-right roundhouse kick that crashed into Taylor's own ear, and Taylor stumbled before righting herself and boring back in...

The fight ended ten brutal minutes later with Taylor slamming a knee into Sophia's kidney, then a crushing, chopping right-cross that planted Sophia face-first into the mats. "One... Two..." Taylor wheezed around swollen lips, her left eye swelling shut.

"Fuggit, I gib," croaked a broken-nosed Sophia from the floor. "I gib."

Taylor sat down heavily next to her foe and then flopped onto her back. "Good... Not sure I had another round left in me..."

Both girls sat up when Doctors Pierce and Blake walked into the gym, summoned by Anika. The Dragoon medics went over both teens, administering meds to blunt the pain and bring down the swelling, then checked for lasting damage. Taylor had three ribs bruised and one cracked, a pair of molars loosened, and a black eye, along with many bruises.

Sophia had a cracked rib and a cracked collarbone, her eyes both blacked, and a bruised kidney, along with a broken nose. After Blake straightened her nose, Sophia leaned back against the wall and, true to her word, told Taylor about a certain redhead, on a certain night, in a certain alley, and what had transpired there.

When Sophia had finished, Taylor snorted. "Sophia Hess, that is one of the most fucked-up things I have ever heard, and we live in a city with literal Nazis and an ogre-masked serial suicide-bomber."

...

When Taylor heard that the two Capes she'd been chatting with on PHO, Tephra and username "Wolfy_One" (whose actual name she'd forgotten to ask) had arrived, she dashed off a message to let them settle in overnight and handle their Trials of Position the next day.

Which left one other Trial to attend to. "Nova-Commanders, report to my office."

Taylor booted her computer and opened a video-chat program. Windows opened, showing Natasha and the US Army Chief-of-Staff. "Galaxy-Commander, General."

The General spoke first. "Alright, Star-Colonel, explain to me what in the Hell a Trial of Possession is, and why one of my top officers told me to talk to you."

Taylor nodded. "How aware of the current situation are you, Sir?"

"In brief, a 'Khan Elias Crichell' of 'Clan Jade Falcon' challenged your CO, Galaxy-Commander Kerensky, to a 'Trial of Possession' for your unit, gear, and base via PHO. Lieutenant-Colonel Beckwith was lurking in that thread, and your comment that the US military had the right to 'bid forces' had him calling up the chain of command to me."

"That's an accurate summation. Elias Crichell, as Khan of the Falcons, is essentially their Head-of-State. The Clans as a whole abhor waste, and so most, if not all, combats between Clans or within Clans are conducted as formalized Trials by Combat according to an honor-code known as Zellbrigen. The Challenger chooses with what weapons the Trial is conducted, and the Challenged party chooses the battlefield. Both parties also bid what forces they'll be fielding, trying to undercut each other by using the minimum required to win the Trial."

"I can understand wanting to limit losses... Clarify bidding, please?"

Taylor opened another window with a sketchbook program; as she spoke, she sketched. "Khan Crichell is going to ask what forces we have available to defend, and I'm honor-bound to give him a full list of units and types." Taylor drew fifteen red stars and fifteen blue stars. "If, say, what we had were a Trinary of Omnimechs and a Trinary of fighters, that's what Crichell would be told, which units they were and what models. He would then send us a list of his total forces. Our subordinate commanders would then bid." Taylor drew a wolf-head over the stars she'd drawn, then drew stars for a Trinary each of Omnimechs, Elementals, and fighters, with a bird's-head over them. For example, Galaxy-Commander, could you pretend to be a Falcon for a moment and bid against Nova-Commander Gohcourt?"

Natasha chuckled. "Aff, Taylor. I assume the Mech-Trinary is a Star each, Light-Medium-Heavy?" Taylor nodded. "I bid Trinary Alpha and the Fighter Trinary."

Taylor erased the Elemental Trinary from the Falcons' side of the screen. Anika smiled. "I bid First- and Second Stars from the Fighter Trinary, and I bid the Medium- and Heavy Stars from the Mech-Trinary."

Taylor erased one Star from each Trinary on the Wolves' side before continuing her explanation. "This continues until both sides are in agreement, at which point they say, 'Bargained Well and Done' and the Trial is fought." She drew lines as she explained how the Trial was fought. "Each individual unit challenges another, and they fight one-on-one until one unit is destroyed, disabled, or surrenders. The victorious unit then challenges another unengaged enemy, until all hostile forces either surrender or are hors d'combat."

Taylor wiped the sketchbook window clean. "If we lose, the Wolf Dragoons will become part of Clan Jade Falcon, will likely be scattered to other units, and other Falcon forces will be stationed at Camp Kerensky; the Falcons are a hard-line Crusader Clan, and if they win a foothold here, they'll inevitably attempt conquest. None of us want that."

"Essentially, you're fighting to stem an invasion before it happens. I can see why you said the US has a right to bid forces."

"Aff. And, in truth, I may very-well need US Army forces for this Trial, since the Dragoons' heaviest assets, our Omnimechs and First Fighter Star, are deployed abroad on contracts."

"What's your proposition, Star-Colonel?"

"What's known in the Clans as a Contract Bid; you pledge forces and second them to the Dragoons, allowing me to bid them alongside my own troops."

"I assume there's also a more... tangible... benefit to this arrangement? Your contract from Operation Armstrong and your current contracts all have specific clauses regarding battlefield salvage; if the United States Army seconds troops to you, we want a cut of the salvage..."

The group haggled and discussed forces, eventually coming to an agreement; Taylor would hire an Inner-Sphere mercenary command on behalf of the US Army, split their fee fifty-fifty, and Washington would also second 1st Platoon, Devil Troop, from 1st Battalion 3rd Cavalry, as they were the Army's only fully-rated Battle-Armor unit. Washington's price was, in lieu of actual salvage, a number of Badger APCs, plus Omni-Pods for them.

Taylor finished the conversation and closed the windows, then sent a pair of messages by text to the Outreach HPG, one to ComStar Precentor-Martial Anastasius Focht, and the second to Archon-Prince Victor Steiner-Davion; Outreach was on the Rimward side of the Truce-Line, so for Crichell to get forces there, he'd have to cross FedCom territory...

"Yay... The joys of command..."

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A short one, but leading into rajvik_wolfboy writing his character's actual Trial...

...

Taylor's datapad beeped to signal a priority-flagged message, and she opened it, reading quickly.

PM To: Ice_Bear, Dragoon Actual

From: SS Broadsides

Re: URGENT!

Do not under any circumstances let Wolfy_One (Werewolf) leave Camp Kerensky or approach the Empire 88. He WILL hunt down and probably kill Hookwolf and any members that he feels he needs to to find the villain. Details are in the linked file.

Spoiler: Werewolf

Emily, we dropped the ball here, or at least I did. I let his activities slip past me and now he's likely to start a gang war in your city. I'm sorry.

Taylor started dictating a response while she sent a notice by text to the gate-guard, only to receive a reply from Nikolai that Werewolf had already headed into town...

"All Wolf Dragoons callsigns currently in Brockton Bay, be advised, one of our prospectives is off-base and hunting trouble," Taylor said, broadcasting to her troops in the city. "If you find Werewolf, do everything in your power to keep him well the Hell away from Empire territory and Hookwolf. Get him back to Camp Kerensky if at all possible but priority is keeping him from starting a war with Kaiser's gang."

"This is the last damn thing we need right now..." Taylor slung a Gunther SMG over her back and stormed outside to mount her Bluestreak and head into town herself. "There's all the shit with Crichell's challenge, rebuilding after Cadiz, our ongoing contracts, and now this shit; it's enough to drive me to drinking..."

...

When James 'Werewolf' Bostwick woke up in the Camp Kerensky Clinic two hours later, Taylor was sitting at the foot of his bed. "What happened?"

Taylor's expression was thunderous. "Tephra blindsided you with a thermobaric attack to knock you out and bring you back here, on my orders." She dropped a printed copy of Director Montana's message onto his lap. "I'm going to ask you one question, James Bostwick, and if I don't get a straight answer then so help me you'll be gone so fast you'll think you teleported. Did you come to Brockton Bay to join the Wolf Dragoons, or was that just a convenient excuse so you could come kill Hookwolf?"

"To join the Dragoons. Killing Hookwolf is a personal-"

"It's also a great way to start a fucking war!" Taylor snapped, cutting him off. "Hookwolf is one of Kaiser's top enforcers; kill him and Kaiser retaliates, and then the shit hits the fan! I don't know what you were taught at Parris Island, Devil Dog, but you know what piles up faster than property-damage claims during an urban war? Civilian casualties, that's what. So, if you pass your Trial of Position, you leave Hookwolf the fuck alone unless he attacks you. Understood?"

Bostwick, feeling somewhat sheepish from the squaring-away he'd just been on the receiving-end of, nodded mutely.

Taylor nodded sharply. "Good. Now, here's your Trial of Position: Somewhere on this base are the two current members of Coywolf Point, Temujin Ganboldson and Missy Biron. Both are armed, but all I'll tell you is that their weapons are non-lethal. I want you to capture one or both of them. Capture one and you're a Dragoon and assigned to Biron's Point; Capture both and you'll be Point-Commander Biron's new XO. You have twelve hours starting... Now."

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Taylor watched the AIME convoy roll onto base, escorted by the Chevaliers of Lurcher Point and the Odins of Coyote Point, along with the Strykers of Devil Troop, Brave Rifles, then turned back to her planning for the Trial against the Falcons.

The Wolf Dragoons were taking all but Kilo- and Zulu Points of their infantry, and a good portion of their vehicular assets. Battlemech support would be provided primarily the Choppers, with Von Strang's Legion providing fixed-wing air-support and the Legion's 'Mechs acting as a Heavy reserve.

Taylor finalized her plans and sent orders for her troops to fall in...

...

Several hours later, the Blackbird, Grey Brother, and Growl were in orbit over Outreach. Thanks to Ridli Scott and a lot of wheeling and dealing, the Dragoons had been able to fit three Jumpships with the Spanish Tinker's Phase-Shift equipment to cut down travel-time. In exchange, Taylor had contracted with Federated-Boeing to refurbish a Leopard-Class Dropship and deliver it to Outreach for Ridli to tinker with. Hopefully he wouldn't accidentally blow the Nostromo to smithereens in the process...

"Docking with Jumpship Going Merry now, Star-Colonel," came the voice of the Growl's helmsman. "Their course is plotted, one standard K-F jump and then engage Phase-Shift until we reach the zenith jump-point at Arc-Royal."

Taylor nodded to herself. "Status of the other two Jumpships?" she asked over comms.

"Both report all systems green; Thousand Sunny and Thriller Bark are ready to be underway and the Choppers' Shaggin' Wagon is docked with the Thriller Bark."

Taylor laid down in her bunk and made sure to have several bags handy. "Good. Relay to the Jumpship crews to jump when ready."

"Aff, Star-Colonel."

Taylor listened to the klaxons heralding an imminent jump and groaned...

...

Once the jump was complete and the Phase-Shift engaged, Taylor made her way toward the grav-deck on the Going Merry and the gym there; some time on the weight-machines would do her good...

Missy, meanwhile, looked over her Point's equipment. Temujin stood tall in his body-armor, helmet at his feet. He had an ER-Laser pistol holstered crossdraw-style on his vest, pouches for power-packs and grenades, and his issue M61A slung across his chest; a combat-knife hung hilt-down at his left shoulder and the tube for his Camelbak hung over his right shoulder, and his IFAK was at the small of his back alongside the case for the spotting-scope and rangefinder.

Tephra was attired identically, sans the knife; Werewolf the same, except for the knife, the H&K USP in a shoulder-rig, and the other longarms racked next to his bunk.

Missy looked them over, then nodded. "If we get on the field, we'll be operating as two Sniper/Spotter pairs. Temujin, you're my spotter; Tephra, you'll be spotting for Werewolf, so draw a rangefinder and spotting-scope. Werewolf, the GL is good, but make sure to draw ammo for it. For sniping, the M40 is great for soft-target engagement but we're probably gonna be after armored targets, so best you draw a Thunderstroke. It's a heavy rifle but it'll get the job done. And feel free to hang your Ka-Bar on your armor, Marine."

She smiled, and put her hands on her hips. "By God, we look downright lethal. Be about your business. Chow's in a few hours, and after that, we'll be in the Sims aboard the Growl to work on sharpening our edge. Coywolf Point, fall out."

...

Taylor exhaled explosively as she pushed upward at the bar, feeling her muscles burn as she completed her third set of twenty-five bench-presses.

"That's twenty-five, Star-Colonel," said Anika. "Your next set is...?"

"Weighted Dips to work my triceps. Today is Chest and Triceps; tomorrow is Back and Biceps, and the day after is Leg-Day."

"Not going to skip that, Taylor?"

"Anika, you never skip Leg-Day."

Last edited: Jul 12, 2018

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Victoria Dallon weaved the Quasit she was piloting through the maneuver course Sofiya had set up for her, cranking off simulated shots at targets strung out along the route. Afterwards, she knelt the Militiamech and sat in the cockpit with the radio scanning and checked PHO.

"Tower, this is Goose," came Frederick Grey's voice. "I've got eyes on two vehicles inbound toward the Main Gate. Confirm?"

"Roger, Goose; this is Zulu-Sixteen on the gate. I confirm two vehicles approaching. Eyes on drivers... Alan Barnes and Carol Dallon."

"Mom? And Alan? Wait, wasn't... Oh, shit, this can't be good." The blonde heroine stood the Quasit up and started walking it toward the gate. As she came into view of the gate Vicky saw Danny roll up in his pickup and step out...

Danny and Alan met between the vehicles and Barnes produced a folder from his briefcase; whatever was contained in that folder had Danny going red in the face, and whatever words were said, Glory Girl couldn't hear, but both men were soon gesticulating as they argued.

Carol, meanwhile, stood to one side, her expression in that observant-neutral mask that Vicky commonly called 'Full Lawyer-Mode'. Vicky saw Danny clench a fist as though to swing and made a snap decision as the arm began to move.

BAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAM!

Danny and Alan both ducked and Carol wheeled and formed a hard-light sword when Vicky squeezed the MG trigger and fired a six-round burst of blanks. She walked out of the tree-line in the Quasit and spoke through the external loudspeaker. "Everyone just cool your jets. Now, what's going on?"

"Victoria?" Brandish asked. "Aside from saying it's good to see you again, why Alan and I are here is really none of your concern. Also, what were you thinking, firing over our heads, young lady?"

Vicky opened the cockpit and knelt the Militiamech, then removed the neurohelmet. "I was thinking that I'd rather not see Alan Barnes get his jaw broken, that I'd rather not see Danny Hebert catch an Assault charge, and that a few blanks going off might get their attention. Also, hi, Mom, how are you?"

Danny took a breath and looked at Vicky. "I appreciate your concern, Vicky; I almost lost my temper when Alan told me that he's suing Taylor specifically and the Dragoons in general for bullying and threatening his daughter."

Vicky cocked an eyebrow. "When in the world did this happen? Because from what I've seen, other than jumping on me and on Sighthound via PHO for perfectly-justified reasons, none of the Dragoons have ever bullied anyone. And so far I've noticed that the Wolf Dragoons don't threaten, they promise, and then carry that promise out. If they'd threatened your daughter, Mister Barnes, she'd already be in the hospital or morgue by now."

"Are you calling Emma a liar, Miss Dallon?" Alan hissed through clenched teeth.

Vicky tapped a text-message to Shadow Stalker and replied to Alan. "In this instance, yes, I am. Emma lied to you if she told you she was bullied by Taylor or threatened by the Wolf Dragoons; the most Taylor ever did to her was to offer Emma the choice of coming here and 'settling accounts' between them, because apparently there was friction between them. If you'd like, I can show you the PHO post where Taylor offered that challenge, after your daughter said something offensive-enough that the Mods deleted it and banned her for two weeks." She unstrapped herself from the command-couch and stepped down from the cockpit, pulled up the PHO thread in question, and highlighted the relevant posts before handing her mother the phone. "If you could read those out loud, Mom?"

Carol read the first highlighted post. "Crimson Survivor (Banned)

[Comment deleted by Moderator Tin_Mother]

Tin_Mother: Just because XxVoid_CowboyxX has redeemed himself in the eyes of the world doesn't mean we are holding open autditions for a replacement. And seriously, aside from your attempt to," Carol paused and looked toward Alan, her eyes hard. "your attempt to out Shadow Stalker, whatever issues you have with Dragoon_Actual are probably better shared with a psychiatrist. And not with the sort of language you just used.

Enjoy your two week ban to cool off."

Vicky nodded. "And Taylor's response?"

Carol skipped the header and read the body of Taylor's response. "Let me guess, some twaddle about 'Predators' and 'Prey', accusations of me being 'weak', et cetera ad nauseam. Aff, she's been on about that for almost two years now.

Could whoever's on here and closest to Crimson Survivor please read her this message from me?

Message Begins:

Emma, it's only because we used to be friends that I'm even offering this to you instead of just ignoring you. I'll make the same offer to you that I made to Sophia the day I withdrew from Winslow, though with Sophia I was somewhat more subtle in my wording; if you truly wish to settle accounts with me, the address for Camp Kerensky is in the phone-book, so you know where to find me. I'll even cede Right of Attack and thus choice of weapons to you. So if you truly think you're a Predator, come claim your Prize.

Otherwise, cease your incessant yapping and slink away like the whipped, cringing, Tame Dog that you are.

Much Love,

Taylor

Message Ends."

Carol looked at Danny, then at Alan. "If I'm interpreting what I just read correctly, Emma Barnes attempted to slander Taylor Hebert, and according to the post directly below Taylor's response attempted to slander several other individuals, plus attempted to out a Ward. Taylor's response boiled down to 'You know where to find me and I'll even let you pick how we fight; nut up or shut up'. That's not a threat, Alan. It's not even especially-provocative."

Alan Barnes clenched his jaw. He reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone, dialed a number, and held it up to his ear. "Emma? I need to ask you something, sweetheart; by any chance is your username on PHO 'Crimson Survivor'? Yes? Mind explaining a few things about that, then? For example why you posted something so outrageous that the Moderators banned you? Or perhaps why you tried to unmask a Ward? Could you explain why you felt the need to lie to me about Taylor threatening you?" His expression went thunderous as he listened to her response. "Lie to me again, young lady, and see what happens. I just came out to Camp Kerensky, with Carol Dallon, to serve my best friend with a lawsuit because I thought his daughter had done you wrong, and I just got shown proof that Taylor had not wronged you. I made a fool of myself in front of a colleague and probably ruined a lifelong friendship because you lied to me. Now's not the time to discuss this; we'll decide what to do when I get home. Rest assured, though, you will lose internet privileges, and your cellphone, and I will be taking the advice Tin-Mother gave you when you got banned; your mother and I will be scheduling an appointment with a psychiatrist, which you will attend."

After he'd hung up, Alan turned back to Danny and Carol, eyes apologetic. Vicky turned and walked back to the Quasit, climbed into the cockpit, and started it up again, then jogged it back toward the hangars.

...

Shadow Stalker was waiting by the hangar-door when Vicky arrived. After she'd dismounted from the 'Mech and gone through the post-operation checklist, Glory Girl walked outside. "Emma Barnes is in deep shit, Stalker."

"I figured that much. Her dad drop the suit?"

"Probably will. Last I heard before I came back here, he was telling Emma she was going to be seeing a shrink."

The cloaked Ward nodded. "You know, when she left Winslow Taylor asked me if I'd ever read The Jungle Book. I checked it out later on a whim and read it; there's a phrase from it that fits Emma's situation right now. She's lunged beyond her length here."

Vicky nodded. "Personally, I'd say it's more like she was the Tabaqui to your Shere Khan. At least she hasn't wound up the same as that jackal, with her back broken by a Wolf."

Sophia actually laughed a little at the comparison. "After my bout with Taylor I certainly felt like a herd of buffalos had stampeded over me. Got a helluva talking-to from your sister over that."

"So, where's Greg?"

"Game-Night in the Rec-room. Apparently he's been running a Warhammer 40K RPG campaign for some of the other Dragoons, with tabletop battles."

"Not really your thing?"

"Not really my thing. After he's done we're going out to dinner."

...

Sofiya looked over her trainee-Mechwarriors. "Alright, I believe you are ready to take your training up a level. You can move, you can shoot, you can shoot while moving, in the Simulators and in the Quasits using training-rounds. Now we move into tactics and live-fire shooting. Right now you are all able to pilot a 'Mech; now I get to make you Mechwarriors. Havel, Caepernick, Dallon; you three are top of the class so you get to keep your current Quasits and sleep in until 0800 tomorrow. The rest of you, be in the hangars at 0500 and ready to test and calibrate the new ones we're getting in for you."

...

Taylor, Anika, and Missy met the Fighting Choppers' shuttle just after its landing in one of the Going Merry's Small-Craft bays. The Dragoons were in fatigue-trousers and tees, having just finished cleaning up after PT; Missy wore a sleeveless black Under-Armor tee, Anika a tan Under-Armor, and Taylor wore an OD-green cotton tee.

The airlock cycled and Colonel Harleen Davidson stepped out into the passageway alongside her 2IC. Nicknamed Queen of the Frankenmechs by many due to her units long-standing tradition of rebuilding and heavily modifying, often beyond all recognition, all mechs that entered their service. Her regiment had offered to assist the Dragoons during the trial, and Taylor wasn't about to turn away an offer of assistance.

While she didn't like to judge people on appearances, Taylor had to admit that Harley really didn't look the part of a mercenary commander. She was a physically unimpressive woman. Short, with long mousy brown hair, and a look to her that could be described as unoffensive pretty. She looked like the girl next door type, matured to the point of looking more like a lost house wife a hardened veteran.

She had a wide smile and a disarming affect that made it seem as if she'd missed her calling as the playing the friendly grownup on some children's television show. She was however a testament to the capabilities of Inner Sphere medical care, looking at most a youthful 45 rather than her actual 64.

Her second was more in line with what she expected. He was a slightly older looking gentlemen, possibly in his mid 50s if you went clear by looks. He was dressed sharply and professionally, with aristocratic featuresand salt and pepper hair. He was a tall man, strong and fit, with sharp eyes that studied everything in the room. A stark contrast to his commander's relaxed persona.

"Colonel Harley Davidson," Harley greeted, "But you can all call me Harley. This is my second in command, Major John Engstrom."

"You may call me Dutch," he said in a calm, controlled tone that betrayed little emotion, "Everyone else does."

Harley stepped forward and offered her hand to Taylor. Taylor nodded and found herself smiling back. "I'm Star-Colonel Kerensky, but please, call me Taylor. My XO, Nova-Commander Anika Gohcourt, and the commander of our Parahuman Point, Point-Commander Missy Biron."

Missy laughed when Taylor took the extended hand to shake and got pulled into a hug by Harley. Afterward, Taylor, blushing slightly, gestured toward a conference-room just down the passageway. "We arrived two days early, so Juliette's forces are still burning toward us and we'll have to wait on the Legion to finish docking with the Jumpships, but while we wait for the Baroness to arrive, I had some refreshments set out; there's sandwiches, fruit and other snacks, and both coffee and tea as well as sodas."

When they'd arrived, Harley smiled and claimed a seat after grabbing a sandwich and a lemon-lime soda. Major Engstrom took only a cup of black coffee.

Harley happily took a generous bite of her sandwich, followed by a swig of soda before she began to speak. "That's alright, because I'd like to handle some business before Julie gets here."

"Of course," replied Taylor.

"First of all I'd like to thank for your handling the damage control with the OddsOn situation. I'm not exactly pleased with Tattletale, and I hope you are giving her a hard lesson on why loose lips sink ships, but beyond her mistake you've done well and have my thanks for your swift and professional handing of the situation."

Taylor almost flinched at this. It had not been the Dragoons' best moment. After being on the business end of a three way, partially-Thinker-powered tear down of Clan history and culture over PHO, Marthe Pryde suffered a nearly terminal crisis of faith. However, due to the actions of an extremely brave 10 year old Thinker who'd almost injured herself trying to save her life, Pryde had been convinced to turn Warden instead. An eventuality that according to the girl, had extremely strong odds of turning the Jade Falcons Warden.

It was a massive victory for the good guys, but tarnished by the fact that Lisa had accidentally mentioned personal information about the girl in the aftermath. It had been a loss of face for the Dragoons in the Cape community, and Tattletale had earned the personal animosity of Colonel Davidson and Star-Colonel Pryde, both of whom had taken a very strong liking to the girl.

As Taylor reflected, Harley took another sip of soda. "Though I do need to ask you about the results on the APC testing I requested," she said referring to an arrangement with a Canadian APC factory that produced a very interesting design with a fascinating tinkertech-derived anti-radiation system that worked by disrupting charged particles. "I understand you've been busy, but not only does this offer us an advantage against the Falcons, but I also have money on the line... and while this might sound a bit...mercenary... I do have a regiment to feed."

Taylor listened as Harley brought up her business, then nodded. "Rest assured, Analyst Wilbourn has been made well-aware of just how badly she erred. There's even video, if you'd like to see it later."

Taylor took a sip from her cup of tea, then continued. "The APCs had arrived the day we left to come here and the Techs were already clamoring to begin testing. At last report, testing had begun and the Anti-Particle tech aboard them works. Not well-enough to tank more than one or two direct hits from a PPC is what I could gather through the hurricane of techno-babble, but otherwise it can take glancing hits all day long."

Harley nodded. "I think you should forward the video to Marthe Pryde. She was hinting that she might demand a Trial of Grievance. As for the APCs, that's good... and bad. Good because it works like I suspected. Bad because I was hoping to see if they could be of use in the Trial. Being PPC resistant would have been a boon."

She took another bite, "We're going to be working together a lot, you and I. I've accepted a Garrison contact with the United States government. So I think some cross-training might also be useful once we're finished here."

At the mention of cooperation and cross-training Dutch simply took a deep breath. The entire time he'd been quiet, and while not rude to Dragoons had retained an extremely cold affect.

As Taylor and Harley talked, Missy stood next to Dutch with a cup of coffee. "I'm just going to venture a guess and say you're not fond of Clanners," she said before taking a drink. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

He took a deep, measured breath. "Young lady, please return to your own seat and give me my space. I understand what you are trying to do, but it will not help."

Harley's eyes closed and she clenched her fists. "Please. Can we talk about something else? Anything else? Please?"

Missy raised her hands. "Fair enough. Not for me to know, and I apologize for bringing it to mind." She stepped back a few paces and refilled her mug.

He simply returned to his coffee while Harley looked a bit thrown off.

"I'm sorry," Harley replied, "But we have reasons to hate the clans. I tend to focus my anger at those personally responsible."

"While I'm a Lyran and my nation is still under direct occupation on top of the personal injury and insult," Dutch replied cooly, "But you did not come here to talk to two angry old people. So please."

Taylor unrolled a printed map of Von Strang's World. "The Falcons, thankfully, were thorough in keeping maps up-to-date. According to Juliette, the bulk of the garrison on her homeworld is a Solamha Galaxy, plus militia units drawn from other conquered worlds. The main threat, qualitatively, will be Star-Colonel Pryde's 2nd Falcon Jaegers, who were on-world for resupply..."

Last edited: Jul 19, 2018

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Taylor and Missy leaned against the bulkhead opposite the airlock and waited for Baroness Von Strang to arrive; when the airlock cycled the first figures out were a pair of Legionairres in black Gray-Death Standard Battle-Armor, who split smoothly to bracket the hatch.

Next out was Juliette's Aide-de-Camp, Lieutenant Winters. He looked around once, his hand resting lightly on the butt of his blazer-pistol, and nodded before Juliette stepped aboard the Jumpship.

Juliette Von Strang was a petite green-eyed redhead dressed in matte-black with gloss-black accents, her uniform devoid of rank or any distinguishing marks save for her belt-buckle, which was fashioned of silver in the image of her Legion's insignia, a fanged skull wearing a Roman helmet; her belt bore a holstered automatic that Pre-Dragoons Taylor would've charitably called a 'hand-cannon'.

Juliette and Taylor locked eyes and the Baroness smiled, showing just a hint of...

Huh, Taylor thought, turns out Morgan wasn't exaggerating; she really does have fangs...

"Star Colonel," her lip curled only slightly at the title, "Taylor ... Kerensky? Hebert?"

At least she pronounced it correctly ...

"I answer to either ... Baroness? Colonel?"

The smile broadened. Yep: those are definitely fangs. Colonel Kell wasn't joking. "Colonel will be fine, Star Colonel. This is my aide, Lieutenant Andre Winters."

The tall blonde man saluted. "Star Colonel." Dressed as starkly and unadorned as his commander, his most distinguishing feature was the double-barrelled blazer pistol strapped to his thigh. Usually carried by macho thugs who wanted to look tough ... or by people who had a strong likelihood to need to put a pair of laser bolts through an Elemental's visor at a moments notice. His steady gaze and professional attitude suggested the latter.

Taylor returned Lieutenant Winters' salute crisply, then extended her hand to Colonel Von Strang; all the while taking in the appearance of both; they had, as Caesar would say, a lean and hungry look about them. These were two people, Taylor thought to herself, who reminded her of photos she'd seen of Jack Slash, only more-controlled, which made them more-dangerous...

"Welcome aboard the Going Merry, Colonel, Lieutenant." She gestured toward her left, where Missy stood. "As my Executive Officer, Nova-Commander Anika Gohcourt, is currently busy, my aide for today is Point-Commander Missy Biron, who leads the Dragoons' Parahuman Point."

Missy saluted, and when the salute was returned, she extended her own hand. "A pleasure to meet you both."

"Point commander. Colonel Kell speaks highly of you." She hesitated, then said, "I was about to remark upon your ages, but then I recall Andre and I were only nineteen when the Falcons invaded my world, and I formed the Legion to drive them off. I suppose it is poetic for our world to be liberated by the young ... if we are successful, of course ..."

It wasn't pessimism, or defeatism ... it was the attitude of someone the universe has devoted itself to disappointing time after time.

Actually... She'd fit in pretty well on Earth Bet...

"And he speaks just as highly of you, Colonel," Missy said with a smile.

Taylor nodded and motioned toward a conference-room just down the passageway. "We'll either win, or we'll die surrounded by many, many equally-dead Jade Falcons. Personally I would prefer the former outcome. I do have some fresh intelligence regarding our feathered foes; Colonel Davidson has been back in contact with Marthe Pryde and the 2nd Falcon Jaegers are on your homeworld and will likely be bid in the Trial. The Jaegers won't hold back and no one expects them to, but knowing they're on the board means we can at least plan to counter them."

"We have our own files and records of Falcon units ... as I recall, the Jaegers are known for being aggressive, even by Falcon standards. And Pryde ..." Juliette shook her head as she floated into her seat. "In any case, if your plan involves 'bidding' Legion warriors, I would advise you to rethink it. We do not play. We do not obey arbitrary rules. Our entire tactical structure is based on frustrating the enemy by refusing to let them set the tone of the combat.

"If the Falcons believe you might win, they will cheat. If you still win, they will reneg. They will likely try to kill you all to prevent you contradicting their version of events. And that is likely when a fresh regiment each of 'Mechs and fighters will come in handy."

Taylor's grin was feral. "I had no intention of bidding your forces, Colonel; I'm well-aware of how perfidious Elias Crichell is and I had hoped you might see your way clear to acting as a heavy reserve in the quite-likely event the Falcons try something underhanded. I imagine your entire command dropping onto the headquarters here would do well to teach Clan Jade Falcon to beware the fury of the Legion."

Juliette's smile returned, this time as a vicious grin that made no attempt to hide her fangs. "Oh, I like you."

Over the next hour, the Legionaires shared their own intelligence regarding Von Strangs World: it's geography, population ("Forty million a decade ago ... at last estimate ... thirty two million. Not including Clan civilian transplants."), industry (the existing mines and manufacturing industries had been expanded and upgraded, and large munition and spare part factories constructed, often using forced labour), and garrison.

"Essentially a solhama Galaxy, as I'd said befote," expanded Juliette, displaying the appropriate data. "A 'Mech Cluster with mostly salvaged Inner Sphere or cached SLDF machines with minimal upgrades, an armoured Cluster and three Clusters of mechanised infantry. Freebirths and old warriors, for the most part, and their doctrine ..." she shrugged.

"That's not including the militia the Falcons have raised ... mostly Falcon 'police', their Warrior sub-caste, and volunteers from other planets in the Falcon OZ ... turns out lots of folk are willing to lick the Falcon boot if it lets them beat up Periphery scum," added Winters with a grimace. "No firm numbers on those, but in the thousands, at least."

"And they usually have at least one WarShip on station at all times. What class, we don't have data on, I'm afraid." Juliette shrugged again...

...

When it rains, it fucking pours... Taylor grumped to herself three days later, en route to Von Strang's World. Things back home were going to Hell in a coffee-can and the bulk of the Dragoons were scattered to the winds...

Taylor read through the messages, the posts, the plots and plans between the Slaughterhouse Nine and Kali Liao. She read through the messages between Khan Ulric, Victor Steiner-Davion, Sun Tzu Liao, and others. Taylor made her mind up. A message sent and answered, and the terms of the Trial were set; Taylor and Star-Colonel Pryde would duel with pistols...

...

FedCom MI6 Team 'Fang' looked over a map of Manheim, Pennsylvania, alongside a Colonel from the Pennsylvania National Guard and a team of Capellan Death Commandos...

Six 'Mechs trudged up the ramp and onto a Dropship...

A little girl lay unconscious in the Camp Kerensky Clinic...

A dark-clad Heroine silently fumed at her President's order that the Manheim Situation was a purely-military operation...

Things began to move, slowly at first but building speed; to what end, no one yet knew...

Last edited: Jul 29, 2018

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Lots of things happening, so to keep this from running wall-o'-text long, I'm splitting it into a multi-parter...

...

The combined Wolf Dragoons/Custom Choppers/Von Strang's Legion task force came to a halt over the zenith jump-point of Von Strang's World, and Taylor, bearing the cased flintlocks she'd borrowed from one of Harley's men, sat in the vehicle-bay of the Gray Brother and watched on her datapad as the Dragoons' Dropships detached and started toward the surface.

James 'Werewolf' Bostwick checked the feed from his body and helmet cameras on a small tablet when Coywolf-Actual, Missy 'Vista' Biron appeared in front of him. "What are you doing James?" she asked in a deadpan tone.

"Making sure the camera feeds are active," James answered. "I have a 128-gigabyte SD memory card in this puppy and figure that if I set the recording to burst transmission every five minutes or so, if we end up in combat we won't be completely giving away our position with a constant signal."

"Good idea, that," Taylor said from her seat as the dropship shuddered through air turbulence. "It will keep everyone honest and not let anyone claim that the rules were broken without being able to be repudiated with evidence. Do you have everyone's cameras feeding through it?"

"Everyone in the troop bay." James answered. "I can't filter any more without stronger computer support. Even then, it would probably be better if everyone was carrying their own tablet and burst transmitting to the APC before it bursts to the ship."

"Then the ship holds it all until it is uploaded to the site," Missy said with a nod. "Makes sense, but why is your hammer out?"

"Because I have two field packs full of ammo and explosives," James answered. "One in each bracelet and as you can see, I have a bracelet on each side of my web gear." James pointed to the blue and gold bracelets that hung between other equipment on his belt and connecting it to the tac-vest.

Missy smirked, "Damn Marines," she said looking at Taylor, "they always have to be ready for the worst." She released the spatial fold as the dropship fought to settle gently onto the landing spot that had been designated for it.

...

Pm, OddsOn to Baroness

This is important: you can't go into battle today! I checked, chance you die if you lead the Legion in combat is 97.951%

Baroness: ... chance of successfully liberating my home world if I lead?

OddsOn: Juliette, no!

Baroness: Humour me.

OddsOn: ... 98.457%

Baroness: And if I don't lead?

OddsOn: ... 45.763%.

Baroness: ... that's fair. Don't tell Hebert. She might do something annoyingly noble. She seems the type.

OddsOn: Juliette, don't ...

Baroness: Some things are worth the price.

OddsOn: ... I can't convince you, can I ... I'm sorry.

Baroness: Don't be, little one. For I shall reap an unholy toll from the Animals who infest my home, slaying them in such numbers that their brood light years away will cry out in terror and try to crawl back into the vats that they crawled out of! I will turn the oceans of my home land red with Falcon blood if that's what it takes to drive them from its soil, and if it takes my very life to do so, then so be it! I go with a song in my heart and a grin on my face, and I shall be the very last thing they see before I send them to whatever afterlife will take whatever is left!

OddsOn: ... don't take this the wrong way ... but you're a very scary lady. That's okay, I know a lot of scary people nowadays.

One of my cousin's friends said something, and made me think of you ... 'with your shield, or on it.'

Baroness: ... thank you, little one. You understand. Whatever happens, if Harley does not end up recruiting you, there will always be a slot in the Legion for you.

OddsOn: One last thing ... I found something you might like ...

Baroness: ... that helps.

See you on the other side, one way or the other ... Hebert is about to go to the surface.

If the Asatru are right ... I'll save you a seat in Valhalla ... take your time. There's no rush.

Heh ... it's probably better this way. If my people are free and safe ... what would they need the Vampire for?

Baroness has disconnected

OddsOn: Goodbye, Juliette Von Strang. I wish I could have met you.

...

Anna Alcott looked up from her book as Dinah crept out of her room. It was late, and Dinah was supposed to be resting ... but the look on her face made her mother immediately concerned. "Sweetie? Are you okay? Do I need to call -"

"No, mom... I just... I just told a good person that she was going to die today... and she thanked me, because something good was going to happen if she did, and she thought it was worth it, and that she deserved to not..." tears welled up in her eyes as Anna's heart broke for her brave, noble, tortured daughter. Why the hell does my little girl have to suffer like this? "I... I just really, really need a hug right now."

...

The ride to the site was short and peaceful, allowing everyone time to relax, but all too soon they arrived, and it was time to act. Taylor took a deep breath and stepped out of Cur-Two's troop-compartment, then looked around and took another. Marthe Pryde stood under a tall oak, dressed in leather riding-breeches and boots, and a silk blouse of nephrite-green; if Juliette Von Strang had reminded Taylor of a lean and hungry wolf, the Falcon Mechwarrior before her resembled nothing so much as a greyhound ready to spring. Beyond the Star-Colonel a mass of several Jade Falcons stood watching and waiting, it was their reaction that caught attention as the werewolf stepped from the troop bay carrying the box.

"What is that?" someone in the crowd asked, just barely in James's hearing.

"My name is James Bostwick," he called out as the two Star-Colonels stared at each other. "My only duty here is to officiate this duel. Star-Colonel Pryde, do you have a second?"

"I have time if you must discuss things with me." the warrior stated quizzically.

"Neg, Star-Colonel," James stated. "A second would be someone trusted to act on your behalf, in this case, properly loading the pistol for use."

The Jade Falcon commander nodded beforeturning around to look at the crowd. "Star-Captain Hazen," she said causing a svelte redhead to step from the crowd. "You will act as my 'second' in this quaiff?"

"Aff Star-Colonel," she replied. Pryde nodded and gestured causing the redhead to match positions to Missy before both approached James.

"Ladies," the werewolf said once as he opened the box. "Each of you will take a pistol at random and hold it up for inspection. When I am done inspecting each pistol you will take and load the pistol before presenting it to your officer. Know that any mistake you make loading the weapon will likely cost your commander her life and this Trial. Now, choose your weapons."

Both weapons were inspected minutely. One required the tightening of its spring, the other, the cleaning of the touch-hole between chamber and pan. Afterward, James supervised the loading of the weapons with the proper measurements of powder, wadding and lead balls. Finally though, both warriors held their weapons and the duel was able to continue.

"In the old days, before man even broke the grasp of Mother Terra's gravity," the werewolf intoned in a loud and carrying voice, "when a mutually-satisfactory decision could not be reached, and the courts held neither answer nor sway, force and speed decided the right and wrong of a situation. Today, as back then, Honor must be answered with Honor, and an answer as to who will hold this planet must be obtained. Star-Colonel Pryde, will you yield at this time?"

"Neg," the Jade Falcon replied, pulling back the hammer of her flintlock.

"Star-Colonel Kerensky, will you yield at this time?"

"Neg," Taylor answered, cocking the hammer of her pistol as well.

"Stand you ready to face the fire and fury of your decision?" the werewolf asked.

"Aff," they answered in unison.

"Then on my count, you will take ten steps forward and stop." The werewolf continued, "You will then turn on command and wait for the pealing of the city bells. One, two…" As he counted both women stepped forward putting a total of ten paces between them. "Ten, now turn," both women about faced with an eerie precision and faced each other, pistols raised. "Ladies, may Victory be your jury, and the gods have mercy on your souls." With that James backed clear of the firing lane to the third and neutral side of the field.

Taylor faced Marthe squarely, pistol in-hand, and paid no attention to the gathered crowd of Jade Falcons watching; the Dragoons were watching the crowd. Ten measured paces separated the duelists, and they each waited for the agreed-upon signal to fire, the tolling of the city's clocktower bells striking the hour...

The first peal of bells had barely begun to fade when they fired; Taylor felt her ribs burn as Marthe Pryde's shot scored along her side. Taylor's own shot brought the Falcon Mechwarrior down, blood spurting from her wounded thigh. "Star-Colonel Pryde, do you yield?" Taylor called out.

"I yield, Star-Colonel Kerensky; you have defeated me," croaked Pryde around gritted teeth as she tried to apply pressure and stem the bleeding.

Taylor tucked her pistol into her waistband and walked over, kneeling by Marthe. "Here, let me," she said as she stripped Marthe's belt off and fastened it around the leg for a tourniquet. "You need a doctor, but at least you need not fear bleeding to death before you get to one."

...

The teams at Manheim readied to move; plans had been developed, refined, scrapped, redeveloped; pieces were falling into place and the time had come to act.

The crouched group from Camp Kerensky watched the outskirts of the town before a radio crackled. "Command, this is Texas Red; we green to go?" asked Martin 'Texas Red' Robbins.

"Texas Red, this is Manheim Command; you are green. Be advised, we're not seeing any civilian activity and other than the Nine, sensors aren't picking up any life-signs. The whole town's a write-off; do what you have to."

Six Quasit Militiamechs stood and strung out into line-abreast, then started marching into the town...

"Target sighted... Target painted," whispered a Rabid-Fox as his team, having already made their way stealthily into Manheim, pointed TAG equipment at a nondescript van.

"Shot."

And all Hell broke loose as the missiles fell...

...

Vicky heard screams and the booming of gunfire over her comms as Fang-Actual keyed up. "War-Angel, Texas Red, this is Fang-Actual; we need support, Mannequin's all over us!"

"Red, I'm detaching to go help Fang," Glory Girl said. "Fang-Actual, War-Angel; I'm on my way!" She turned out of the formation and accelerated into a run toward the Davion team's location.

When Vicky got to Fang's position, the Quasit skidded to a stop and ripped a street-light free of the ground before she shouted, "Fang, duck!" and swept the improvised cudgel through the wall of the second-floor room where the Foxes were engaged with Mannequin. The corrupted hero was hurled into the street and as he attempted to scuttle away Vicky fired an alpha-strike at him before flinging the street-light and smashing him to the ground. The twitching of his body provoked Vicky to stomp him a half-dozen times with her 'Mech for good measure. "And fucking stay down!"

Fang-Actual poked his head out of the ruined wall and radioed, "The van's smoked and I see pieces of person scattered around; Delta-Charlie, any sign of the Siberian?"

"Negative, Fang. We had her in our sights but she vanished a few moments ago."

"Mannequin's down hard," added Vicky.

Red keyed up just as a fusilade of fire erupted from the center of town. "We found Crawler! Engaging!"

"Bonesaw sighted, closing to engage," came the call from the Capellan team.

Vicky snarled viciously inside her cockpit. "I'm coming, Red!" She dashed off a quick PM to Sybil and rushed into the fray...

...

As Taylor helped Marthe stand, a flash from the corner of her eye caused her to turn and look; a Falcon Militiaman near the front of the crowd fell dead, brain-shot with a laser.

Another Falcon roared, "Cheating Freebirth!" and brought his Mauser up. Missy, seeing the rifle lift, sighted and fired, but the damage was done and Taylor toppled backward with a laser-wound in her belly...

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"We found Crawler! Engaging!"

Vicky snarled viciously inside her cockpit. "I'm coming, Red!" She dashed off a quick PM to Sybil and rushed into the fray...

...

Martin Robbins, callsign 'Texas Red', pounded away at Crawler with his SRMs and Laser, trying to keep the bestial Slaughterhouse member's attention; Jack 'Rat-Pack' Black and Dolly 'Bruin' Cresswell hurled LRMs over his head at Crawler while his other two comrades, Freddie 'Whelp' Talbot and Anna 'Squatch' Deaver waited their turn. Sybil's shuttle was on its way and the Dragoon Quasits had to lead Crawler to the LZ and get him aboard...

Crawler suddenly lunged forward, crashing into Bruin's Quasit and sending it sprawling; before anyone could react Crawler had brought one of his many legs down and Dolly's screams were abruptly cut off. Martin saw red, and rushed forward as Crawler rushed to meet his charge. Much as Vicky had done with Mannequin, Texas Red ripped a lamp-post free of its moorings, and he held it level in his Quasit's hands as the distance closed.

Texas Red's warcry was audible over the radio as the two titans drew nearer one another; the Quasit suddenly dropped to one knee and braced the pole like an improvised pike, and Crawler, unable or unwilling to stop in time, ran full-tilt onto it. Martin released the lamp-post and moved his Quasit aside as Whelp and Squatch dove in from either side with lamp-posts of their own, spearing Crawler deeply and then scourging him with lasers, machine-guns, and missiles as they retreated, their weapons already beginning to have less and less effect. Rat-Pack darted and dodged, radioing to Barbara Wolf's Star of Nagas. "Barber, Barber, this is Rookie Three; Fire Mission, grid Tango-six-six-three-five Foxtrot-one-one-four-three, Danger-Close! One salvo air-burst Alpha-Xray, I will adjust!"

"Barber confirms Danger-Close, one salvo air-burst AX at grid T6635 F1143. Shot; Estimated Time to Splash four-zero seconds."

Rat-Pack keyed his radio and shouted, "Get clear; artillery incoming forty seconds! It's Acid warheads!" The four Quasits hurried to clear the area and watched as ten Arrow-IV missiles screamed down from on high and burst, covering Crawler and half the street around him in the powerful acid contained in their warheads...

...

Li Shen, the leader of the Capellan Death Commando team, knelt and grabbed the little girl known as 'Bonesaw'; it had taken far too many hits with tasers, sonics, and tranquilizers to drop the deceptively-sturdy child, but they'd finally gotten it done when Li had rushed her and laid her flat by swinging his rifle by the barrel into her head. He quickly secured her hands and ankles, hurled her into the troop-compartment of the National-Guard helicopter that his team had called in, and watched for trouble while Bao and Tong zipped the corpses of Anaya and Singh into sealed bodybags. "All callsigns, Delta-Charlie; Bonesaw in custody and en-route to LZ. Two friendlies, DC-Four and DC-Six, KIA. Delta-Charlie moving to locate target 'Cherish', out." As the helicopter lifted off, he sighed. "Alright, back to work, Team! Kaur, get to tracking; you can blubber for your boyfriend after we're done!"

...

Vicky pushed her Quasit's throttle to the stops and charged toward where Red and the others were fighting Crawler; so intent was she on getting to her comrades that she barely registered the brief sensation of her powers cutting out before feeling a squish under her 'Mech's foot; it wouldn't be until after the battle that she saw the helmet-cam footage from Fang Team of her Quasit trampling Hatchet Face. She rounded the corner onto the street where the other four Quasits danced in and out, trying to keep Crawler following them, and plunged into the battle with a hellish scream and her aura blasting at full power.

She saw Crawler turn, saw the icon on her HUD for Sybil's shuttle, and knew that it was time for the final push. "We only have a hundred yards to go!" Vicky yelled. "Get him!" Her Quasit charged forward and kicked Crawler in the head, while Rat-Pack and Whelp, who'd worked their way in behind the monstrous Cape, shoulder-tackled him and started to shove. Texas Red and Squatch got a length of power-line wrapped around Crawler's body and started to pull; the others quickly joined them.

Vicky punched Crawler in the face and taunted him over the loudspeaker, "Eyes on me, Crawler! Yes, keep your eyes on me! Fucking catch me; come on, you weak-sauce piece of shit! Follow the goddamn birdie, you cut-rate Thing-Knockoff!" She punched him again, then kicked him, hurling abuse at him all the while. When a lunge knocked Vicky's Quasit aside, Texas Red slammed the muzzle of his left-arm SRM-4 into Crawler's mouth and launched a salvo down the beast's throat, and shouted the first insult that came to mind.

"You're ugly, your feet stink, and your mama dresses ya funny!"

"Bonesaw is aboard; Dragoons, clear away and I'll pick up Crawler on my way out," came Sybil's voice as her shuttle's icon began to move. It lifted off and gained altitude, then suddenly dropped almost onto the deck as it hurtled down the street from behind Crawler. The Quasits dove aside and Crawler was scooped up by the boarding-ramp of the shuttle before it zoomed upward at full-power. "Jumping dimensions now!" The shuttle and its hazardous cargo winked out of existence.

As the Mechwarriors got their machines back on their feet and took stock, a single echoing BOOM came from across town to their southeast, followed by the voices of DC-Actual and Fang-Actual both speaking in unison. "Cherish and Ravager are down, but we took casualties." Fang-Actual continued, saying, "DC-Actual and I are all that's left of our teams; Cherish drove the rest to despair and they suicided before she ate a pair of frags. Any sign of Jack Slash?"

...

Jack Slash ran, looking back over his shoulder at Manheim and the resting-place of his teammates... "Oh, well; sometimes things just go poorly..."

As the Slaughterhouse member turned back to the path ahead of him, he was driven to the ground by a pair of lasers to the legs. He rolled and saw a man in green armor approaching, but when Jack tried to draw his razor the armored figure shot him in the shoulders as well. "Here to take my head?"

The man holstered his pistol and drew a knife. "No, just your tongue." Jack Slash's last sight was of an armored boot stomping down on his throat.

...

Sybil's shuttle emerged in orbit around the star at the center of the Outreach system. Crawler watched in awe as the shuttle turned and began to plummet closer and closer to the bright ball of plasma. His last words before being immolated by a Class-K9V star were, "This is probably going to sting..."

Bonesaw had never regained consciousness, and felt nothing before she joined her teammate in oblivion.

...

The men and women who had participated in destroying the Slaughterhouse Nine held tense breaths as NBC teams swept the area... and breathed a collective sigh of relief when it was confirmed that none of Bonesaw's plagues were active. They'd won, but not without cost. Fang Team and the Death Commandos were wiped out save for the team-leaders, a platoon of Pennsylvania National Guardsmen were killed during Jack's attempt at escape, and the Dragoons had lost a Mechwarrior when Crawler crushed her cockpit.

The Nine were no more.

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As Taylor helped Marthe stand, a flash from the corner of her eye caused her to turn and look; a Falcon Militiaman near the front of the crowd fell dead, brain-shot with a laser.

Another Falcon roared, "Cheating Freebirth!" and brought his Mauser up. Missy, seeing the rifle lift, sighted and fired, but the damage was done and Taylor toppled backward with a laser-wound in her belly...

...

Missy saw Taylor drop through Mina's scope, gripping her belly where she'd been shot as Falcon turned on Falcon and the battle began... "Werewolf, engage hostiles," she said, her mind drifting into her cold, calm sniper's mindset as she took aim and put a round through an Elemental's face-plate. "Be careful; Pryde's unit is apparently on our side."

Anika helped Marthe drag a cursing Taylor into cover and dashed off a message to the others in haste as she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her former enemy and poured shot after shot into the fray...

"Anika... Give me a weapon; I can still fight," growled Taylor through clenched teeth. Marthe grabbed Taylor and started dragging her awkwardly backward and out of the crossfire until Anika rushed forward and handed them both laser-pistols, then dragged both wounded women out out of the open.

Coywolf Point and Cur-Two advanced to meet them, laying down what suppressive-fire they could. Werewolf shouted over the din, "Reinforcements are inbound, Taylor!"

Missy's rifle fired, and an Elemental fell. "Ten."

"Good!" Taylor yelled back, firing her pistol around the end of the Badger.

Missy fired again. "Eleven."

Isaac Carns, Cur-Two's commander, leaned down with a first-aid kit. "You alright, Boss?!"

Another shot cracked out from Missy. "Twelve."

Taylor almost laughed. "Give me a minute to catch my breath and I'll be up dancing the tango! Of course I'm not alright; I've been fucking gut-shot! My arms and eyes still work though, and these asshole Jade Falcons are still shooting at us, so throw me another power-pack already!"

"Thirteen," Missy said as she fired another round and then started to scan the area. "Temujin, infantry on our two, engage with grenade-launcher. Suddenly Werewolf was there digging into a field pack and pulling out a grenade launcher, aiding the Mongolian boy in suppressing the infantry with grenade fire. Targeting another elemental, this one looking like he might be a point commander she fired again. "Fourteen." She continued to count while finding and engaging the elemental's wingman. Another shot taken and "Fifteen; reloading."

"Everybody get away from me quickly." They heard Tephra say over the radio and looked even as the other Parahuman continued speaking. "I'm afraid this is no time to hold back. I repeat all allied forces move away from my position. Things are about to get very very hot." They could see Tephra on the other end of the line from them but even this far away they could feel the heat he generated.

"Damn," Missy muttered as she seated another magazine in her Thunderstroke and started counting anew.

"Holy shit, fire in the hole," Werewolf said at the flash of heat before grabbing Temujin by his harness and pointing at the pack. "Two," he said, "blue bands are canister rounds, take the grenade launcher and 20 rounds of the white mags for actuals stroke from my pack." Temujin nodded and grabbed two of the indicated white marked magazines and the remaining grenades from the pack. While he did that Werewolf leaned over to Missy and spoke to her. "Actual, white mags are HEAT rounds, repeat, HEAT rounds. Make them count."

It was all Missy could do not to stop firing and stare at the Lycanthrope, as it was her voice followed him on the radio as he buttoned up the pack and charged the unarmored infantry with his shotgun blazing, "HEAT rounds?!" she said. "What kind of Eldritch Redneck Bullshit did you pull to make High-Explosive Anti-Tank rounds for a Gauss-rifle?!" Scanning the battlefield for her next target though caused her to swear, "Fuck! Elementals, ten o'clock!"

...

Strapped into the cockpit of her Devastator, Juliette swore as the parties on the ground began exchanging fire. She knew that the first shot had not been ordered by Hebert: the girl was almost painfully honest and ernest in her intent to play by the rules. She's still so young ... she hasn't learned yet that there are no rules. "Combat, Vampire," she activated her comm, contacting the Tepes' Combat Information Centre, "On the surface -"

"Vampire, Combat: we see it, milady," came back the calm voice of her tactical operator. "We have movement from the solhama units: 'Mechs and vehicles jump starting their reactors and engines - wait, additional signatures ... milady, we're picking up dozens of new neutrino signatures ... there's at least another Cluster the Birdies didn't tell us about in the area, maybe more! And - yes - the Falcon WarShip's drive has just lit up, they're re-positioning themselves, headed for lower orbit."

Juliette nodded beneath her neurohelmet. "Emergency drop: I want us landing here," she indicated a point on the map. "And send orders to Lieutenant Colonel Kurch on board the Nightmare: Lucifer 7 is authorised."

"At once, milady ..."

I had hoped that Hebert's element solution was enough. I had hoped that the Falcons, this once, might have surprised me ... I even hoped that the child's prediction was wrong. I should have known better.

Shaking her head to clear errant and useless thoughts, Juliette swapped channels. "My Legion: despite being defeated in fair combat, the animals have proven once again that honour is alien to them! The Dragoons below are under attack. And so it is as it always was going to be: we, the Legion, falling upon our homeworld with fire in our eyes and rage within our hearts! Onwards, and remind those motherless, soulless, gutless cowards that they do not belong here!

"Kill! Them! All!"

And the bottom dropped out of the world, Juliette's heart flung itself up into her throat as her 'Mech's drop pod was accelerated towards the surface, acompanied by a hundred and seven other Battlemechs, two dozen tanks and APCs loaded with infantry, and thirty two suits of battle armour. All painted in Legion black. All angry, hungry and eager to strike.

They were taking back their home, and may any gods listening have mercy on the Jade Falcons, because they would have none!

...

"Ridgeback Star, the balloon just went up; mount up, spin up, and get airborne!" shouted Gilbert Yaeger as he sprinted for his Donar; the helicopters rapidly spun up and took off, racing ahead of the Dragoons' other vehicles and into the fray.

The voice of the Sensors-Operator aboard the Gray Brother came over the comms. "All friendly forces, be advised, we have a full Cluster of Battlemechs powering up to your west; before they cut their IFF out, I got a unit-ID. Be advised, you have Turkina Keshik bearing down on you."

...

Harleen's heart rate was going at what felt like a thousand beats per second, her palms were sweaty, and her nerves had her on edge. In other words, classic pre-drop Jitters.

It wasn't fear, at least not entirely. She knew there was a bullet out there somewhere, but she was pretty sure she wasn't facing it today. No, it was the anticipation of a fight and the tension from the fact that there was nothing to do but hurry up and wait until their dropships reached the drop zone.

"Alright, Choppers," she said over an open line. "The Clanners decided to show how honorable they are and renege their own word at first opportunity. I'm sure the Goonies are going to ream their asses over it in the Clan Council. Our job is going to be to ream their asses in the meantime. Long, hard, vigorously, and without a goddamned ounce of lube."

She paused for a moment to let her men laugh. She always was a bit irreverent in her briefings. Kept them relaxed.

"Everyone already has their assignments, and we already know what's down there. Anything else will be updated as the battle progresses. Your jobs are simple. Stay alive, pluck Turkeys, and try and leave Julie with an intact planet once we're done. Also, make damned sure to have it be clear to the Falcons that their options are to surrender themselves to us, or be left at the tender mercies of the Legion. Other than that, it's a reasonably clear deployment. I'll lead First battalion into the city with Battle-Armor for support. Beta is to land 15 KM to the west and flank the units currently engaging the Legion, which should be the bulk of their forces. As this is an open field, they'll be getting most of the tanks. Third is to serve as an active reserve and defense for the arty. Fighter assets are to keep the Falcons' fighters suppressed and provide as-required air-support runs. This is a battle, not a campaign, and the Goonies are going to be picking up the butcher's bill so guns free and no need to skimp on the ammo."

"Any questions?"

Jennifer Cooper, callsign 'Smalls', raised her hand, the First-Battalion Mechwarrior looking concerned. "Question, Boss; we're headed into the city, you said? That's... not good terrain for my Hunchback. We just got done replacing Hugo's AC20 with a Heavy Gauss Rifle, and I've got no jump-jets; you mind me switching out with Huntress?"

Smalls gestured to her cousin Anya, who was in Second Battalion and piloted a Grasshopper.

Both girls were hiding their nerves, both from the impending drop and worry for their other cousin, Jacqueline, who was with the Legion...

"Reasonable request, Smalls" Harley replied, "Done."

"Thank you."

As the girls prepped for the drop, Smalls opened a line to Huntress. "Have fun, Anya, and stay safe."

"You, too, Jen, and be careful; I'd hate to have to tell Great-Aunt Smalls that you face-planted Hugo on flat ground again."

"Says the girl who ate shit the first dozen times she tried Uncle Nikolai's 'Hopscotch in Hell' Course back on Zathras."

"Bite me, Jen."

"I'd rather not get food-poisoning, Anya."

The cousins verbally sniped at each other good-naturedly, each insult growing in vulgarity until the two broke out laughing just as the 'ready to detach' lights came on and each focused on the drop.

"Don't die, Jen."

"Don't die, Anya."

...

Come on, you cock-gobbling Gobbler-Cock, where are you... Missy growled internally as she scanned the city skyline. There was a Falcon-Militia sniper somewhere in those buildings, and after Coywolf Point had split up to avoid the incoming Battlemechs of Turkina Keshik she and Temujin had taken cover in a drainage-ditch under scarily-accurate fire from the Falcon before the shooting ceased...

"Temujin, any sign?" If I were him, what would I do?

"Neg, no sign."

Missy cursed under her breath. I'd either move on to easier targets, which he hasn't... Relocate to get a better angle, which he apparently hasn't...

Or I'd call arty in on my target, which the fucker might actually be doing... "Temujin, we're displacing east along this ditch, at least a thousand yards. Stay low but move quickly; Bastard-Sniper's probably spotting mortars in on us right now. You move, I'll follow."

Temujin swiftly moved down the ditch, eeling his way through the mud on his back with his rifle and, spotting-scope long-since lost, cradled to his chest. When he called that he was in position Missy moved, crouched low instead of crawling. A flash of light from the corner of her eye was all the warning she got before a bullet cracked through where her head would have been, had she not dropped. "Where?!" she shouted as she went belly-down against the bank of the ditch, rifle ready.

"Fifteen-hundred yards, second-story bank building, third window from the left!"

He'll want to relocate, get a better view... There!

Missy's rifle 'Mina' spoke, and Mina's word was final.

...

Michelle's Bandit-A swatted an enemy Elemental out of the air with its ERLL as she swung her own weapon into position to catch a group of Falcon militia in a crossfire with Collier; the Fox-Point Vehicle-Commanders had talked to the Techs and the Dragoons infantrymen during the trip to Von Strang's World, and both Bandits now sported a pintle-mounted Infantry Support Pulse-Laser by the commander's-hatch. Kurita and Collier swept their lasers across the targets and saw them fall, then moved to engage other targets.

As a second group of Falcon infantry burst from cover with a LAW, Michelle swung her Pulse-Laser to engage only to see three armored Elementals slam down in the midst of them and scythe men down with MGs and lasers. One lifted his hand and called out over comms, "Dragoons, this is Point-Commander Titus Buhallin, of Fifth Point First Nova, Trinary Delta of the 2nd Jaegers; we lost two of our Point and our Mechwarrior is KIA; if you have room, may we ride with you?"

Michelle nodded. "Our Elementals are already dismounted, Point-Commander; we have room for you. I am Star-Commander Michelle, CO of Fox Point and XO of the Dragoons' First Nova. Mount up, Elementals; we have a battle to win!"

...

Anika growled as she pressed a dressing to the wound in her side. "Ridgeback, this is Bravo-Actual; location and status? We need air-support!"

"Bravo, Ridgeback; we're mean and green, taking shots at the rear of the Garrison 'Mech Cluster to try and thin them out before they make contact with your lines. We haven't taken any hits yet but they're getting awful fuck- Whoa, Motherfucker!- getting awful fucking close!"

"Dragoons Bravo-Actual, this is Jaegers Trinary Echo-Actual; we have gotten airborne and are ready for tasking. The Star-Colonel was right; Crichell and his ilk have forsaken honor and righteousness. I and my fighters will stand with you."

Anika smiled. "Glad to have you, Trinary Echo; I have tasking for you, armor in the open to my ten and pressing in."

She saw the trails of the Legion and Choppers dropping in and smiled even wider...

...

'The City' is what it's inhabitants called it.

'Amaris City' to its founders, partly in nostalgia for their fallen, mad master, and partly in defiance against those they knew would strike against them for daring to survive the Civil War.

'Unity City' to the invaders, who strove to erase every part of the Barony's past, like they had the castle that was once the Baron's residence, shattered with artillery missiles... or the bloodline of that family, hunted to near extinction.

The streets were narrow, twisting, the buildings formed from ferrocrete... Many of them were false, existing only as a facade, and to provide exits for 'Mechs and tanks emerging from the many tunnels that snaked beneath the streets. Others were reinforced, hardened, designed to act as strong points and redoubts in the case of attack.

The entire city was a trap, designed to pin and bleed an invader, then strike at their vulnerabilities from a direaction they could never have expected.

Years before, it had almost fulfilled its purpose, coming within minutes of decapitating Clan Jade Falcon. Only a freak chance sighting alerted the Turkina Keshik to the trap, and the result was too swift, brutal and unconventional to withstand. Hundreds of soldiers died in bloody fighting in close quarters beneath the city, Elementals killing until their guns and lasers ran dry, then simply used their battle fists and claws.

Today the battle resumed, but this time the defenders were the invaders, and vice versa.

The brutality was still the same.

Von Strang's Legion had, by stroke of luck, of fate, or perhaps by design, dropped directly onto and into the path of Turkina Keshik; the Mechwarriors that drove the black-painted Battlemechs of the Legion tore into their hated foes, and more than one cry of, "For the Legion! For the Vampire! No Quarter!" rang out over the City...

The cry was taken up by the men and women of the City as they joined the fray, armed with improvised weapons that were steadily replaced with arms stripped from dead Falcons and weapons broken out of Resistance caches; the people of Von Strang's World had suffered under the Falcon's talons, and now sought to return that suffering tenfold...

It was a strange thing for Werewolf to hunt alone through a city not his own; he don't know how he ended up in the city, but the furry Dragoon watched as infantry fought infantry, and Elementals fought Elementals, all in Jade Falcon uniforms and markings, all of them fought the civilians who rose up against them. His shotgun was empty, its last rounds spent clearing a point of Elementals off of a group of civilians who were down to a single laser that had been fast running short on power. His Thunderstroke was also empty, save for the last ten rounds of HEAT ammo, but Werewolf was saving that for a special target in case he ran up on another mech; their heat sinks didn't like the damage those things could do when the round got through armor-gaps, and watching them spew coolant while they tried to swat him would surely be entertaining to the folks back home once Bostwick could upload the video.

What he had plenty of however was explosives. Werewolf had started the mission carrying a total of about twenty kilos of some of Earth-Bet's finest Semtex, a couple dozen radio detonators and a rock concert's worth of speaker magnets. Since he didn't sleep, the times he wasn't training or making the HEAT rounds was spent making shaped charges with electro-magnets to hold them in place, and they were the perfect size to take out a joint actuator on anything up to a heavy mech.

Now James was hidden belly down in a building overlooking a square in the center of the old city. From his vantage he could see two 'Mechs enter the square itself and seemingly stare at each other. One was Legion black, the other Falcon marked and not with the insignia of the 2nd Falcon Jaegers. Bostwick eased the Thunderstroke into position and waited. He knew his ranges and had ten rounds before he would have to abandon his hide and try to help in other ways...

...

Khan Elias Crichell swore as his Warhawk stomped through the twisted streets of Unity City. Despite three generations of rule, Clan Jade Falcon has yet to completely break the stubbborn locals' attachment to their former tyrants, as many still reportedly refused to use the new name the Clan had graced the city with... which was something he was resolved to remedy once the mercenary curs were driven off-world. They broke the Circle of Equals, he told himself. The Council will agree that any bargain was moot at that point, and it is well within my rights to treat them as bandits. Once they're all dead or bondsmen, there will be none left to disagree... or to look too carefully into who actually fired that first shot...

Separated from his Star by the smoke, confusing streets and running fights with Marthe Pryde's trecherous Jaegers, the ugly chaos of the 'Choppers' and the black painted, mindlessly-aggressive pirates of the 'Legion', he found himself stumbling into the main square of the City, where many years before he had hung the corpse of the Baron upside down for all to see, and where he had personally executed another spawn of the Vampire to the cheers of his warriors.

That was a good day, he thought to himself, ignoring the rumble of cowardly artillery in the distance. And today will be as fine, once we have these ... 'parahumans' taken back to the Clans scientists to dissect properly and work out how to include their abilities into the warrior program. Then we will take this 'Earth Bet', and while not the true Terra Kerensky had promised them, it was a solid step in the right direction of resuming the righteous crusade of -

He was drawn from his musings as another 'Mech entered the square, a massive, blocky beast whose few patches of undamaged armour were painted the dull black of the Legion. Actually... He blinked. By Hazen's scream, that's the Vampire herself! At last, I can finish what I started, and here of all places! The circle is complete! While his Omnimech had lost an arm in the fighting, cutting his PPC complement in half, he still had almost a full rack of LRMs, and it looked as though the bitch's Devastator was half-crippled, with a ruined gauss rifle, one PPC crushed and limping with a sparking hip actuator.

"Vampire!" He cried over the open channel, "How fitting you find me here, in the very place where -"

The heavier Battlemech just raised its remaining gauss rifle and fired, the slug crunching against Crichell's left torso as the Vampire hurled her 'Mech forward, the only verbal response to his challenge an inarticulate scream of rage and pain and howthehellcanshemovethat'Mechthafast...

Werewolf heard the Falcon's taunt, and then watched as the Legion 'Mech raised its arm and fired; it was a hit against the left torso and Bostwick smiled as he unleashed hell from his Thunderstroke. He decided to save one or two rounds for the heat sinks when the damn thing put its back to him, but the exposed myomer and potential for deep strikes against the ammo stores or fusion reactor was too great a chance to pass up. Eight rounds were gone in a matter of seconds and then he was displacing, running from the room where he'd taken his shots and towards the roof, where he would get off his last two rounds and then ready his rope and grappling hook...

...

"Positive class-identification on the Falcon Warship; she's a Cameron-Class... Nameplate reads 'Turkina's Pride'."

"Legion Fighters, Blackbird CIC; you have a prestigious target before you. CJF Turkina's Pride is the Flagship of the entire Jade Falcon Naval Service."

"You don't say... Damned of the Legion, engage!"

Black-painted ASFs lit their engines and streaked out of the icy darkness toward the approaching Battlecruiser; twenty nephrite-colored fighters and a hail of point-defense fire streaked to meet them...

Legionairres danced across the blackness after the meager Fighter Binary that had launched from Turkina's Pride, while others swooped in to silence weapons-emplacements...

The Damned launched salvo after salvo of LRMs as they approached, filling the space between themselves and their target with explosives; the LRMs acted as a screen, soaking up much of the point-defense fire that would have menaced the anti-shipping missiles right behind them.

The targets were well-chosen; the engines to cripple the vessel, the hangars to stop her launching more fighters... and the Bridge. The Captain of the CJF Turkina's Pride heard the radiological alarms shrieking just before darkness turned to day...

"Lucifer-Seven Authorization, you Fried Green Chickens. 'Release of Nuclear Anti-shipping Ordnance Authorized'." The Legion pilot who spoke suddenly dodged aside as he began taking more fire...

Another voice came over the comm. "All Units, This is Kurch. Why the fuck are the Pride's Dropship-Collars empty? Find those Droppers."

...

"Choppers, Choppers, Devil-Actual; we're moving on the Drop-Port but we've got Omnimechs between us and the objective. We need support!"

Harleen Davidson heard a voice from her past speak then, and a haze of red descended over her vision...

"No one can help you, Freebirth!" came the unmistakable voice of Yesukai Shambag over an open channel...

"Command Lance, on me; we're going to the Drop-Port. The rest of you, continue the mission." Harley switched to an open channel and spoke clearly. "Yesukai Shambag, remember me? Harley Davidson. I'm coming for you, Yesukai... I'm coming for you..."

...

Written in collaboration with gladiusone, rajvik_wolfboy, and PsyckoSama.

Stay tuned for the next thrilling episode, Chapter 76, Part 4!

Last edited: Oct 31, 2018

That Guy. Yes, That Guy.

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"Vampire is down! Say again, Vampire is down!" Werewolf hadn't quite reached the roof of the building when he had heard that ring out, and his blood went cold. There are two things I have to do now, he thought. First is to recover the Baroness, alive or dead; if I don't the damn Falcons will string her up if they find her. The second is either kill or capture the Green Gobbler bastard that was in that Warhawk. Those thoughts in the Dragoon's head, he reversed course down the stairs and took the flights in bounding leaps, dropping a level every couple of seconds and bouncing off the inner walls of the stairwell. There was no subtlety, no stealth, just speed as Bostwick descended fifteen floors in fifty seconds. It was only as he exited the building itself that the former-Marine took up some semblance of proper tactical doctrine again.

Moving toward the pair of 'Mechs, Werewolf called out over his radio, "Any allied air assets on this frequency, this is Coywolf-Three; I need immediate air medevac for Vampire in the City-center square. I don't know what condition she is in but I'm securing her body and the scene as best that I can." Objectively, he could hear the hint of panic in his own voice. If the Baroness was dead, then there wouldn't merely be no quarter for the Falcon troops fighting against them, but an absolute slaughter.

His answer came as he was looking over the damage to the two Battlemechs. The Warhawk was a write-off; Werewolf wasn't a Mechtech but it was blatantly obvious that the reactor had SCRAMed after the hits that had destroyed most of its torso armor started to penetrate. The Baroness's Devastator wasn't in any better condition though. Its cockpit was shattered, and he was sure that there was going to be a mess to clean up even if the Baroness did survive. "Coywolf-Three, this is Choppers Karnov Romeo-Two-Two, callsign 'Revenant'," he heard over his radio earpiece, "I am inbound now. Pop smoke."

"Roger Revenant, popping smoke," James replied, pulling a colored smoke grenade from his harness, and after pulling the pin he tossed it toward an area where the VTOL would have room to land. "Smoke popped, I'm-" he heard a noise behind himself, which caused him to reflexively and duck as he brought his pistol up to fire. 'Patty' spoke, and he watched the Falcon pilot lose his laser pistol before grabbing his shooting hand with the other to cradle it.

"Filthy freebirth," he cursed at me, "why can you not just accept your place in the universe?"

"Some can," Bostwick answered, keeping the Falcon covered with his pistol before keying his radio again. "Revenant, be advised, Falcon Mechearrior is now being secured, confirm smoke?" Werewolf pulled his pack out of one of the fold devices and dug in it for a minute one-handed. "Others," he continued, coming out with two sets of flex cuffs and a first-aid kit, "dislike the idea of anyone thinking that they are better than they are, that they should be ruled by those that their people did not choose." At this point Werewolf looked the Falcon in the eye as he bound his feet and hands. "A physically-strong man can rule many through fear, but a physically-weak one can rule even more than the strong man through care and sense." At the Falcon's scoff Bostwick looked at his prisoner's hand for a minute, finding nothing but some tenderness and redness where the trigger guard had been ripped off his finger by the laser-pistol's motion. "Now, sit down and shut up while I collect the Baroness."

...

I'll never think of bar-b-que pork the same, James Bostwick thought as the smell in the cockpit hit him. It was like someone had taken a whole hog and after simply gutting it, put it on a spit and started roasting it over an open flame. The stench of burnt hair underlying the sweet smell of cooked pork. Well, at least we know another reason why cannibals refer to human meat as 'long pig', his brain jibed at him, reminding the Dragoon that black humor was one of the reasons his mother's family had always either gone into the medical field, or the military.

Up close the damage to the Legion Battlemech was both worse than it had been from the ground, and thankfully not as bad. In the latter instance it was likely that they would eventually be able to get it back into service, though replacing the cockpit itself would likely be required. The canopy was completely gone, shattered like plate glass and hurled around like shrapnel in a firestorm. Inside the cockpit the electronics shorted and sparked, and Juliette Von Strang sat still in her command chair, strapped in. She was burned significantly and in such a way that the variety of shrapnel wounds she would have suffered from seemed to have cauterized almost instantly, portions of her cooling suit having clearly melted into her flesh. The stench of roasted flesh mingled with the acid tang of 'Mech coolant dripping from her command couch. Her compact neurohelmet was shattered, broken open to show half of her face obscured by dark red hair matted in blood, and there was little consciousness showing in her visible eye. One of her gloved hands twitched, but it was hard to tell if it was intentional, or the convulsions of a snake that hadn't quite realised its head had been removed by a shovel.

Normally, what Werewolf would do in such a situation would be to secure a line overhead and then use the grip handle on the back of the Mechwarrior's harness to pull her out of the cockpit. Here though, there was nothing overhead, so he was going to have to do it the hard way.

Suddenly a thought struck Bostwick as his mind paged through support vehicles. A Karnov was a VTOL similar to a V-22 Osprey, but came with a variety of loadouts including a cargo/pararescue setup. "Revenant, what is your current loadout?"

"3055-Upgrade variant that's been Custom-Chopper-ed; a Fuel-Cell engine, SPLs on either side for door-guns and eight tons of cargo-room." The voice on the other end of the radio answered.

"Do you have a rescue basket or a penetrator harness?" he asked, hoping that they did. If so, they didn't even have to land, just hover in place long enough for him to put a grounding line on either and then load the Baroness.

"Affirmative; we have a basket, and our Crew-Chief's a former-AFFC PJ. ETA two mikes." Came the reply.

Werewolf smiled and started pulling up his grapple line, "Roger two mikes," he answered. "Rig basket and prepare to receive wounded. I can't tell if Vampire is still viable or not, but I'll put her in the basket and let your PJ make any calls. Second up will be prisoner, then I will follow and assist."

"Gonna have to be damn-quick; we're having to dodge a shit-ton of flak and I don't like our chances if we have to hover too long. All callsigns, this is Choppers Romeo-Two-Two, do we have somebody around who can knock out that Goddamn Rifleman before he gives me an Autocannon-Enema?!"

"Romeo-Two-Two, this is Devil-Two-Four; we're on it. You just focus on getting Vampire out, hooah?"

Bostwick chuckled at the chatter as he tied the end of his line to the frame of the Devastator's cockpit, "Understood Revenant," he said preparing my own harness to take his weight. "I'll ride up with the basket and the prisoner, just don't forget us. I have a ground line ready."

It was only a few seconds before he heard the Karnov approaching and moved to the nearer side of the Devastor's shoulders. Shortly thereafter Revenant appeared, popping over the building on that side of the square before dropping back down, the basket already lowering from its boom. "Revenant, I have you and the basket in sight, fifteen meters to your three o'clock and keep lowering. I'm ready to snag the basket." In Werwolf's right hand the grappling hook started to spin on its rope, the circles growing bigger until he released it as the basket started its third swing forward. His aim was spot-on, draping over the basket itself while landing beneath the cables that connected it to the hook.

"Alright Revenant, down thirty meters and then I'll count you down from there," James said, grabbing hold of the rope once again and taking up the slack before starting to pull it closer. Even as the basket drew closer, he moved, shifting his location to the cockpit and positioning himself against the control console where he could cut the Baroness free and place her in the basket. As the basket approached, Werewolf started calling out distance. "Five meters," he said, and the rate of decent slowed. "Two meters." It slowed even more. "Half a meter then stop." A half-meter later the basket came to a full stop, even with the nose of the cockpit. Werewolf disconnected the snap link that held the grapple on the rope and let the hook fall while connecting the rope itself to the basket and tying it short. "Now," he muttered, drawing his combat knife, an Iraqi bayonet that was somewhat fashioned after a K-Bar. "Lets just get you out of here Ma'am." He cut the straps from Juliette's seat harness in four quick and sure motions before catching her over his right shoulder. He sheathed the knife, then eased the wounded woman into the basket.

Climbing out of the cockpit he untied the short tie that kept the basket from moving away first, and then the slip-knot that he had used to both ground the line and keep from losing the rope and hook as a whole. "Haul away Revenant," he said. "I'm going down to grab the prisoner and we'll be in the basket as soon as it touches ground."

...

"Vampire is down! Say again, Vampire is down!"

Harleen Davidson heard the radio-call and felt a chill. She looked down from the cockpit of her customized Kodiak, 'Smokey', and snarled toward the hacked ruin of Yesukai Shambag's Thor. "You know what, you aren't worth the effort it'd take for me to kill you, Yesukai." Harley saw a squad of Legionaires coming up the road toward her, and keyed her radio. "Legion BA-troops approaching my position, this is Colonel Davidson; I've got a live one over for you, a Star-Colonel I've crossed paths with before. I already have enough grime on my 'Mech, so you can have her; do with her what you will."

"Colonel Davidson, this is Legion Sergeant Felix Hauser; we're more than happy to take your Star-Colonel in hand. You said you'd crossed paths?"

"The last time we met I defeated her unit in battle and she murdered my son out of spite for it. Do with her what you will."

...

When word of Juliette falling reached Taylor, the teen was just reaching the Lupa Capitolina in the back of Cur-Two. Taylor could hear the collective howl of rage from the city, and for a brief moment, she almost, almost, pitied the remaining Crusader Jade Falcons...

Falcon blood was already going to run in the streets, but now... Now they've truly roused the fury of the Legion...

...

The battle ended almost as suddenly as it had begun. The Choppers' First Battalion had cut the rear of Turkina Keshik off from reinforcements from the Drop-Port while Devil Troop and two platoons of Chopper infantry captured the port from the (understrength-, it was later discovered) 4th Falcon Talons Cluster; the Choppers' Second Battalion turned one of Turkina Keshik's flanks, while the Second Jaegers rolled the other flank up and Resistance fighters slew every Falcon they could find. Von Strang's Legion had dropped almost directly onto the heads of Turkina Keshik, and the Wolf Dragoons seemed to be everywhere at once, fighting tooth-and-nail against Crichell's Crusader forces.

Altogether, there was so much chaos in so many places all at once that the Falcon Militia units routed entirely, and the Solamha Garrison units that hadn't backed Marthe Pryde's Warden faction were hunted down and either killed or captured. The 4th Talons at the Drop-Port were captured by Devil Troop and became prisoners of the United States Army, and after hearing of their Khan's capture and seeing their position as untenable, the battered remnants of Turkina Keshik surrendered to the Choppers; high above, the Turkina's Pride slowly drifted, the crew having abandoned the ship and been shot in their pods and lifeboats by Legion fighters rather than surrender and face the slow and agonizing deaths Von Strang's Legion would have subjected them to...

...

Juliette moaned as strong arms lifted her out from the ruins of her cockpit, her arm and legs complaining loudly as she was jarred and knocked about, her chest on fire and most of her face numb. She knew it was bad: that last missile strike to her Devastator's head had breeched the armour, and her vision had filled with fire ...

... She must have passed out, because now she was on the ground, with people standing about, talking loudly enough that her ringing ears could sort of hear over the loud pulsing her her heart ...

"... significant damage to the ..."

"... third degree burns to the face, and the eye is ..."

"... hear us, dammit! Milady, can you ...

"Let me through, dammit!" Came a new voice, and it tickled at the back of her foggy mind, until her one good eye focused on an older man as he crouched next to her. "Juliette, sweetie, can you hear me?"

"Grandpa," she managed to croak, and it was: Alistair Ryan, her mother's father, Warden of East Erin and a man she had assumed was long dead. His face was more gaunt than she recalled, and his iron-gray hair had shifted to pure white, but his blue eyes burned bright with fervour and concern.

"My lady," he corrected himself. "You're hurt, but the best doctors are -"

"Don't bother," she wheezed, reaching up with her good arm to grab his elbow. "Crichell. What ..."

"You got him, Colonel," came another voice. She didn't have the strength to turn her head, but recognised a trooper from Third Battalion. "Bastard's bleeding, but alive. Rest of the Falcons are broken, surrendered or dead, we're just collecting the stragglers."

"Good." She glared up at her grandfather. "Stepan."

"Your father? Lass, didn't anyone tell you -"

"No! Cousin ... Michelle's boy. Arc-Royal. Heir. Good boy." She clenched her hand on his arm. "Regent. Deal with ..." she coughed. "Davion ... Reinforc-" she fell into a coughing fit, and the lights started to dim, and people started to shout again.

As her strength faded, with sudden clarity she remembered OddsOn's prediction. Guess little girl was right ... heh ... almost thought I could ...

Thud thud.

Thud thud.

Thud ... thud.

Thud ...

...

...

...

Taylor was just beginning to ache as the painkillers started to wear off, when word came in about Juliette's condition. It was from more than just the pain of her wounds, that Taylor's eyes filled with tears...

Harley was exhausted, but making rounds through the Lupa to check in on her own wounded, when she heard the news about Juliette. It was more than exhaustion that caused Harley to stumble...

...

...

...

Thud thud.

"Holy shit, I've got a pulse! Where the Hell's that surgeon?!"

That Guy. Yes, That Guy.

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Threadmarks Interlude: The Lady and the Tiger New

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Nov 17, 2018

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#3,006

Katya read the challenge from Simon Herren on PHO and chuckled. So Semyon wants to play tanker, eh? We'll show him the way of it... "Calvin! Get Aisha and your sister; we have preparations to make!"

...

Brockton Bay had always had a fairly-active paintball- and airsoft community, with several teams and tournaments throughout the year; the coming of the Wolf Dragoons, and the ensuing interest in their exploits, had caused a particular variation of airsoft to gain popularity: Mil-Sim. Two of the foremost Mil-Sim airsoft teams in the Under-Eighteen Bracket were Bauer's Bravos, headed by Baker Bauer, and Isaac's Ironhearts, captained by Isaac Meadows.

As the VeeTechs inspected both Katya's New Fighting Girlfriend and Simon Herren's Shere Khan, on the day of the match, Bauer and Meadows stared one another down. "So, Isaac; ready to get wrecked again?"

Isaac snorted and grinned, the lanky teenager resting his hands lightly on the airsoft M4 slung across his chest. "Last week was a fluke and you know it, Baker."

"We'll see."

While the infantrymen talked, Katya watched the Techs complete their inspection and walked over to her opponent's tank. "I'll give you this, Simon," she said, "You have decent taste in tanks. A Tiger-One?"

Simon Herren nodded. "Best heavy tank of the war."

The girl laughed before replying, "I'd argue that point; the IS-2 was better. Where'd you get this one?"

Simon's younger brother, Jack, poked his head around the turret and answered, "Uncle Max had it built; Simon talked him into sponsoring us and the Ironhearts."

Katya shook her head. "Good luck."

...

Given that LZ Berkut was judged to be too small for the match, the teams would do battle across the entire western perimeter of the base, including the modular-town used for training in urban-warfare.

"Aisha, start us moving; Bravos, scout forward." The T-34 began to crawl forward as the infantry squad split into four-man fireteams and moved ahead. Katya scanned the landscape with her binoculars, then let them hang while she fished a can of Jerky Chew out of the pocket of her coveralls and loaded her lip with shredded beef-jerky.

The rules were simple: Last Tank Standing by sundown. Uber and Leet had volunteered to stream the match, so the Snitch was up and recording as the teams drew nearer to one another, and the first shots began to fly.

"Christine, take the gun; Calvin, load canister," Katya said as she stood up in her hatch and readied the PKM mounted there. Katya swung her MG around to bear on a half-glimpsed figure in Ironhearts uniform moving to her left, and sent a burst downrange. Two teams of Bravos bounded out, moving from cover-to-cover as their BARs, Thompsons, and M1 carbines suppressed a machine-gun in the tree-line. The T-34's turret rotated and the big gun spoke, sending a hail of airsoft shot into the undergrowth. An answering report was their response, and a paint-soaked Nerf football whistled past as the Tiger broke cover and emerged. The Bravos reached for their anti-tank weapons, a pair of airsoft bazookas, and took aim.

Katya hosed an Ironheart with her PKM, then turned the gun onto the turret of the charging Tiger, trying to force Simon down where his vision would be restricted. "Calvin, load Solid! Aisha, get us behind him! Bravos, keep the Ironhearts off of us!" Christine triggered the gun and hurled the projectile at the Tiger's tracks; the two tanks sped by one another, turrets swinging around to re-target.

"NFG, this is Bravo-Lead; we got the last of the Ironhearts but they got us, too; you're on your own!"

Katya and her crew drove into the MOUT-town and eased into an alleyway between buildings; the four teens gulped down swallows of water from their canteens and opened power-bars to snack on as they waited.

They didn't have to wait for long; barely ten minutes had passed when Shere Khan clattered up the street, hull buttoned-up. "When they've rolled past us, Aisha, dash out behind them. Christine, I'll take the gun back; you take my position on the PKM. Calvin?"

"Solid already in the tube, Katya."

"Guys, his turret's traversing this way; I think we've been made!" Aisha shouted as she threw the tank into reverse and backed out the other end of the alley. She started forward again with a jerk and turned to keep the buildings between her and the Tiger. The nimbler T-34 swung around a corner and Katya fired; the Nerf-football smacked into the side of Simon's Tiger, a hit but not a knockout. As Calvin loaded another Solid, the Tiger fired, and a football ricocheted off the sloped frontal armor of the T-34.

A second exchange of fire; Simon's shot missed, as did Katya's. New Fighting Girlfriend moved back into cover, but the Tiger pursued, and the pair rolled out of the town, pouring shot after shot out as the drivers maneuvered madly to spoil the gunners' aim. "Levee!" barked Aisha just before the tank roared up and over the embankment. When the T-34 came to a stop at the bottom and turned to parallel the levee, Katya had already elevated the gun and taken aim. Shere Khan crossed the levee straight into New Fighting Girlfriend's sights; Katya fired...

"URA!"

...

After the tanks had been shut down and the infantrymen had met back up with them, Katya walked over to her opponent's tank once more. "We win, Semyon Timofeyevich Herren. It was a good fight, well-fought; you impressed me."

Simon and Jack slid down from the Tiger while his loader, Alice Biermann, helped the gunner and assistant-driver, James Cutler and Dalton Foster, out of their hatches. "So you did, Yekaterina Zhukova. I suppose this means that we work for you, now."

Katya grinned widely. "For a month, yes. Look at it like this, Simon; you'll be getting paid, and I'll see to it that you get better training. If, after a month, you want to stay on, we can renegotiate then. Once we," she gestured to her crew, "are of-age, we plan on either joining the Dragoons or starting our own outfit; for now, we're nominally-independent." She extended a hand to Simon. "Welcome to what my brother's nicknamed the 'Fighting Rusalki', you pompous Boche."

Simon shook her hand, smiling slightly. "Pleasure to be here, you empty-headed Bolshevik."

That Guy. Yes, That Guy.

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Threadmarks 77: Joinings, Meetings, and Breaks New

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Mar 9, 2019

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#3,013

Two weeks had passed since Von Strang's World had been liberated from the Jade Falcons; two weeks since Elias Crichell had been marched up thirteen steps to a scaffold, been fitted with a noose, and hung. The last things Elias Crichell had seen before it all went dark were the corpses of Falcon Warriors, spitted on stakes or swaying from nooses of their own...

It had been slightly-less than two weeks since Harley's Custom Choppers had made a Hell-for-Leather, Shaker-expedited rush across space back to Outreach and Earth-Bet to excute a raid on an ivory-poaching- and human-trafficking operation in Botswana, killing several-hundred poachers and rescuing thirty-five men and women from the threat of militia pressgangs and the flesh-trade...

It had been a week since Panacea had chartered Ridli Scott's Leopard-Class, the Nostromo, freshly-fitted with the Spanish Tinker's ingenious phase-shift technology, and met the Dragoons over Arc-Royal to heal the gravely-wounded Juliette Von Strang...

The Wolf Dragoons were home in Brockton Bay once more...

...

Juliette ground her teeth as she was forced to use her cane to support her weight, striding as best she could across the tarmac with three legs. The Cape named Panacea's power was much as advertised, but she was still recovering from a serious head trauma, and was still a long way from recovering her strength. If only ... no. I refuse to complain. I am alive, walking (mostly) and my world is free: I will not quibble over a little temporary irritation!

Her infantry escort, a detachment from C Company, followed at a respectful distance, while keeping their Thunderstroke II rifles at the ready, their ballistic plate vests and helmets hiding both expression and gender identifiers. The rest of the platoon, the eight battlesuited troopers and a lance of Kindred 'Mechwarriors (under the youthful but enthusiastic Captain Haddock) were preparing to exit the Dragoon DropShip, but she had insisted on disembarking first.

It was bizarre, standing on Terra-but-not-Terra, especially as a Periphery native, but the gravity was fairly close to her homeworld, and the air tasted ... well, every world tasted different. Just the fact that she could stand under this alien sun, mostly pain free and with a full life ahead of her was well worth the island summer estate she had insisted on Panacea accepting as payment for services rendered. I hope Grandfather's people remember to clear out great-grandmothers personal effects first, given her somewhat ... exotic tastes and proclivities.

In any case, her gait picked up as she saw a short, stocky officer in Earth-Bet Dragoon Service-Grays approaching, a masked young girl at his side. A wave of emotion flooded her, which she ruthlessly shoved down, but as she drew close to the pair she couldn't help hearing music in her ears ...

... and in this moment,

I will not run, it is my place to stand ...

The girl darted ahead of her escort, and flung herself into Juliette's arms, the noblewoman almost falling over from the impact, but waving away the offer of assistance from both Dragoon and Legionnaire, she carefully wrapped her arms around the girl's slender shoulders.

"'M glad I was wrong," mumbled OddsOn, her voice somewhat muffled by being pressed against Juliette's chest. "Glad you're not dead."

"One could argue you were correct," admitted Juliette, feeling an uncharacteristic burst of affection for the young Cape. "According to the MedTechs, my heart did stop several times before they got me to the cryotube ..."

"Don't joke," insisted the girl, pulling back to glare up at the redhaired baroness. "The universe is bad enough without losing people like you to make it a worse place."

Juliette frowned, pulling back to look down at the child. "You ... really think the universe is better off with me in it?"

Odds-On nodded seriously. "Well, duh. Colonel Harley and I agree: You may be a psychotic, murderous lunatic with anger issues and a death wish, but you're not a bad person."

Somehow, I can see Harley saying those exact words ... come to think of it, she's said those exact words to my face. Multiple times...

"Well ... I suppose it's bad policy to argue with one's elders, so she must be right."

"Darn skippy."

No wonder Harl has virtually adopted this waif; she's a tiny little Chopper just waiting to grow enough to reach the pedals of her 'Mech...

The Dragoon who'd been escorting Odds-On came to a halt and saluted crisply. "Welcome to Earth-Bet, and Camp Kerensky, Baroness Von Strang. I'm Point-Officer Shalva, of Victor Jump-Infantry Point; Administrator Hebert, Taylor's father, decided that while I and Sighthound are both friends with Odds-On, that I'd be less-likely to drive you and your men, as he put it, 'utterly-batshit', so I'm your guide while you're here."

...

The day after having met, and given a long-overdue hug to, Juliette Von Strang, Dinah Alcott stepped out of her dad's car on the tarmac at Camp Kerensky and saw Point-Officer Shalva waiting for them, smoking a cigarette next to the door. "Odds-On, my little friend, welcome back to Camp Kerensky." He stubbed the cigarette out and dropped the butt into the ash-can beside him, then dusted his hands off and straightened his uniform-top and the belt that held his pistol and khukuri. "Sir, Ma'am," the ex-FWLM Gurkha said, smiling.

"Point-Officer Shalva," replied Dinah's father. "I take it you're our escort?"

Shalva nodded. "The rental-hangar where Odds-On's 'Mech is stored is a bit off the beaten path, so I volunteered to be your guide. We're meeting Colonel Davidson at a restaurant near the Starport first, though."

The quartet settled into the Alcotts' Chrysler and Shalva triggered the dimensional-transfer; in a single moment of disorientation, they were across. "Mister Alcott, Missus Alcott, Odds-On, welcome to Harlech, on the planet Outreach."

"So cool..." breathed Dinah from the backseat.

"It is that," Shalva said with a chuckle. "Right now we're just-outside the Starport; we should be meeting Colonel Davidson pretty soon."

...

"I think that's supposed to be a Locust?" Dinah said quizzically ten minutes later, looking at the statue made of what looked like welded-together car-parts outside of a small diner that bore the sign Chicken Walker's.

"The owner dabbles in statuary, though honestly I think he just needs to stick to barbecue, which he's actually good at," remarked Shalva after parking the car. "He does New Abilene-style brisket and burnt-ends, Lexington-style pulled-pork with a vinegar-based sauce, and Memphis-style ribs. Arguably it's the best rib-joint in Harlech."

The group walked inside, and Dinah immediately homed in on the woman they'd come to see; it was easy to tell Harley apart from the other patrons, what with the Custom Choppers patch on her jacket and the box from Cartier of Harlech sitting on the table next to her elbow. Dinah walked up to Harley's table and said with a smile, "100% chance you give me a hug in the next ten seconds, Colonel Harley."

Harley laughed with a warm smile and wrapped Dinah in a tight hug. "I believe I'll take those odds. It's good to finally meet you in-person, Dinah." When they separated, Harley opened the Cartier box and withdrew a gold tiara set with eleven pigeon-blood rubies, four round brilliant-cut and six briolette-cut gems alternating from the outside edges of the front inward to the eleventh, princess-cut ruby in the center. "A tiara for a princess, as-promised."

The others made their way over to the table, and Harley stood to shake the hands of Dinah's parents. "Good afternoon, Sir, Ma'am. I'm Harleen Davidson, the Colonel of the Custom Choppers Mercenary Regiment. It's a pleasure to meet you both."

Missus Alcott smiled and replied, "Please, call me 'Anna', Colonel Davidson; this is my husband, John."

"Only if you call me 'Harley', Anna, John. Please, sit; we've got a lot to talk about, a large part of which revolves around Dinah." The group sat, and Dinah put her tiara back into its box. Harley laid her hands on the tabletop and said, "Let me start by apologizing for having involved your daughter in a number of the Choppers' recent operations without having consulted with you both first. As much good as Dinah's done, and believe me, she's done a great deal of good, and as critical as those operations have been, I still feel that I owe you both an apology all the same."

John nodded, and though his smile was tinged with worry, it was still a genuine, proud smile. "Apology accepted, though I don't know that one was actually owed. It's a more-or-less proven fact that Capes seem to have a need to use their powers, so I can at least take comfort in knowing that so far Dinah's used hers to help others."

Harley nodded and her smile returned full-force. "Believe me, 'helping others' is understating it. The operation in Mannheim, Pennsylvania, that took down the Slaughterhouse Nine, was brought about in large part by Dinah running the numbers of how massive the casualty-count would've been if they managed to get across the dimensional-gap to the Inner Sphere. What's not publicly known about the whole thing is that Jack Slash was in contact via PHO with someone high-placed in the 'Sphere and that person was actively working to bring the Nine across."

Harley paused while a waitress took the others' orders, then continued. "Dinah helped talk an enemy commander having a severe crisis of conscience down from suicide; in doing so she set events in motion that stand a very-real chance of completely removing that commander's faction as a threat to the Inner Sphere, and just as good a chance of turning that same faction from an enemy into an ally. Most-recently, Dinah's powers helped the Choppers locate an enemy base, and allowed us to not only destroy a group of ivory-poachers and human-traffickers, but rescue no less than thirty-five captives who otherwise would have been drugged and sold to militia pressgangs or into brothels."

The waitress brought their drinks, and Dinah took her soda and wandered over to the jukebox while the adults continued talking. Shalva followed her with his eyes, keeping a discreet eye on the young Thinker.

Anna Alcott and her husband listened as Colonel Davidson explained how their daughter had managed to come to the personal attention of several heads-of-state, and that payment for Dinah's services had been sufficient to make Dinah very, very wealthy, even after the deduction of the small finder's-fee for Harley. "How wealthy is 'very, very', Harley?" asked John. As Harley slid an MRBC Payment-Bond across the table to him, John took a sip of his iced-tea before looking down at it. The amount listed on the Bond nearly made him spit his tea out. "That's... that looks like enough money to buy a small planet..."

Harley chuckled and shook her head. "It's not quite enough to buy a planet, but there might be a few moons people would let go of for that amount. Wouldn't be any of the nice ones, though."

The room was suddenly filled with a driving, hammering drumbeat that was quickly accompanied by an electric bass and a fast guitar, and the sound of someone roaring in Swedenese; as the first verse of the Rasalhague-based metal band Långskepp's song Miraborg den Feta continued, Dinah made her way back where her parents sat in negotiations with Harley, enthusiastically head-banging...

...

Taylor read through the message-traffic between 77Black, Cap'n Eddie, Pop_Skull, and Star_Fang. Oh, so Pop_Skull's a pirate, eh?

She dashed off a message to Star_Fang about seizing the pirate Dropship and splitting the prizes, then when it was agreed-to, dispatched Marines from the Growl and Blackbird along with Missy, and waited. Taylor trusted her troops and those of the 1st Star Fangs to get the job done. After confirmation that the Dropship, an Overlord named the Calavera Negra, was landed, Taylor donned a body-armor vest and slid an MP20 into the leather scabbard on the side of her Bluestreak, and went to see the ship.

Taylor moved the submachinegun from the scabbard to her chest as she drew closer and parked. Taylor weaved between the members of a gathering crowd as she drew nearer to the landing-pad where the Calavera Negra had set down. As Taylor finally cleared the press of bodies, she readjusted her patrol-cap and the Gunther MP20 slung across her chest, then looked upward at the towering bulk of the hundred-ton Atlas that was approaching from the other direction.

The 'Mech came to a halt next to a gantry normally used for the Loadermechs, and the hatch opened, allowing a woman to climb out, before the 'Mech stepped away from the gantry and took up a guard position.

Colonel Amanda Sky was tall and athletic, with black hair done up in a short-yet-feminine Spacer style. She was wearing camouflage denim pants, and a black jacket with the Star Fangs' emblem on the shoulder and breast, over a white shirt. A laser pistol was in a holster strapped to her right thigh, and a knife was visible in a sheath on the back of her belt as she slid down the gantry's ladder to meet Taylor. "Star-Colonel," she greeted, holding out her hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Taylor nodded and shook Amanda's offered hand. "The feeling's quite mutual, Colonel Sky. But please, call me Taylor." She glanced back toward the ship and chuckled. "Reading about how large an Overlord is, is a lot different from actually seeing one up-close; right now all my Cluster has for space-lift are a Miraborg, Union-C, and a Sassanid, and a Dove-Class Hospital-ship. So, shall we step inside and see what there is to see?"

"Of course," Amanda replied, "And please. If I'm calling you Taylor, just call me Amanda."

The pair ascended the ramp and entered the Calavera Negra, coming immediately onto the lowest of the three 'Mech-Decks and looking around at the 'Mechs stored there, including the pirates' LAM. Amanda took a good look around at the 'Mechs. Her eyes went to the Pheonix Hawk's left shoulder. "I've only seen this variant in pictures," she admitted when she spotted the twin lasers, "But that's definitely a PHX-HK1. Didn't think I'd ever actually see one in working condition."

"I've never seen an LAM at all, except in pictures, in all truth," Taylor replied, looking at the 'Mech in the bay beside the Phoenix Hawk, a bird-legged Nova-C. "Never seen a Nova in person, either, up until now." She nodded to the machine that Inner-Sphere Mechwarriors had dubbed the 'Black Hawk'. "It was the first Omnimech designed with external handholds for Elementals, and the reason why a Star of Elementals attached to a Star of Omnimechs is called a 'Nova'."

"They are also out-of-production," commented Trudy from her position nearby. "Tokasha Mech-Works still manufactures components for the Nova, but there has not been a fully-assembled Nova Omnimech produced since 2921."

"I take it they're becoming a little rare, then?" Amanda asked, before giving the Nova-C an appraising look, "Though... It's got quite a legacy. Every Omnimech is fitted with those handholds and recharge ports. Even Inner Sphere designs."

"Just a bit," Trudy replied, her Avenger CCW shotgun across her shoulders. "The design originated with Clan Hell's Horses, but spread through the other Clans over the years through Trials. Though from what I have heard, Luthien Armor-Works produces their own version, the Black Hawk-KU."

"Boss!" a voice called, and Amanda turned to face a man wearing a suit of Nighthawk power armour, who had just stepped into the lower 'Mech Bay.

"I found that folder you told us to look out for!" he called, holding up the item in question as he approached, "Forty-two sheets of standard A-2, still in a folder marked 'Hot for Teach-er'. Didn't take a look inside, though. I think it might be something personal to the owner."

"Yeah, that was my thoughts, too," Amanda agreed, quickly glancing at the name of the trooper (stenciled onto the left side of the breastplate) in order to identify the suited man, "Nice work, Corporal Ashbrook."

Trudy grounded her shotgun and stretched while Ashbrook reported finding the folder Ed Teach from Chaldea Security had mentioned, then picked the weapon back up and slung it on her back before walking over. "My manners must have escaped me." She extended a hand. "Star-Commander Trudy Crow, Chief-of-Boat, and commander of Marines, aboard the Clan Wolf Dropship CWS Growl, attached to the Star-Colonel's Cluster."

"Pleased to meet you," Amanda replied, "And if your manners escaped you, so did mine. I'm Colonel Amanda Sky, CO of the First Star Fangs." She extended her hand to shake.

Trudy smiled and shook the extended hand. "I must say, Colonel Sky, that it was a pleasure working with your men; they certainly know their trade."

"Thanks. We trained hard to make sure we would be ready for jobs like this," she replied, "Though from what I've been hearing, your people did damn fine work, too."

Trudy grinned even wider, and her mismatched eyes seemed to brighten. "While I cannot speak to the quality of Star-Commander Annette Weaver's team from the Blackbird, I trained my team to the same standards that I was trained to, back when I was in Clan Snow Raven and a Point-Commander of Marines aboard the CSR Blizzard." She looked upward toward a catwalk, where Missy was assisting the Marines in bringing out the captured crew, the AKS-74U she was carrying held at the low-ready.

"You've done a good job of it," Amanda replied, before turning to look in the same direction as Trudy as the prisoners were brought out.

"Looks like it's time to get back to work," she noted, before turning to Ashbrook, "Corporal, make sure that folder is taken to my quarters aboard the Salamandastron. I'm going to ensure its delivery personally."

"Got it, Boss," Ashbrook replied, giving her a respectful nod, before hurrying away.

Taylor looked at the 'Mechs, her lips pursed. "The Phoenix Hawk is yours, and the Phoenix is likely bound for the Baroness..." Taylor drummed her fingers on the stock of her SMG as she mentally divided the 'Mechs. "The Novas first; which would you prefer? The Nova-C has a Gauss Rifle, SRM-4, and Small Pulse-Laser; the Nova-D carries an LB-X/5 autocannon and an LRM-20."

Amanda smiled to Taylor.

"Thank you, Star Colonel," she said, before giving the two Novas a long, considering look.

"The C-configuration, I think," she said eventually, "It's more versatile."

Taylor made a note on her datapad and nodded. "The Assaults next; Captain Malverde misidentified one, thought it was a Warhawk-Prime when it's actually a Gargoyle-Prime. The other is a Dire Wolf-Prime. The Gargoyle-Prime mounts two SRM-6s, two LB-5X autocannons, and a single ER-Small Laser; the Dire Wolf-Prime, while slower by about 25km/h, mounts four each of ER-Large Lasers and Medium Pulse-Lasers, two Ultra-Autocannon/5s, and an LRM-10."

"The Dire Wolf, please," Amanda replied, "I don't really need a vehicle-hunter, and while the anti-air would be nice, I think the Dire Wolf will suit my unit better."

Taylor noted Colonel Sky's choice, and looked around. "That leaves the Catapult-H2, the three Warhammer-6R (C), the two Wolverine-6R and the Wolverine-6M, the Ostwar, the Stinger-3G and the Stinger-5M. Plus the spare-parts cargo, our half of which I'm willing to offer in trade for the right price."

"After our share, we don't have enough room left for more spare parts," Amanda admitted, "We keep ourselves well-stocked."

She paused for a moment.

"We'll take the Catapult and one of the Warhammers; The Catapult's a hunk of junk right now, but I've got ideas about how to turn it into something nasty. As for the Wolverines... We'll take the 6M. And the Ostwar; I promised to look after it. And the Stingers... I'd like the 5M, if possible. We've already got a couple of 3Gs."

...

"I won't press you into this, folks," Katya Zhukova said to her fledgling command, which had grown since the match against the Herren brothers to include not only the Herrens and their Tiger-I, but also both of the infantry-squads from the match, Baker's Bravos and Isaac's Ironhearts. "We'll put it to the vote. All in favor, right-hands up. All opposed, left-hands up." Not a non-right hand was seen. "Okay, it's unanimous, then; we go fully-independent at our earliest opportunity."

Sean Halsey, from the Ironhearts, stood straighter. "We'll need more money, Boss, and proper weapons, too."

Issac smiled grimly. "I know where there's an Empire arms-warehouse in the Docks, but we'll need heavier guns than we've got right now, to get the guns we're after."

Katya looked at Aisha right as Isaac looked at Justine 'Prison-Blues' Folsom from his squad, and Baker locked eyes with one of his men, Terrell 'Soapy' Sutherland. "Armory Two-Charlie," the three element-commanders said as one, their eyes boring into those of their three-best lock-pickers. Katya sent Jack and Simon to retrieve mounting-hardware and the tanks...

It was the work of a few moments to pick the padlock and deadbolt on the door, and not much longer than a few moments to grab their weapons of choice. Once they were safely off-base, they refitted the T-34 and Tiger with proper war-loads in an empty warehouse and then traveled to their target...

"Empire-88 inside Warehouse Four-Bravo-Eight, everything inside that warehouse is now ours! If you think it's still yours, well, Clan Honey Badger doesn't give a shit, and if you want to argue the point, just tell us how many of you are willing to argue the point against two squads of infantry and two tanks!"

...

Taylor nodded after making a final note on her datapad, then smiled warmly. "Bargained Well and Done, Amanda." She extended her hand once more to shake. Taylor chuckled. "Now I just have to find a better name for this Dropship and recruit a crew for her."

Her datapad beeped and Taylor glanced down, saw the message on the screen, and her expression went from jovial to coldly-enraged in the span of two heartbeats...

"I'm going to kill them, assuming their own stupidity doesn't save me the trouble..." Taylor growled lowly...

"You as well, Star Colonel," she replied, before pausing at Taylor's abrupt change in demeanour.

She'd seen this before, though - with examples coming from both her officers and herself - and had deduced part of what was going on before Taylor even spoke.

"Someone's done something monumentally stupid, haven't they?" she sighed.

"There is a group of teenagers, early-teenagers for the most part, at that, who are intent on founding their own mercenary crew," Taylor said, directing forces to deal with the issues. "Right now they have two squads of nominal 'infantry', and two slightly-miniaturized reproduction Second-World-War tanks that, up until very recently, carried only non-lethal airsoft weapons. They broke into one of the Dragoons' armories, stole several salvaged weapons to arm their infantry squads and refit their tanks, dubbed themselves 'Clan Honey Badger', and just challenged the single largest gang in our city to a Trial of Possession for the contents of what's probably an arms-smuggling warehouse!"

...

Rune and Hookwolf stepped out of the warehouse. Hookwolf looks at Issac and then at Simon and his crew. "Isaac, Simon, Jack; the fuck are you doing?"

"The fuck's it look like we're doing, Hook; our group needs kit and start-up capital, so we're here to get both of those," Simon snarls, traversing the MGs to cover Rune.

"You're willing to throw away your futures for this?"

"Never were interested in a 'future' as one of Kaiser's goose-stepping minions, Brother. We'd rather go our own way," says Issac over his rifle-sights.

Hookwolf sighs, his hands shaking. "You're willing to die for this, Little Brother?"

"Willing to kill for it, too, Bro."

"So be it, then."

The T-34's turret traversed far-faster than it previously had and fired the 37mm in the turret, a weapon that had once been installed in a Squealer-tank, point-blank at Hookwolf...

...

Katya woke suddenly, tried to stand, but couldn't. She recognized the building, for it was the Brig. A quick and painfully-harse glance around showed the rest of her troops, less five or six... She was suddenly grabbed, her leg-irons hobbling her steps and the handcuffs tight on her wrists as the Elemental who'd seized her arm half-dragged Katya, along with Baker, Simon, and Isaac, into Taylor's office, where the Star-Colonel waited with Brian, Hookwolf, Rune, Nikolai, and, via teleconference, Natasha, Phelan, and Khan Ulric.

In the end, Katya's unit was blacklisted and forced to forfeit their tanks and half of the money they'd already been paid by the Wolf Dragoons, for breaking their contract by stealing from the armory. They'd wanted to be treated like adults, and so they were...

That Guy. Yes, That Guy.

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S0ngD0g13

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Threadmarks Interlude: Reflections New

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S0ngD0g13

Oct 4, 2019

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Well, my concussed-bloodhound of a muse has- for the moment, at least- staggered back this way...

...

Taylor sat in the empty hangar that had once housed Katya's mini-tank; it was quiet, and less-likely to see her disturbed than if she'd been in her office. Taylor leaned forward and gripped her head, eyes tightly-shut. So much had happened recently; it was as if she'd barely had time to catch her breath from dealing with one crisis, before the next one hit. Katya's crew had left for the Inner-Sphere not long after their blacklisting, and the fact that they'd done so not-only with Lung, Kensei, and two-dozen ABB accompanying them, but also with a signed (and highly-Classified-) mercenary contract from the Coordinator of the Draconis Combine himself, was worrying in the extreme.

She'd barely gotten back into the routine of things after that, when King's Bay happened. The Fallen had sought to avenge the defeat of Leviathan, and it was only a random sighting of someone who'd resembled Valefor in Washington, DC, and an especially-zealous Youth Guard lobbyist having simultaneously hired a Private-Detective to surveill Camp Kerensky and Missy, that had lead to the Fallen's plans being uncovered. The YG Lobbyist hadn't been Mastered, and the sighting of Valefor in the capital had been a false-alarm, but it had had everyone nervous-enough that they'd asked Dinah to run the numbers, and Lisa had figured it out from there...

...

Taylor read the PHO posts, and her eyes widened; Valefor was going after a naval-base, and a quick Google told her what Naval Submarine Base King's Bay, Georgia, was the homeport of: US Navy Atlantic Fleet's Ohio-Class Nuclear Ballistic-Missile Subs. As forces rushed to react, Taylor began to issue her orders.

Chelsea's two Points of Sabutai Omnifighters scrambled and hauled ass to Georgia, as did drones from several Tinkers, and fighters from the Choppers, Star Fangs, and Legion. Taylor put the call out for more reinforcements, listening with half an ear as a battle raged far to the south. Dragoons Battle-Armor and Elementals rode with the first wave of Battlemechs; the Dragoons' hospital-ship, the Lupa Capitolina, prepped for takeoff. Things in Georgia swung back-and-forth, but the Fallen were ultimately put on the defensive and their Capes killed or captured.

But that victory had come at a cost. The un-Mastered crew of the USS Columbus managed to SCRAM their sub's reactor and destroy the fire-control computer for their missiles, but were slain to the last by those of the crew who'd fallen victim to Valefor before rescue could come. The fighters had had to cripple the USS Tennessee, along with the USS Albany, but the crew of the USS Miami had scuttled their sub, destroying it with all hands rather than allow it to be turned against their countrymen...

"Damnit! Medic! Medic and counter-sniper to the Admin Building; one of the Dragoon Elementals is down!" came the voice of New Orleans hero Gasser, and Taylor stumbled. She heard Missy respond, asking the Elemental's identity; she heard the shot as Missy eliminated the sniper who'd shot the Elemental.

And then Missy's voice... "Shit... Dragoon-Actual, Coywolf-Actual; Echo-Actual's KIA; .50-caliber round through the faceplate. Sniper who got her's neutralized."

...

The rest of what was coming to be known as the 'Fall of the Fallen' or the 'Battle of King's Bay', had passed in a blur. The Dragoons' only casulties had been Echo-Actual, and several bruises and strains, though everyone who'd been on the ground there had been subsequently dosed with anti-radiation meds; Echo-Actual, Point-Commander Carol Dannvers, was the only Dragoon death.

It had rained the day they'd buried her...

...

"Point-Commander Carol was with this Cluster, since before it was more than a mixed-vehicle Nova," Taylor said as she stood over the casket of yet-another Dragoon, of yet-another friend. "She and Echo Point came to the Dragoons on the morning of the Wolfpack Fight, against the Merchants. Carol was at Canberra with us, and Swarmed the Simurgh. She fought in Mongolia and Manchuria during Operation Armstrong. She took part in Operation Nero, when we dethroned Nilbog. She was with this Cluster in Cadiz, and on Von Strang's World. No matter where we were, or who our foes were, Point-Commander Carol was there, steady and true..."

...

Barely a week after King's Bay, Missy and Temujin had gone back to Von Strang's World, to retrieve a group of ex-Jade Falcon Sibkids who were determined to come to Earth-Bet, as they considered Coywolf Point's having captured the Creche they'd been in during the Reconquering of Von Strang's World, and their having defended it from the excesses of the Amaris City populace in the aftermath of that battle, as a legitimate claim to custody of them, or at least more of a claim than anything being made by the people of Von Strang's World. The twenty-five children had settled in with the easy adaptability of youth, and they'd quickly become fixtures aboard the base...

...

Taylor looked at the children standing before her. "So, these are the pups that had you rushing across the stars to bring them home to us, Point-Commander..."

"Aff, Star-Colonel," Missy replied.

Taylor nodded and addressed the kids. "Missy told you how things are, here among the Wolf Dragoons, quiaff? What would be expected of each of you?"

"Aff, Star-Colonel," the twenty-five children replied in unison.

"Good; I did not doubt otherwise, as the Point-Commander is by both training and natural inclination a very conscientious individual when seeing to the welfare of those under- and around her." She met the eyes of each of them in turn and said, " From the moment that Point-Commander Missy and her spotter departed Camp Kerensky to retrieve you, you have been Wolves. You are now under the care of the Wolf Dragoons, and more-immediately you are under the care of Coywolf Point. Have you eaten?"

Magdalena, a stocky young Elemental and de-facto leader of the group, nodded sharply. "Aff, Star-Colonel; we had ration-bars last night and we have had breakfast this morning and ration-bars on the way back from Von Strang's World."

Taylor shook her head. "It is nearly nineteen-hundred. Point-Commander Missy, Coywolf Point," she said, and Missy's Point came to Attention. "Take charge of your new Pups and welcome them home with a meal befitting of young Wolves."

...

Conflict after conflict, after that. The Elite, who'd tried to assemble forces and raid a Tinker who'd hired-out to produce gear for the US military; the Dragoons' Dropships, including the former-pirate Dropship Calavera Negra, freshly-renamed as the CWS Council Rock, had provided gunfire-support for stopping them.

The Empire-88 had fragmented, and their European backers, Gessellschaft, had made their own plays; Taylor had enacted one of the Dragoons' contingency-plans, Contingency: Night-Lord, but what had been intended as a series of brutal surgical-strikes had been derailed by the Gessellschaft going loud, and the Legion and Dragoons had been forced into open warfare to prevent civilian casualties. Thinking things would remain quiet, Taylor had taken a vacation to the villa Juliette had given her on Von Strang's World for her part in winning her world back from the Falcons, and had told anyone who'd asked that she wanted to be left alone for a while. A Gessellschaft-Mastered suicide-bomber mixed-among a group of protesters outside the Legion's compound had slain several Legionnaires soon-after, and Taylor had watched as Von Strang's Legion deployed in-force for what could only be termed as an Annihilation of the remaining Neo-Nazi members in Brockton Bay...

...

Taylor had just arrived back at Camp Kerensky and the weight of her command was already beginning to settle back onto her shoulders, so she'd taken a trip to the empty hangar to get her mind right once more. Never a dull moment... Well, I won't accomplish a damned thing sitting out here going internal, and I agreed to witness Dinah's check-ride with the others. Yeah, things have been shitty recently, but there's been more good than bad. FISHDO, as Barrister so-often says. Fuck It, Shit Happens; Drive On...

Taylor stood and brushed the dust off herself, then climbed back into her Elemental Armor and walked outside, past Colonel Sky's parked LAM, and opened a channel on her radio. "Harley, Odds-On, Amanda, Juliette, Natasha; I'm ready when you all are. Harley, Odds-On, you've got the run of the LZs for your check-ride."

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Oct 5, 2019

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#3,074

Somewhat-before Odds-On's Check-Ride...

...

Katya Zhukova peered down over the crest of the hill she lay upon, her hands reflexively shading the lenses of her binoculars lest any glare give her away. In the valley below lay a bandit-camp, men and women going about their normal routine unaware of her surveillance. Two Leopard-Class Dropships squatted in the center of the encampment, and visible in the shadow of the nearest one was a single Battlemech. A Catapult, one of the K-series, but I can't tell if it's a -K2 or a -K2K, she noted.

Katya could see several vehicles parked at various intervals; she noted the different models, but most appeared to be variants of the ubiquitous Quikcell Scorpion and several Hetzer Tank-Destroyers. Somewhere down there were two of the Bravos, Kelly Dawes and Sam Fawley, but Katya couldn't spot the camouflaged infantrymen. Katya watched the camp until the sun went down, then eeled backward and jogged down the hill to meet back up with the Bravos. Sam trotted into view a few minutes later, and Kelly not long after that. "So, what did you two discover?" She asked as they started moving back to where the rest of Katya's crew and their ISF 'Advisors' were encamped a few miles away. The locals had hired Katya's mercenaries to eliminate that group of robbers, and had promised payment in fresh foodstuffs and whatever salvage they could take.

"That Cat's their only 'Mech," commented Sam, "and most of their tanks are beaters."

"I can confirm that the Catapult is their only Battlemech; I got close-enough to get a look into the bays on the Droppers. They shouldn't be too-alert tonight, though; from the sound of things they were tapping kegs to celebrate their latest score."

Katya raised an eyebrow. "Just how close did you get, Kelly?"

"Close-enough that I had to hold my breath to keep from gagging when one of those rank bastards dropped trou and took an epically-runny shit right in front of me; apparently their new cook isn't working out. Mister Dysentery was giving serious thought to shooting the cook for trying to poison him."

The trio reached their camp and a plan was worked-out. They didn't have the same strength that they'd departed Galatea with, as Lung had taken Kensei, his ABB, and half of the ISF troops with him aboard a separate Dropship to go after other targets. But, Katya believed that the strength that was available to her, was more than enough.

In the pre-dawn darkness, they moved quietly into position. As the three Chevalier Light Tanks crept up the hill and went hull-down, the Ironhearts' machine-gunners and the Bravos' snipers fanned out to either side and set up their weapons; the ISF troops and the rest of the infantry moved stealthily toward the bandits' perimeter. Katya watched the camp through the sights of her tank's main-gun, and heard the radio-clicks as each group signalled their readiness. Katya brought the targeting-reticle onto the cockpit of the Catapult, knowing that the other two tanks, under the command of the Herren brothers were doing the same. She rested one hand on the trigger, and used the other to key her radio.

Clickclick... She heard bolts being eased forward as rounds were chambered.

Clickclick... Her finger tightened on the trigger, taking up the slack.

Clickclick. On the third double-click, three Clantech Extended-Range Large Lasers flashed simultaneously, stabbing sapphire beams out from the hilltop to slam home on the head of the bandit Battlemech. Katya swung her turret to target a Hetzer as the machine-gunners opened fire and raked bursts across the camp. Half-hidden in the sound of chattering MGs were the sharp barks of the snipers' Mauser & Grey G-150 hunting-rifles as the marksmen picked-off targets of opportunity. Katya fired, then fired again, and saw her target burst apart as its ready-ammo exploded. The infantry below rushed into the camp, rifles and SMGs popping and troops shouting at the bandits to get down on the ground; a grenade detonated and Katya radioed for the tanks to advance.

The three Chevaliers roared up and over the crest of the hill, and charged down the slope spitting fire and destruction with their lasers and their bow-mounted Streak-SRMs. Their will to resist broken, the bandits outside surrendered, and the ISF and Ironhearts stormed aboard the Dropships to secure them...

...

The group had rested after capturing the bandits, inventorying and repairing their salvaged vehicles while they waited for Lung and his contingent to arrive from off-world. They hired crews for the Leopards, and for the few functional tanks that they'd captured; troops drilled and practiced, and Katya watched her command growing...

...

They'd arrived on Nashira; Katya's unit were ready and the ISF had alerted the principal of their mission, and trusted members of the principal's unit, to the plan. Katya stood in her tank's hatch and watched through binoculars as Hohiro Kurita, son of Coordinator Theodore Kurita, as the Combine Mechwarrior stretched and got ready to mount-up. The plan is simple; Sam shoots and Hohiro drops like he's hit. We rush in and grab him to 'confirm the kill', and then do a 'fighting-retreat' back to the Dropships and get off-world while Lung and his group raise Brockton-Bay Hell against the Black Dragons here on Nashira.

She set her phone aside and keyed her radio. "Ironhearts, Bravos, this is Katyusha; status?"

"Katyusha, Ironhearts are in-position and set up."

"Katyusha, Bravos are green and we have eyes on the Target."

"Good; Treads are in-position as well. Now we wait for the right moment. Remember, Erlking, you have the first shot so make it count."

"Roger, Katyusha. I have a shot now; do I have the green-light?" asked Sam.

"Send it."

Katya heard a rifle fire and watched Hohiro fall with a puff of blood from his waist. She started to radio Sam and comment on his clipping the Coordinator's son when Sam radioed, "Target Down, but that shot wasn't me!"

"All callsigns, all callsigns, this is Pachinko; Krait! Say again, Krait!"

"Shit!" Katya swore; 'Krait' was the codeword for a second Black Dragon Society team on-site, and indicative of a betrayal. "Okay, we knew they'd probably have a secondary team, if only to tie up loose ends; this changes nothing since our cover'd be blown here anyway. All callsigns, engage Tangos and put them down! Aisha, get us in there, on the double!" As her tank lurched forward, Katya changed frequencies and broadcast, "Any First Genyosha callsign this net, this is Mercenary Commander Yekaterina Zhukova broadcasting in the clear to any receiving First Genyosha callsign; I am inbound now with ISF backup and under contract from Coordinator Kurita to protect Tai-sa Kurita at all cost; sending copies of my orders now!" She rapidly transmitted her orders and focused on getting to Hohiro as all Hell broke loose around them.

Aisha skidded the Chevalier to a halt and Katya leapt out with a first-aid kit. Calvin took over the turret and flung shots from the ERLL at anyone trying to shoot at them while Katya got a dressing onto the Tai-sa's hip and helped him scramble into the tank. "Does anyone have eyes on Zilla and his team?!" She could hear Lung roaring in the distance, but couldn't see him.

Kensei responded via the radio. "Katyusha, this is Kensei; I'm sure you heard the Boss just-now. The ISF are in contact with First Genyosha HQ and getting the rest mobilized; the Ironhearts and Bravos are breaking contact just like we planned, but the Tangos are pressing them hard, and there are at least three Lances of Battlemechs closing in to try cutting your tanks off from the Dropships."

Katya sighed, then as her tank lunged into motion again she checked the sensors, leaving Calvin on the gun. She saw who was closest and radioed, "Roger that, Kensei. Hairball, Kitten, Pachinko, form up on my tank. If things get too hairy, then Hohiro's gonna ride with you, Pachinko, and you and Kitten are gonna haul ass to the ships while the rest of us draw fire for you. Don't argue, Jack, our minds are already made-up." She watched on the scopes as Simon Herren and his brother, Jack, slid into position off her flanks in their Chevaliers, along with Quentin 'Pachinko' Saburo and the crew of his Light-Gauss Rifle-variant Po. "Tai-sa, you okay? That dressing on your hip is still good?"

Hohiro chuckled through gritted teeth. "I'll live, assuming we don't all die in the meantime, Commander Zhukova."

"Amen to that..." Katya said quietly.

The tank lurched from side-to-side and Katya heard the cracking of PPC-fire going past as Aisha shouted, "Hostile 'Mechs, direct-front; two Panthers in the open!" Katya watched Calvin open fire and heard the firing of the other tanks' weapons before Aisha crowed, "Good shooting, guys; keep their heads down!"

Katya heard enormous wings flapping and a roar that shook the entire tank before two thunderous explosions erupted ahead of them. "What was that?! Did I really see two 'Mechs get taken out by an actual fire-breathing dragon?! What was that?!"

"Pachinko, do you remember that big guy with all the dragon tattoos? The one that even the ISF guys took care not to piss off?"

"No way! That was Zilla?!"

"Da. Or as he's better-known on our homeworld, Tank-Commander Saburo, that was Lung, and on a scale of 'One' to 'Apocalyptic', I'd rate where he's at right now at about a 'Kyushu'. Long story that I'll tell you later."

The tanks wove through the streets toward the Dropships, and as they traveled, Katya heard music start playing from her phone. She snatched it up and saw the posts of everything she'd said, there on the screen along with a YouTube video of Godzilla by Blue Oyster Cult that some joker named 'Sportster' had posted. "My speech-to-text is on? Blyad'! Well, nothing for it; it doesn't matter because our cover was going to be blown today anyway." A burst of fire rocked the tank and Katya shouted, "Ublyudok! Prekrati strelyat' v menya! Kelvin, potoropis' i ubey etogo zhopu!" ["Bastard! Stop shooting at me! Calvin, hurry up and kill that asshole!"]

Calvin drew a chuckle from Aisha and a pair of middle-fingers from Katya when he shouted back in Russian himself. "Togda perestan' krichat' mne v ukho, kak chertova garpiya, i day mne sosredotochit'sya, Katya! Der'mo!" ["Then stop screaming in my ear like a damn harpy and let me concentrate, Katya! Shit!"]

Aisha heard her phone's text-to-speech recite a post from Alec about how Brian knew where she was, and started to reply. "Little busy, Br- Whoa, Holyshit! Calvin, Black Hawk-KU, nine-o'-clock! Knock him the fuck out!" She heard Katya behind her telling Pachinko and the Herrens to watch their flanks, and focused on the road ahead. They rounded a corner and she saw... "Oh, Jesus H. Christ impaled on a railroad-tie... Katya, Assault Lance direct-front! I count an Atlas, an Awesome, and a pair of Dire Wolves!"

Katya popped her hatch open and quickly poked her head up, then dropped back down and slammed the hatch shut as bullets whined off the hull. "Lance of Jenners and Panthers right on our asses, Aisha. Get evasive and floor it; blow through." Katya changed freqs again and broadcast, "1st Genyosha, Kensei, ISF, this is Zhukova; I need any fire-support available to drop the Assault-'Mechs in front of my tanks."

"Katya, this is Kensei; the Bravos and Ironhearts have broken contact and made it around the Tangos' flank; they're back aboard, but they had to leave some of the Support-Weapons behind. Moderate number of WIA, two KIA from the Bravos and three KIA from the Ironhearts; the rest are rearming to support our tanks. Lung's team is back aboard, as well."

Katya heard her phone ping and looked down by reflex to read...

PHO said:

IronBull (Blacklisted Merc)(2nd Sqd./1st Fireteam):

Not... dead... Kensei. Giggins, Holton, Samuels, Trant, and I just got knocked out when that wall came down. We're on our way. Giggins broke his leg and I'm seeing double, so a medic wouldn't go amiss...

Katya heard the booming of artillery as it rained down on the Assault-'Mechs, and the roaring of the Dragon of Kyushu, and sang under her breath,

"Hey, a song, the song of the young girl,

Fly and go after the bright Sun,

Find a soldier on the distant borderlands

Say hello from Katya waiting long for him..."

...

Once they were all safely back aboard the ships, Katya quickly posted that they were alright and gave a brief overview of her plans.

As she leaned back against the bulkhead and sipped from a bulb of Timbiqui Nonalcoholic, Katya smiled slightly at how her men, the 1st New Hampshire Light Horse, had fought that day...

When can their glory fade?

O the wild charge they made!

All the world wondered...

That Guy. Yes, That Guy.

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Threadmarks 79: Dinah's Check-Ride New

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S0ngD0g13

Oct 14, 2019

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#3,081

Dinah sat in the Mechwarriors' Ready-Room; her neurohelmet lay beside her elbow on the table, and she wore a pair of bicycle shorts, light ballet-flats on her feet, and a Mouse Protector tank-top under her cooling-vest. Dinah had gotten her friend (and sometimes-rival in the Simulators-) Sigrun to help put her brown hair up in a tight bun to keep it out of the way, and was trying to pass the time while she waited for Colonels Davidson and Sky by playing blackjack for candy with Sigrun and one of the other observers, Galaxy-Commander Kerensky. Dinah had a sizable pile of chocolate-covered espresso beans already on her side of the table, won from Sigrun.

Colonel Amanda Sky walked into the room, her neurohelmet - a relatively new model that, while fairly light, still required bracing on the shoulders - under one arm, the collar of her cooling suit opened. "Sorry about that," she said, raising a hand in greeting, "I had to get Tergen refueled, and there was a little confusion with all parties as to how to go about it."

Natasha nodded from her place at the table. "These things happen. I trust it was quickly straightened-out?"

"Yeah. I needed to convert to Airmech mode, but that's easy enough," Amanda replied, before turning to Dinah.

Dinah smiled, her eyes bright under her black domino-mask. "Hi, Colonel Sky; thanks for agreeing to watch my check-ride," she said, swinging her legs back-and-forth as she shuffled the deck. "We're still waiting for Harley and Juliette, but if you'd like, I could deal you in while we wait? We're playing blackjack for candy."

"I would advise against it, Colonel," said Sigrun with a slight smirk. "She cheats."

"I do not cheat, Sigrun; counting cards isn't cheating."

Amanda smiled. "No problem, kiddo. I'm glad to be here. Although... I don't have any candy on me, so I've got no currency to gamble," she admitted, "It's a bit hard to keep it from melting in the cockpit, see."

Dinah giggled and popped a few coffee-beans into her mouth to eat. "That's okay, then. Another hand, Sig?"

Sigrun shook her head. "Neg, Marathon; I know better than to chase prey I cannot catch. Besides, I still have homework to do. Luck, Marathon." Sigrun stood and gathered her remaining candy before turning to leave.

"Skill, Sig." After Sigrun departed, Dinah shuffled and started dealing herself a game of solitaire. "Is it bad that I'm nervous? I've never been in a Chameleon before; all my hours in the Sims have been in a Jenner-IIC. And I don't want to disappoint Harley or Juliette or embarass myself in front of you guys..."

"You're young, still in-training," Natasha said as she patted Dinah on the shoulder. "A few wobbles here and there are expected, but I've seen your work-ethic; just relax and you'll do fine."

"Galaxy-Commander Kerensky is right," Amanda replied, remaining surprisingly calm despite the excitement showing in her eyes at being in the same room as the woman she was referring to, "Plus, the Chameleon is pretty easy to handle, even if you're used to something else entirely. There's a reason it's so commonly used as a trainer-Mech, and it's not just the ability to change the shape of the outer armour."

"Just remember," added Natasha, "a Chameleon has a pretty harsh heat-curve, so volley-fire is your friend here."

Dinah nodded, her cards forgotten. "Volley-fire; got it." She ate another coffee-bean and hopped off her chair, then went to the refrigerator in the corner and retrieved a can of Rip-It and several bottles of Gatorade; she opened the energy-drink and poured the Gatorade into a three-liter Camelbak that she hung from the back of her chair.

"Indeed," Amanda added, "That's part of why they're trainers; they force the trainees to learn fire discipline." She paused when Dinah headed over to the fridge. "Good call," Amanda said, giving Dinah an approving nod, "Given how hot it'll get in the cockpit, you're going to need to rehydrate and replenish electrolytes at some point. You wouldn't need it if you had a cooling suit, but they're expensive enough that you don't want to buy one while you're still growing."

"True," said Dinah, sipping from her can of Rip-It. She trailed off for a moment. "What's it like? Going to other planets, I mean? The only other planet I've ever been to was Outreach, when I first met Harley face-to-face, and my parents and I drove there in Mom's car."

Natasha chuckled warmly. "It's a treat, to be sure; there are some beautiful places in the universe."

"Indeed," Amanda replied, "It's part of why I loved my job as a Spacer; I was a Small Craft pilot and Helmsman, primarily, so I got some of the best views as we blasted off or landed." She smiled. "You'll get to see it some day, too," she added, "Probably fairly soon, given that Colonel Davidson is on this side of the portal now."

The door slid open and Harley stepped in. In her arms was a small, folded leather jacket. "Dinah," she said with a thin smile. "If things go well today, you're getting a present."

"Harley!" Dinah leapt from her chair and hugged the newest arrival. "It's good to see you; how've you been?"

Natasha smiled. There are worse role-models to emulate, and Dinah's definitely turning into a Mini-Harley...

Amanda smiled as well, placing her helmet onto the table, before giving Harley a nod. "Colonel Davidson. It's good to finally meet you in person," she said.

"Been busy," Harley replied, before turning to the others. "So, how is everyone?"

Natasha made a 'so-so' hand-gesture. "A little good, a little not-so-good. Been following the Jade-Falcon Civil War much? Marthe Pryde's Wardens have been pushing the Crusaders hard, and there's been concern about the Crudader Falcons possibly raiding FedCom border-worlds for supplies if they get desperate enough."

Dinah winced, but then smiled and stood a little straighter. "I've been doing good, Harley; I won a bunch of candy from Natasha and my friend Sigrun playing blackjack. Want any?" She pointed to the small pile of peppermints and chocolate-covered espresso-beans on the table.

"Don't mind if I do, Odds-On," Harley said as she picked up a coffee bean. "You know, I might have to ween you off of these. Getting dependent on stimulants at your age is a bad idea." Harley then smirked at Natasha. "Well, easy way to deal with that would be to raid them first. In fact, it almost seems like time for the wolves to start picking at the corpse. After all, while wolves are mighty hunters, no sane predator will turn down an easy meal..."

Dinah nodded at Harley's words. "I probably do need to at least slow down on all the caffeine. Sighthound says I'm building up a tolerance to it, which sucks, because I end up grumpier than an alligator with a bad tooth when I go too long without." She took a breath through her nose and absently rubbed her temples, then took a long pull from the can of energy-drink.

"I've been feeling pretty good," Amanda said, "Been busy with preparations for the next job, so I haven't had all that much free time, though I've been enjoying part of it; we've been training hard to get our skills extra-sharp, and shake the rust off for some of us who haven't been in our preferred rides for a while."

"About that, Sky," Harley said with a nod. "My guess is Teddy's got a lot planned. From the sound of things he's going to use you for two things. First, rebuild the Combine's reputation in the Merc market. Even with a good chunk of the Choppers having served virtually as a house mercenary unit for the past decade or so, the Combine's rep is still garbage. After all, I'm technically a Kurita myself so of course they're going to treat me with respect. Right? Even if I did hate his old man."

She snorted. "He's going to make sure your dealt with using kid gloves. Believe me, the first stupid bastard who tries to Company Store you, or god forbid, try and confiscate your equipment... they're going to be watering the bushes and if you ask him politely, he'll probably send you the heads with a polite apology written by the regional warlord, and a fruit basket."

She paused to let that sink in. "As for the LAM stuff? Yeah, he's being completely legit with that. He's looking for any and every advantage the Combine can get. Expect him to order your LAMs upgraded with the best tech he can throw into them. Up to and including Clantech samples."

Amanda nodded in understanding to Harley. "Got it. And I'm kinda glad about that, really. We had a bad time with gold-diggers at first, before we built up our reputation." She paused for a moment. "Also, upgrades to our 'Mechs is never unwelcome, particularly Clan-tech." She paused again when she saw Dinah rubbing her temples. "Headache?" she asked, frowning slightly. Dinah nodded.

Natasha grinned after waiting for a pause in conversation, and said to Harley, "It's certainly something we've considered, and the FedCom's considered it as well. Of course, Pryde's faction has the better position, logistically; there are enough people willing to either feed her supplies or vouch for her to the ones who can." Her smile was classic Black Widow. "Which is good, considering that the other Clans are beginning to make moves against the Falcons' holdings in the Clan Homeworlds. No more reinforcements or resupply from there, for the Falcons in the 'Sphere..."

"And the news keeps getting better," intoned Juliette von Strang as she entered the room, shucking her long black coat to reveal her tightly fitting cooling suit and gunbelt. Her tall, blond bodyguard took a position near the door where he could observe the room. "Galaxy-Commander Roshak on Toland was just assassinated, and two of his subordinate Star-Colonels died in attempting to replace him. Fortunately for the human race, the victor, Victoria Crichell, is even more moronic than the average Crusader. Good morning: I would have been earlier, but I was delayed by an inteligence briefing. Harley," she nodded to her ... friend? Then she glanced over at Natasha. "Kerensky," she stated flatly, then moved on to look at the other Colonel in the room. "I don't know you."

"Colonel Amanda Sky, First Star Fangs," Amanda introduced herself, "You'd be Juliette Von Strang, correct?" She paused for a moment as Juliette's comment about Victoria Crichell sunk in fully.

"A moron in charge... Oh boy..." She sighed. "We'll need to keep an eye on this Victoria Crichell. That saying about a master fearing a novice exists for a reason, after all." She glanced at Dinah. "But that's for later," she added, smiling again. "For now, we've got a check ride to do."

"Juliette, you came! Thank you so much!" Dinah jogged over and gave Juliette a quick hug, then grabbed her neurohelmet off the table and slung her Camelbak over her shoulder. Dinah tucked her helmet under her arm and smiled brightly. "Ready?"

Taylor's voice came over the Ready-Room speakers. "Harley, Odds-On, Amanda, Juliette, Natasha; I'm ready when you all are. Harley, Odds-On, you've got the run of the LZs for your check-ride."

Juliette smiled, patting Dinah on the shoulder. "It seems our Star-Colonel is chipper and rested from her little vacation in the Barony. Let's go show her how you handle an actual 'Mech, rather than that little Tanker tinker toy you've been running through the sims..."

Dinah chuckled at Juliette. "Hey, don't knock it too hard; it was a question about you and Elias Crichell that got me my Jenner-IIC."

"And I maintain you should have held out for something with a little heft," countered Juliette, before nodding to the girls neurohelmet. "Come on: let's get you hooked up."

"I'm ready," Amanda replied, picking up her neurohelmet and tucking it under her arm. "Lead the way."

Natasha stood and grabbed her own neurohelmet off the table. "I'm looking forward to it."

Dinah smirked and gestured toward the door. "After you, Miss Natasha. Age before Beauty, after all."

"Don't worry, Julie; I have a Mackie slotted for the kid," Harley remarked. "So, kiddo, time for baby to take her first steps."

Dinah and the others made their way into the hangar, and she quickly slid into the cockpit of the Chameleon she was to pilot. "We transferred your security-settings from your Jenner to the Cool-Meleon here, Marathon," one of the attending Mechtechs said. "We also, just so you know, cut two of the Freezers out of the cooling-loop on the Boss' orders; the Cool-Meleon ain't gonna run all that cool." Dinah waited for Harley to strap herself into the backseat, then closed and sealed the cockpit, and began the startup sequence.

"My daddy ran whiskey in a big-block Dodge; he bought it at an auction at the Masons'-Lodge..."

Dinah responded to the security-prompt, completing the lyric from Steve Earle's song Copperhead Road. "Him and my uncle tore that engine down, and I still remember that rumblin' sound."

"Sometimes into Asheville, sometimes Memphis-town; the Revenuers chased him but they couldn't run him down..."

Dinah answered the second prompt, completing the lyric from Robert Mitchum's song Thunder Road. "Each time they thought they had him, his engine would explode, he'd go by like they were standing still on Thunder Road."

"Harley's Song," was the third-and-final security-prompt.

"Is The Little-Old Lady from Pasadena."

"Reactor, Online. Sensors, Online. Weapons, Online. All Systems, Nominal."

Amanda had suppressed a chuckle at the girl's cheek, shaking her head in amusement, before heading back out to Tergen. She put her neurohelmet on, turning her head side-to-side to test that the aftermarket neck articulation ring was working properly, before securing it and climbing up into the Phoenix Hawk LAM, and initiating startup; once that was complete, she leaned back in the command couch. "All right, I'm ready to move out," she reported, spotting Taylor on the tarmac and making Tergen wave a hand actuator.

Taylor lifted her battle-clawed left hand to wave at Colonel Sky, then leapt upward on her suit's jump-jets to land atop the shoulder of the black-and-crimson Dire Wolf that thumped heavily out of the hangar. A few moments later, Juliette's jet-black Devastator walked out of another hangar. "Everyone's ready?" Taylor asked.

"Ready!" chirped Dinah over the radio.

...

Dinah's hands rested lightly on the controls of the 'Mech as she glanced around the cockpit, familiarizing herself with the layout and the differences between it and the layout of her Jenner.

"Everyone's ready?" Taylor asked, and Dinah responded affirmatively.

Harley smiled from her seat. "Alright, then; your check-ride begins... now. Take us out onto the tarmac."

Dinah nodded sharply, her expression now all-business. "Hangar-Crew, this is Marathon, requesting clearance to taxi in Chameleon 'Cool-Meleon', for check-ride."

The Chief-MechTech on-duty keyed his radio. "Roger that, Marathon; hold position for a moment while that mmaintenance-cart clears out of your path." The cart, loaded with tools for Tech a Tech who'd been servicing a Quasit one bay over, moved out of the way. "Marathon, you are cleared to taxi at this time."

"Roger; Marathon, taxiing now." She slid the throttle forward to a slow walk and the Chameleon stepped out of the Mech-bay; Dinah turned to her right and walked the 'Mech out of the hangar.

"Good job, Dinah," Harley said. "You're doing fine. Next, just follow the nav-markers, at a walk." She put a series of waypoints onto the Battlemech's map.

"Alright, Harley." Dinah throttled forward and started toward the first marker with the others following. The route lead away from the hangars and toward the southern portion of the base.

As the column moved out, Harley glanced over at Juliette's 'Mech. "How's your Devastator running, Julie?"

Juliette laughed. "It's running smoother than hundred-year-old brandy, Harley, aside from a little sluggishness in the right-shoulder actuator; those mechanical madmen you loaned to the Legion do good work."

"Fuck that, Julie: we'll take that chunker apart again ASAP and lock that shoulder down: I ain't having sloppy repairs like that on my record!"

"It's perfectly serviceable ..."

"Girl, don't tell me how to fix a 'mech and I won't tell you how to build a gallows."

"... fair."

Once they'd reached the fifth waypoint, the trail ended and Dinah slowed, then stopped. Dinah wiped a bead of sweat off her neck and said, "We've reached the fifth nav-marker, Harley."

"Go sensors-active, and call out IDs, bearings and ranges, please?"

Dinah flipped the switch to go from passive-sensors to active-, and five contacts appeared on the monitor. "Contact One: Mad Cat-B, bearing-350, range 300 meters. Contacts Two- and Three: Loki-Prime and Thor-Prime, bearing-357 and bearing-359; range to both is 250 meters. Contact Four: Uller-C, bearing-000, range 400 meters. Contact Five: Uller-Prime, bearing-020, range 350 meters."

Harley grinned. "Engage at your discretion, but keep your speed below a run."

"Really?"

"All yours, Princess."

Dinah swung the customized Battlemech's ER-Large Laser to target the Thor-Prime and squeezed the trigger as she started moving toward it; the azure beam lanced out and struck the metal sheet under the hologram, and the computer registered it as having taken a hit to the cockpit. She brought the trio of Medium Lasers up as she turned, and ripple-fired them at the Loki, hitting the 'Left Leg' and 'Left Arm'. Dinah felt the rush of heat in the cockpit and started moving her 'Mech laterally as if trying to keep on its damaged side, and let her heat dissipate slightly before spearing the target with the ER-Large again, nominally-crippling its left leg. A quick torso-twist brought her next target into her sights, and Dinah fired, missing one of the Ullers with the pair of Small Pulse-Lasers that had replaced Cool-Meleon's original SLs and MGs, but striking it solidly with all three Medium Lasers. The second Uller 'died' to the ERLL and a nominal hit to the cockpit, and Dinah slowed, then stopped, as she took careful aim at the final target, the Mad Cat. Dinah ripple-fired her two SPLs into the target's hips, paused, fired the three MLs one after another into the holographic Omnimech's LRM-10, paused, and then fired the ERLL into its cockpit.

Dinah was sweating, but her smile was ear-to-ear as she reported, "Targets are Neutralized, Harley. How'd I do?"

Harley chuckled. "Not bad at all, for a nugget. How about we see how you handle moving targets now?"

Five targets, similar plate-under-hologram constructs to the static targets, emerged and moved across the field; one bore the image of a Von Luckner-K70 heavy-tank, two were representing a brace of Chevaliers, a fourth target registered as a Saladin hovertank, and the last was a tiny, darting Savannah Master.

Dinah nodded and focused. "Engaging." The Saladin took two Medium Lasers and one of the SPLs in its side as it turned, and Dinah moved past it to burn one of the Chevaliers down with the other ML and SPL; the second Chevalier dodged aside and went evasive, dodging wildly, but ultimately fell to a lucky hit to the 'wheels' with an ML, and a broadside through-and-through with the ERLL. Dinah torso-twisted and speared the Savannah Master with two of the MLs as it passed, then faced the nominal Von Luckner, watching her heat-gauge slowly descending from the upper-yellow.

"Can I take it up to a run for this last target, Harley?"

"Sure."

Dinah grinned as savagely as the ten-year-old girl could; as she started forward at a run, she was humming a tune to take her mind off the sweltering heat in the cockpit, and the lyrics were running through her mind...

They drove the hottest hot rods that were ever raced in years...

Dinah lashed out at the target with the ERLL and scored a glancing-hit on the turret-roof, then juked to her left as if moving out of the line-of-fire of the tank's PPC and AC/10.

You could hear'em burnin' rubber as they shifted through the gears...

Dinah ripple-fired all three Medium Lasers and was rewarded with a single miss and two solid hits to the LRM-10 rack; she and her target began to circle one another...

They must have lost their senses in that trail of smoke and flame...

Dinah cut loose with the SPLs, saw one hit the turret-roof and the other miss, then kept her fingers off the triggers long-enough to let the heat fall back into the green...

'Cos you had to be a maniac to play that crazy game...

Dinah suddenly turned into the target's path and charged, juking slightly back-and-forth as if to spoil an enemy gunner's aim, as the range decreased...

Chicken! Chicken!

Dinah Alcott slammed a full Alpha-Strike into her target, disabling it; she reached for the throttle and slowed, jogging past the slagged target.

The winner of the game would holler, "Chicken!"

"All targets destroyed, Harley."

"Good. Very good. Well done, kiddo. I think that's enough fun for today, however. Take us back into the Mechbay and we'll go over the BattleROMs."

"Roger that, Harley." Dinah safed the weapons and took the 'Mech back to the hangar at a steady jog. Once they'd arrived, Dinah parked Cool-Meleon in its assigned bay and shut it down. She disconnected the leads and unstrapped herself from the command-couch, unzipped her cooling-vest, then popped the canopy open, took off her neurohelmet, and felt the hangar's air-conditioning blowing on her from above as she climbed out of the cockpit.

"Oh, that feels good..." Dinah purred, reaching up to take her hair out of its bun.

"Preaching to the choir, I'd imagine," commented Taylor as she stepped onto the catwalk from her perch atop Widowmaker and opened her armor's faceplate. "The showers are just-off the Ready-Room, and we keep a good stock of toiletries if you need them; I'll see you in the Ready-Room for the Assessment and Debrief. Dunno if you heard that one explosion earlier, but my boyfriend found some Unexploded Ordnance while testing a prototype Battle-Armor, so I've got to see to that for a moment."

Harley rolled her eyes. "Nothing's ever boring on this damned planet is it? Should have asked for more money..."

Taylor chuckled. "Camp Kerensky used to belong to the United States Navy, as Naval Air Station Brockton Bay, until it was decommissioned in 1956, and apparently that particular area, a newly-purchased section designated Landing-Zone Cassowary, wasn't swept for UXO as thoroughly as it should have been. He ran across the tail-section of a half-buried aerial-bomb in a two-ton suit of Battle-Armor and it detonated; blew the rear-legs of his suit to scrap and ruptured both his eardrums, sending him tumbling, but he's not seriously-injured, thankfully. I just need to go light a fire under my Engineers, is all."

"Let me know if the kid's okay," Harley replied, "I owe him one for his help on the Mackie."

"I will." Taylor closed her faceplate and headed toward the Engineers' area.

Dinah took a long pull of Gatorade from her Camelbak, then tapped Harley on the side with a knuckle. "98.4727% chance Kid Win's fully-recovered by the end of the week." She stretched, but winced when she smelled all the sweat on her. "Pee-yew! I'd better go shower."

Harley lightly bopped Dinah on the head. "Don't abuse your powers there, kiddo. You almost killed yourself with them, remember?"

"Point. But Kid Win's a friend, so I figured it was worth it." Dinah smiled. "How long do you think it'll take to have the BattleROMs ready to view?" She started to walk toward the door for the corridor that lead to the Ready-Room and the showers, when Juliette spoke up.

"Not long at all, I'd imagine."

...

A half-hour later everyone gathered in the Ready-Room, showered and changed, for the Debrief. Taylor brought the holotank online. "Here are Odds-On's BattleROMs; I'm not a Mechwarrior myself, so I defer to the expertise of those of you who are."

"Pretty dang good for a rookie," Amanda replied, smiling, "I did worse on my check ride, and I was already certified on Industrialmechs before I began actual Mechwarrior training."

Harley smiled and looked at the girl. "I know potential when I see it..."

Natasha watched the BattleROMs play, keeping a close eye on the accuracy and heat-gauge displayed. "I stand by what I said earlier; she's got a great deal of potential, and I'm looking forward to seeing her grow into it. She moved smoothly, her accuracy was excellent for her current level of training, and the only thing I can see that might need more improvement than the others, is her heat-management; she was pushing it very-close to the red in a few places. If she were eight years older and this were back in the 3020's, I'd have her in the Black Widow Company in a Solaris-VII minute."

Harley nodded. "Agreed. You can teach heat discipline, but she's got a good eye and is a smooth pilot naturally. Those are as much talents as skills. Though I'm interested in how she can safely use her power in the cockpit to increase her combat effectiveness..." She smiled at the girl. "We're going to be running tests over the next few weeks. Though since they're your abilities, you're clearly going to have a better understanding of them."

Dinah, who'd been blushing at all the praise, smiled from ear-to-ear at Harley's words and nodded. "Roger that, Harley; looking forward to it! So, this means I can take my Jenner for a spin now?"

"No." Harley snapped. "It's cockpit is dangerously located and it is so demonically fast that I'd almost be nervous piloting that thing..." her eyes narrowed. "Dinah, I want you to tell me the odds of you killing or seriously injuring yourself or others if you took that thing out now."

Dinah answered, and the answer made her go pale. "98- Holy Cats... 98.9517% chance that if I took the Jenner out to practice today, that I or someone else would be either seriously-injured or killed outright." The girl's breathing was a bit shallow, and her voice soft and a bit shakey. "Point taken, Harley. Point taken all the way to the hilt. Can I trouble you to let me borrow the Chameleon for a while longer? I still want to practice some more."

Harley pulled the small girl into a tight hug. "And that's why I'm here, sweetie. Of course you can take out the Chameleon. It's what it's there for... just make sure you have a certified pilot running shotgun, alright?"

Juliette studied the data carefully, then nodded. "Considering her limited training? Competent and shows promise."

Dinah started to say something, but paused. Then she started to speak again, and paused again. She blushed, then sighed and spoke. "In the interest of being honest, today wasn't my first time at the controls of a real Battlemech. It was my second. The other day I bummed a ride to Chicken Walker's Barbecue in Harlech with some of the Dragoons, and one of the Choppers, Huntress, was there, too. We started talking, and I had something she'd loaned me after those Neo-Nazis wrecked my house, that I wanted to give back to her." Dinah hung her head, nervous. "Huntress volunteered to give me a ride back to Camp Kerensky, so that the Dragoons I'd rode out there with could go do their own thing. She put me in the front-seat of her 'Mech and said she'd let me pilot, and she'd keep her hands on the second set of controls in case I messed up, but she kinda... fell asleep, part-way home, and I kinda... soloed her Battlemaster back to Camp Kerensky. I was really, really careful, though; I didn't step on anything or break anything, and I woke her up when we got back to Camp... Please don't be mad?"

Harley's eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm not angry with you, pumpkin. With Huntress however, I'm absolutely livid. Letting you take a couple steps and walking you through it? I'd be a bit annoyed but let it pass, even though I did call dibs. Falling asleep at the controls and forcing you to walk a Mech through a populated urban area..."

She took a deep breath. "I'm going to be reviewing the recordings and punishing her for this. What if you'd accidently stepped on something? On someone?"

Dinah took in a deep breath, then squared her shoulders and slid her neurohelmet across the table toward Harley. She was very-visibly trying to act with a maturity beyond her ten years of age. "If I'm gonna be a Chopper someday, I've got to own my screw-ups and take my lumps like a Chopper. Part of the blame here's on me, too, Colonel; I could've tried waking Huntress up when I first realized she'd fallen asleep, but I didn't. We were already on the very-edge of the city, where there weren't a lot of people or buildings around, and I thought that if I was careful, that I could get us both back to Camp Kerensky safely." There were tears forming in Dinah Alcott's eyes, but she did her best to keep up a strong face. "I screwed up."

Amanda winced at hearing about the incident in question, and quietly stepped back. It wasn't her place to decide any punishments here.

Taylor took a step back, standing next to Amanda. "Never a dull moment, quiaff?" She said quietly. "I do not envy Anya 'Huntress' Cooper, when Harley gets her hands on her..."

Indeed not," Amanda replied, shaking her head slightly. "And nor do I. It was extraordinarily reckless of her to do that." She paused for a brief moment. "I also have to wonder how she fell asleep like that; I'd be watching the trainee like a hawk, especially if it was my ride."

"As do I," Harley growled. "But that is a problem for later. As for you, little lady... I want you to watch an instructional video on why we are careful where we step..." She glanced to Amanda. "You probably know the one." Dinah nodded sharply, too ashamed of herself to speak.

"The only reasons I can think of," Taylor said to Amanda, "are that she was either that confident of Odds-On's skill, which is frankly about as likely as a pacifist Smoke-Jaguar; she was seriously sleep-deprived; or her sleep was chemically-induced..."

"I'm going to order a toxicology report on her ASAP... and Dinah? I'm going to be giving you a battery of questions once we know what's going on. We need to figure this out."

Amanda nodded to Harley; she did indeed know the one that was being referenced. She'd watched it herself, back when she was first getting qualified on Industrialmechs. A few of her people - specifically, the dropship crews her father had hired before passing away - had wanted to force her to watch it again back when the Star Fangs were starting up, but had subsided when she'd proven she didn't need it.

"Could potentially be a crash after a stimulant wore off, but that leads back to sleep deprivation," Amanda added to Taylor's list of possible reasons.

"We're very, very strict about stimulants," Harley replied matter of factly, "We tend to be a bit of a rehabilitory unit at times. I'll give a chance to people whom most wouldn't look twice at as long as I think they're sincere, still have something to offer, and honestly want to give it. In exchange, I'm very strict with some things. Stim use is one of them... so I doubt she'd be so stupid as to cross that line."

Natasha tapped something into her datapad. "Odds-On, if you want to get it out of the way, the vid is being queued-up on the player in the next room." Dinah nodded mutely and stepped out. The Black Widow put her datapad away and met Harley's eyes. "I queued-up the Clanner version of the video; it has certain scenes re-done in slow-motion, and others added at the end using cadavers, to truly drive the point home."

The group heard the sound of the video starting in the next room, the cheesy synthesized 'music' that seemed endemic to every professional-instruction video and PSA in history playing, and then the sound of a Battlemech stomping along, a wet crunch, and a quiet whimper...

That Guy. Yes, That Guy.

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S0ngD0g13

Oct 14, 2019

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S0ngD0g13

Oct 27, 2019

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#3,102

"FOB Deadwood, this is Wolf Dragoons 1st Omnimech Star; we are inbound your perimeter with convoy, ETA one-zero mikes, over."

"Roger, 1st Star; authenticate Rebel-Seven-Yankee."

"1st Star authenticates Taurian-Five-Reaper. Your Parrot-gear bent again, Hickok?" Jack Black listened to the byplay between the radar-operator at the base ahead of them and the Star-Commander from the cockpit of his Summoner-B, and shook his head with a rueful chuckle.

"The fuckin' Cueballs keep trying to spoof the IFFs, so it's Parrots and Verbal-Challenges for now. We've got you on our scopes, and you're under our umbrella."

Jack kept one eye on his displays as the convoy approached the gate. He heard Leslie key up. "Is there any outbound traffic we need to escort?"

"Negative, Big-Iron, no outbound traffic at this time. I take it that you're planning on doing a rhubarb?"

"Affirmative, Hickok; as Rommel used to say, 'In the absence of orders, go find something and kill it'."

"Good hunting, then. Call us if you need support or salvage-pickup. Deadwood out."

...

Two hours later and several miles deeper into Manchuria, Jack was bored; the Star hadn't seen any CUI activity. "Big-Iron, this is Rat-Pack; scopes clean. I don't think the Cueballs are gonna bite; maybe we should RTB."

Leslie responded with a giggle and said, "Neg, Rat-Pack, let's push a little further-on; I've got a good feeling in my gut."

"You sure it isn't just gas, Leslie? This place is so damned quiet..."

"Airborne Contacts, inbound at Angels-Eight from bearing 179; warbook IDs them as JH-7Bs. Looks like a flight of Flounders."

Jack's Star-mate and fellow Mannheim-veteran, Anna 'Squatch' Deaver, smoothly tracked the incoming jets and loosed a volley from her Highlander-IIC's LRM-20; the few Chinese jets that hadn't been shot down by the missiles were swatted out of the sky by LRMs from the others. Squatch snorted over the comms. "Fuck a flight o' Flounders."

"More contacts inbound from bearing 159, ground-low and a lot of them," said Martin Robbins. "Lead contacts in range to identify... Shit!" The Star was rocked by fire as a double-flight of WZ-10 attack-helicopters that had been flying sensors-cold and hugging the terrain went active and popped up above the crest of a ridge to launch their HJ-10 antitank-missiles. The 'Mechs weathered the fusilade and charged forward, spreading out as they ascended the ridge after the helicopters.

Jack looked down at the approaching column of Chinese tanks and immediately started moving backward, even as Leslie keyed her radio to call for support. As he fell back, he lobbed LRMs over the ridge. "Big-Iron, I saw at least a full battalion's-worth of tanks, and there are Type-96Cs among them!"

The CUI had been fielding in the weeks prior, a Tinker-derived laser with a yield ten-percent higher than an Inner-Sphere Large-Laser; at first in the form of a towed AT-gun, and more recently as the 'Type-96C', a casemate-type Tank-Destroyer/Assault-Gun built on the Type-96 Main Battle-Tank chassis. The laser was powerful-enough to one-shot most armored personnel-carriers and infantry fighting-vehicles that hadn't had been refitted with IS armor or Tinker-derived laser-resistant paint; an Abrams or Challenger without the refits could withstand a single hit from the lasers, but only one and not without significant downtime afterward for repairs. The Dragoons' Mechwarriors had learned by hard experience to respect those lasers, because even their mounts weren't immune to them. Thankfully for the Mechwarriors, the CUI lasers were, while powerful, also significantly heavier and less energy- and heat-efficient than proper LLs.

Squatch and Freddie 'Whelp' Talbot retreated the slowest, covering the Star's fighting-withdrawal. The pair alternated in a 'talking-guns' pattern, Squatch putting out a shot from her Highlander's Gauss Rifle, and then Whelp putting his Summoner-Prime's ERPPC to use. Rat-Pack lobbed volley after volley of LRMs at the tanks, while Texas-Red plied his LB/5X autocannons to keep the helicopters off of them.

Big-Iron joined Squatch and Whelp, firing her Summoner-A's Gauss Rifle and Large Pulse-Laser at the tanks as they crested the ridge. "Deadwood, Deadwood, this is Big-Iron; engaged closely with CUI armor- and mechanized-infantry column fifteen miles east of Phase-Line Canadian! Estimate enemy to be battalion-strength at-minimum, with rotary-wing assets in play!"

"Big-Iron, this is Sledgehammer-Actual," came the response from the artillery unit at Deadwood, "We cannot provide support; you've gone outside our howitzers' range."

"Big-Iron, Big-Iron, this is Volunteer-Actual; you are within our range; give us coordinates and we'll put shots on your targets."

Leslie keyed her radio and started talking. "Fire-Mission, Grid Golf-Tango-one-three-Sierra Delta-Hotel-six-eight-Mike; Armor in the open! I will adjust!"

"Big-Iron, all we needed was a grid-square; Greyhounds Away, Time to Splash five-five seconds."

Precisely fifty-five seconds later, four Tomahawk Block-V cruise-missiles slammed home into the Chinese tanks, and Star-Commander Leslie Jewel 'Big-Iron' Barrett crowed with delight. "Steel on-target, Volunteer-Actual! Good shooting; your beers are on us! Dragoons, let's get at'em! Forward!"

Five 'Mechs rushed forward, their weapons spitting destruction at their foes. Over the comms, the Wolf Dragoons heard Volunteer-Actual chuckling. "Happy to help, Dragoons; if you ever get down to the coast or end up in Pearl Harbor, those brews are payable to the crew of USS Greeneville."

That Guy. Yes, That Guy.

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#3,125

Taylor snugged herself into Chris' prototype Battle-Armor and began the startup sequence. Once the Mastiff was operational, she watched as Billie Bonnie from Kilo Point climbed into the newly-built second set of Mastiff BA; both were armed and loaded, Taylor's with a Mk.-19 Grenade-Launcher and Bonnie's with a .50-caliber GAU-19B rotary-HMG (a loadout Billie Bonnie referred to as the 'Hog-Dog'). The pair were accompanying Juliet BA-Point, taking the places of the two troopers who'd replaced Nick Tillman and Jane Beck after Von Strang's World.

The Dragoons had taken on a last-minute contract from Langley to extract a CIA mole from a North-Korean Biowarfare-Research facility in the Rangrim Mountains; to that end, Juliet Point, Taylor, and Bonnie, climbed onto a Longhaul and took off for the Pacific. Taylor sat astride her strapped-down suit of borrowed BA in a set of fatigues and gave the group their briefing, projecting maps and images onto the cargo-plane's bulkhead. "Alice, Kurt, Lacey, Billie, here's the situation: This is a map of the Rangrim Mountains, in North Korea." She pointed to a particular area of the range near the Chinese border. "This is our target's general area. Somewhere in this fifteen-square-mile area, is a North-Korean facility devoted to biological-warfare research. Langley has a mole inside there, but the word that the Farm-Boys last had indicated that the CUI also have a man on the inside, and that the administrators of the facility are looking really hard at going over to Beijing's side now that the last Kim's kaput."

Taylor pulled up several closer images of a fenced-in compound and a dossier-photo. "Objective Able: Locate this man, Cho Seung-Giap, and extract him from the facility if at all possible. Objective Baker: Neutralize the Facility; slag every computer, burn every piece of paper, kill every living thing inside the compound. Researchers, Test-Subjects, everyone and everything." Taylor brought the general map up once more and pointed to the area east of the target-area. "Insertion will be by Low-Altitude Parachute-Extraction System from the Longhaul here, at the eastern end of the TZ. Once our objectives are completed, we'll be extracted from the TZ here, on the southern tip, either via a US Marine Corps Super-Stallion to the USS Makin Island or a US Army Chinook to USAG-Humphreys south of the 38th Parallel. Our one trump-card is that there's a pair of B-2s on standby for us, callsigns 'White Knight' and 'Phantom', along with the White Roses if we need them, but remember, this is supposed to be a quiet mission, so airstrikes are the option of last-resort. If we have to play the trump-card our callsign is 'Backdoor', by the way." Taylor frowned slightly and continued. "According to the intelligence gathered by Cho, security for the facility is handled by a company of armor, mostly Type-63A Amphibious Light-Tanks and M1992 Chuch'e-Po SPGs, and a company of infantry from the KPASOF, the Korean Peoples' Army Special-Operations Forces. Let me reiterate, there will be no salvaging; destroy it all."

...

"Three minutes to Drop!" shouted the Loadmaster several hours later. The Dragoons stepped onto the waiting tank-pallet in their armor and crouched while breakaway-straps were used to secure them in place. The troopers were frankly relieved to be so close to the drop-zone, because their plane had been flying Nap-of-the-Earth for an hour prior, so as to avoid North-Korean air-defense radar, and the constant motion of the Longhaul hugging the contours of the terrain had not done any favors to the troopers' stomachs. "One minute!"

The ramp lowered, as did the landing-gear, and the drogue-chute was released. Mere moments later, the extraction-chutes deployed and jerked the pallet and its cargo of Dragoons out the back of the Longhaul; the pallet bounced and skidded as the plane climbed away and turned back to head home. Once the pallet had stopped moving, the Dragoons freed themselves from the straps and started picking their way toward the facility...

The sound of a human spine breaking is often described, depending on the method used to break it, as either like dry twigs snapping or like a somewhat-muffled pistol-shot; the sound of the first sentry's neck breaking when Alice Walker killed him was lost in the crunching impact of her clubbing him in the base of the skull with her suit's laser; the three bipedal members of the composite-Point entered the base as-quietly as three one-ton Battle-Armor troopers could, searching for their VIP. "Dragoon-Actual, Juliet-Actual; I have the VIP in-sight. Juliet-Two and Juliet-Three are moving to start the 'smash' portion of this smash-and-grab."

"Dragoon-Actual rogers your last, Juliet-Actual; scopes are clear on our end."

"Dragoon-Actual, Kilo-Five; I have eyes on two squads of foot-mobiles in Chinese gear, coming in from the west. Their point-man just greased two Nork sentries with a suppressed SMG and they're beating feet toward the main building. Wait one, they're stopping... Fuck!"

The silence was shattered by a snarl of gunfire, first Chinese QBZ-91 assault-rifles and then the louder roaring of Billie Bonnie's GAU-19. "Kilo-Five! Kilo-Five, SITREP!"

"They made me somehow! It's a Yangban team; the .50-cal is ineffective and they have me pinned with a Blaster!"

Taylor snarled and broke from her position overlooking the compound, tracing a passing burst of grenades across a clump of Korean infantrymen as she rushed to link up with Bonnie. "Juliet-Actual, grab the VIP and pull back to the east; Juliets- Three and -Two, burn and run. Kilo-Five, fall back toward my position; I'll meet you halfway!" She saw Bonnie's suit ahead and brought the Mk.-19 around to target forward. "Kilo-Five, mark the Capes!"

"On my burst!" A line of tracers licked out and struck hexagonal energy-shields that appeared in front of a stocky man, then a second burst slashed over a lean man behind him who ducked with preternatural speed; the Blaster was apparent without being marked, lashing up the slope with streaks of coherent light.

Taylor hurled herself down the slope and pounced, bringing the full two tons of her Battle-Armor down on the Blaster's chest from the side, then hurled a burst of 40mm grenades at the shielder right as Bonnie fired at him from the other side. The shields came up to defend against the grenades, but the Chinese Cape apparently could only shield in one direction, and the fifty-caliber rounds, a mix of Armor-Piercing Incendiary, and API-Tracers, ended him. The pair of Mastiffs double-teamed the third Cape and the other soldiers with their turrets and their belly-mounted Firedrake Needlers. Behind them, Taylor and Billie could hear shouting, the snapping of lasers and the crackle of gunfire. "Juliet-Actual, is the VIP clear?!"

"We're clear, Dragoon-Actual, but the garrison's madder than a kicked anthill!"

Taylor changed frequencies and radioed in the prearranged code-phrase, "Breaker-Breaker, Break-Nineteen for the White Knight; I could use someone to run my front-door, there's bears as thick as bugs on a bumper back here, come on."

A deep, drawling voice responded over the radio with a wheezy chuckle. "Ten-Four, Backdoor; put the pedal to the metal and let it roar. This is one White Knight, and I'll be your front-door."

"Don't you worry; Big Joe and 'Phantom 309' have your backdoor, Backdoor. You're in the rocking-chair now."

Taylor grinned. "Ten-Four, good buddies; we're southbound and hammer-down. Dragoons, exfil south, on the double!"

...

The Dragoons fell back to the south, fighting every step of the way. It was a three-way firestorm of violence as the Chinese fought the Dragoons and Koreans, the Koreans fought the Dragoons and Chinese, and the Dragoons shot everything that wasn't a Dragoons Battle-Armor suit or Cho Seung-Giap to absolute doll-rags. And all the while the KPA biowarfare-research compound and garrison burned after having been subjected to a carpet-bombing by two B-2 Spirit bombers.

The Dragoons were digging in at their extraction-point when their ride arrived. A blacked-out Chinook crested a hill and swung down to make the pick-up, while the remaining enemies were suppressed by its escorts, a pair of...

"Comanches! That was a pair of RAH-66 Comanches, Dragoon-Actual!" Billie Bonnie shouted as they scrambled up the ramp.

The Crew-Chief and Loadmaster chuckled. "Yup, those were RAH-66s, but uh, y'all never saw Cochise and Quanah, ya dig? The Nightstalkers don't like to advertise that that project didn't die back in '04. Oh, and thank you all for flying Nightstalker Airlines."

Taylor climbed out of her suit and donned fatigues. "Before we get settled-in for our flight, I have a question for our VIP. The briefing-packet we were given was a bit sparse on details of just what kind of biological-warfare research was going on back there."

Cho Seung-Giap ran a hand through his thinning hair. "The Korean Peoples' Army were experimenting with the idea of implanted powers; cloning a Corona Pollentia, implanting it, and then artificially inducing a Trigger-Event."

Taylor winced, and Kurt asked, "Do I want to know whose Pollentias they were trying to clone?"

"Jeremy 'Jamie' Rinke and Riley Grace Davis. Better-known as Nilbog and Bonesaw."

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The 1st New Hampshire Light Horse Dropships, their IFFs changed to reflect their actual names and not the cover-names they'd used during the operation to Nashira, docked to the collars on the DCS Kyushu, to ride back to Outreach. While the majority of the mercenaries, both the original Earth-Bet teenagers and the Inner-Sphere natives they'd hired along the way, were looking forward to relaxing for a while, Katya was nervous; she'd been Summoned (and she could hear the capital-letter-) to meet with the Coordinator, presumably for a debriefing. She retired to her quarters aboard the Light Horse's Mule-Class, the Charge at Beersheba, and cleaned off the last of the grease and oil from the mechanic-work she'd been doing, and then donned her best uniform. The 1st NH Light Horse hadn't decided on a true dress-uniform yet; they'd been more-concerned up to that point with getting ready to fight, and then fighting. Katya had had a duty-uniform created by a local tailor on one of the planets they'd stopped to resupply at after the side-operation that had netted them their two Leopards.

The tailor had taken the DCMS standard-issue desert-tan Infantry/Tanker Jumpsuit and recreated it as a two-piece (blouse and trousers-) uniform in field-grey. On the left sleeve of each uniform blouse a simplified version of the insignia of the Light Horse was stenciled in black, the letters '1st NH' over crossed cavalry sabers; the right sleeves of the enlisted-men were stenciled in black with American-style rank insignia, and officers wore their rank pinned to their collar-points. Katya pulled on an OD-green teeshirt and tucked it into her trousers before tightening her belt and pinning her silver Captain's-insignia to her blouse. She donned the blouse and then dealt with her hair, first gathering it in a tight ponytail at the back of her head and then using a trick that Michelle Kurita had taught her back on Earth-Bet with a rolled-up sock to form her hair into a bun which she secured with bobby-pins.

Katya next picked up her headgear and inspected it; the duty-headgear of her unit was a military-beret, black with a silver badge depicting crossed sabers superimposed on a point-upward lance for the tankers, olive-green with either twinned golden B's to indicate 1st Squad (Baker's Bravos) or a cast-iron heart to denote 2nd Squad (Isaac's Ironhearts); the Dropship crewmen wore navy-blue berets and the Techs and other noncombat Light-Horsemen wore rust-red berets, both of which were adorned with the 1st NH Light Horse insignia in silver. Katya brushed a speck of dust off the beret and then tucked it carefully into her belt before pulling on a pair of shined black combat boots and blousing her trousers over them. She was as ready as she'd ever be...

...

Katya stood outside the door on one of the Kyushu's grav-decks; she'd donned her beret and was running through the lessons in Combine decorum she'd learned from the ISF troops she'd been working with. When bidden to enter, she stepped smartly through the door, marched forward to the correct spot facing the Coordinator and his small entourage, and bowed deeply. "Captain Yekaterina Zhukova of the First New Hampshire Light Horse, reporting as ordered, Coordinator-sama."

Theodore Kurita looked her over, as did the Warlord of the Dieron Military District and the Commander of the Al'Nair Prefecture, the Commanding General of the Draconis Elite Strike Teams, and Ninyu Kerai Indrahar himself. "Stand at ease, please," said the Coordinator. Katya relaxed fractionally. "You and yours have done the Draconis Combine a great service, Tai-i Zhukova, have done my family a great service. You have acted with honor and courage, and the Dragon cannot fail to repay that honor in equal measure." He smiled slightly. "But you must be still be weary from your journey; would you care to take tea with me while we discuss your reward? Indrahar-san and the others can discuss the latest intelligence while we talk."

Katya knew full-well that the 'invitation' was anything but; she nodded and followed the Coordinator into a side-room, where, Wonder of All Wonders, an electric samovar perched atop a low table, along with two glasses in silver podstakanniki on a tea-tray with sugar, jam, honey, and small tea-cakes. She and Theodore sat at the table, and the one of the discreet guards stepped forward to serve the tea. Theodore began with small-talk. "I must confess that I'm not as familiar with tea in the Russian style as I am with the Japanese types, but I'm told that this one is a fair approximation of a 'Russian Caravan' blend. I do hope it's to your liking."

Katya took a sip of her tea, and smiled. "I wouldn't call it merely a 'fair' approximation, Coordinator-sama; it tastes exactly like the Russian Caravan that i'm used to. It's a taste of home for me, and I thank you for it. It brings back memories."

The Dragon smiled as well. "I'm happy to hear it, and I'll pass your approval of the blend on to my tea-master." He sipped from his glass and closed his eyes. "Tea holds many memories for me as well; one of the few times my father ever seemed to set aside his persona as the Coordinator, was over a private pot of tea with me."

Katya nodded. "My parents came to America when I was five and my elder-brother was fourteen; before that we'd lived in Saint Petersburg. My fondest memory of Russia was sitting by the samovar on my mother's knee, with the smell of tea in my nose and the sound of my father's big, rolling voice reciting Pushkin or Akhmatova or Lermontov..." Her eyes grew misty for a moment as she recited her favorite Lermontov...

"Beleyet parus odinokiy V tumane morya golubom!.. Chto ishchet on v strane dalekoy? Chto kinul on v krayu rodnom?..

Igrayut volny - veter svishchet, I machta gnetsya i skrypit... Uvy, - on schastiya ne ishchet I ne ot schastiya bezhit!

Pod nim struya svetley lazuri, Nad nim luch solntsa zolotoy...A on, myatezhnyy, prosit buri, Kak budto v buryakh yest' pokoy!"

"What poem was that?"

"It was 'the Sail', by Lermontov. In English..."

"A lonely sail is flashing white

Amdist the blue mist of the sea!...

What does it seek in foreign lands?

What did it leave behind at home?..

Waves heave, wind whistles,

The mast, it bends and creaks...

Alas, it seeks not happiness

Nor happiness does it escape!

Below, a current azure bright,

Above, a golden ray of sun...

Rebellious, it seeks out a storm

As if in storms it could find peace!"

Theodore Kurita nodded. "Hmm... 'seeks out a storm, as if in storms it could find peace...' I can see why you seem fond of Lermontov's poetry, Tai-i Zhukova. He and Katya made further conversation as they drank tea, before the conversation turned to business.

The Coordinator set his glass down and took a breath. "As I said before, you and yours have acted with honor and courage far beyond your years, and I cannot fail to repay that honor. I also cannot fail to feel somewhat ashamed for the necessity of having put you and yours, who had so little of formal training, into harm's way. That lack of training is something I can correct, however, and I would be repaying your service with disservice if I didn't do so, especially given that you have all shown that you have the spirit of true samurai. In addition to awarding each of you the Watcher of the Dragon's Eye, it is my intent to award you with daisho and a courtly rank, marking you as both samurai and members of the Inner-Sphere nobility. As well, I intend to sponsor your unit to Sun Zhang and upon your graduation supply you with vehicles and equipment of better quality than your current inventory."

Katya's eyes widened slightly. "Noble titles? Forgive me, please, but I had heard that the Draconis Combine was historically... less than fond... of sellswords. Would ennobling us not cause friction?"

The Dragon nodded slightly. "It might, if it's not phrased properly. The Combine does have a less-than-stellar history with ronin, but there are other types of masterless warriors; are you familiar with the shugyōsha? I believe that the English equivalent would be a 'Knight-Errant'. As well, entitling you as Shugyōsha sets a precedent by which some of that lingering stigma about mercenaries might be eased."

Katya nodded, following his logic. She paused. "Sun Zhang is a military-academy, akin to West Point or Annapolis; graduates are commissioned as officers. It's a college-level school, and with respect, Coordinator-sama, none of my core-group of troops from Earth-Bet, myself included, have even graduated from high school. As well, I highly doubt that a Twenty-First-Century education would compare to its Thirty-First-Century equivalent."

"This is true."

"May I offer a suggestion?"

"Yes, of course."

Katya drew a centering breath. "At the same time we came to receive the original offer from the Black Dragon Society, we had also just been offered a garrison contract from Baroness Von Strang on her homeworld; to my mind, a quiet garrison contract on a comparative backwater like Von Strang's World would provide those of the First New Hampshire Light Horse who lack the benefit of an Inner-Sphere education ample time to correct that lack, if the contract is still available."

Theodore nodded. "Your reasoning is sound; I had given thought toward your troops' education as well, though I was more-inclined toward providing you with tutors and accommodations on Luthien, where I could be assured of finding the best available to round-out your knowledge. If, of course, you are amenable to that?"

Katya knew that Theodore's 'question' about her amenability toward studying on Luthien, was no more a question than his 'invitation' to take tea with him had been an invitation in truth. She nodded. "We would be quite amenable, Coordinator-sama, and grateful for your hospitality." She schooled her features. "There is one thing that I had hoped to ask about, while we're discussing matters of honor; it's something I feel that my own honor requires of me."

"By all means, please, ask."

"I understand that the men of the Internal Security Forces assigned to my unit were only nominally members of my command, that their status as Light-Horsemen was a cover, at least initially. But during the course of our operation, I and the others grew to know them, to learn from them and to respect them not-merely as soldiers but as people; if you were to ask any member of the First New Hampshire Light Horse, they would say that those ISF troops who fought with us are just as much Light-Horsemen as any of us." She chuckled ruefully. "Since they were on our muster-rolls, nominally- or no-, they were also drawing pay as Light-Horsemen, as one more little way of us soaking the Black Dragons. If it's possible, I'd like to ask for the names and addresses of the next-of-kin for the troops who fell, so I can send letters and the pay that was due them to their family. It's not by any means enough to make up the loss, but I'd feel like I wasn't doing right by them if I didn't offer my condolences and send them the money. They were Light-Horsemen, part of my unit and just as much family to me as any of the others who followed me from Earth-Bet."

"I'll have Indrahar get you the information, Tai-i Zhukova. It speaks well of you that you'd think of them so..."

...

When Katya returned to the Light Horse Dropships, she went immediately to the imtercomm panel and keyed the mic. "Attention, Light-Horsemen, this is Katya; formation aboard the Charge at Beersheba in twenty minutes, All-Hands. I've got word from the Coordinator."

When the 1st NH Light Horse had gathered, Katya looked her troops over. "Alright, Light-Horsemen; like I said, I've got word. Now, keep this quiet for now, since the Coordinator hasn't made this public yet. He's going to go public with it on Earth-Bet."

"What's our take?" Isaac Meadows called out.

Katya smiled a little. "Noble titles including swords. Stock in Luthien Armorworks and Scarborough Manufacturing. The Coordinator setting the high-schoolers among us up with tutors on Luthien and then sponsoring the whole unit to Sun Zhang. When we graduate from SZMA, he's setting us up with frontline gear and vehicles. That's the good news."

"And the not-so-good?" asked Simon.

Katya shook her head. "Sun Zhang has schools for Mechwarriors, Battle-Armor, and ASF-pilots, but no Tank-School; the tankers will be going through Sun Zhang as Mechwarriors. But don't you think, even for a minute, Tread-Heads, that we won't be able to keep our hands in the game; the Coordinator told me he's planning on starting up tankery as an intercollegiate competition and a way to bolster the local militias' armor-formations, and guess who's gonna be at the front of the line to try out for the Sun Zhang Mechwarrior Academy's team!"

Katya grinned. "We'll be getting dress-uniforms on Outreach; in the meantime I want you all to keep a service-uniform cleaned and pressed, a pair of boots shined, and a beret ready to go. I'm going to talk to our ISF troops and see to getting them to show us the right way to not embarrass ourselves in front of the Coordinator. For now, I want Baker and Isaac to stay behind; the rest of you, fall out." After the others left, her expression fell. She withdrew a notebook from her cargo-pocket. "These are the names and addresses of the fallen ISF men's next-of-kin; I'm going to be in my quarters writing letters, and I'll probably be at it all night. I need you two to keep an eye on things while I'm busy. Afterward, if there's anything you want to add to the letters before I have them sent, I'll pass them on to you."

"Sure, Katya; we'll handle things for you," Baker said quietly.

...

Theodore Kurita looked across the low table at Kenta Kurita. "So, Cousin..." said the Dragon of Luthien.

"So. I believe that you have the first move," replied the Dragon of Kyushu.

Theodore Kurita placed a stone on the Goban between them. "While we play, Cousin, shall we speak of Waterfalls?"

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Dinah Alcott and her parents stepped down from the ramp of the Custom Choppers Karnov onto the rooftop helipad of the recently-established Capellan Consulate in Washington, D.C, and straightened their clothes as the Consul and two of the Consulate's Guards came to meet them. Dinah wore one of her growing collection of porcelain half-masks, this one painted a bright red with jade-green accents, to match the colors of the dress she wore. Her parents wore the same attire they had worn for their meeting with Harley, and simple black domino-masks which they removed once they'd entered the Embassy. Dinah reached up and removed her own mask. Her parents had previously discussed the details of the Confederation's wishing to reward her for her part in the downfall of the Slaughterhouse Nine with Consul Zheng, and she trusted her parents to cover all the bases they could.

The trio were escorted to the chamber where the award-ceremony was to take place. Other than several remotely-operated cameras, the only other occupants were a slim, bespectacled man who introduced himself as Consul Zheng's assistant, and also his replacement as Consul-General once the Consulate became a formal Embassy and Zheng was appointed as Ambassador; and a uniformed CCAF officer who shook Dinah's hand and introduced himself as Zhong-shao-, or Major-, Li Shen, the current Consular Security-Chief and prospective Capellan Military-Attache. He and the others were there as witnesses, and the ceremony would be recorded and broadcast both in the Confederation itself as well as Earth-Bet, with appropriate care for identities taken by way of judicious editing.

Everyone took their places, and Dinah replaced her mask. A circular construct rose from its charging-port and the holo-emitters atop the device snapped to life, forming a life-size image of Chancellor Sun-Tzu Liao. The holo-image, a fully-solid one produced by the WinTech drone and controlled by the Chancellor from his office on Sian, smiled. "Welcome," Sun-Tzu said with a shallow bow. Dinah and her parents bowed back politely, and the cameras began to roll.

"Dinah Alcott, who was first known to me by the pseudonym of 'Odds-On', you have performed a great service to my people and my nation. It was your extraordinary Parahuman ability as a Thinker which revealed the threat of the Slaughterhouse Nine to the Capellan Confederation and the Inner Sphere, and your use of that ability, even to the point of risk to your own life, which allowed that threat to be erased from existence. Such service, such heroism, demands a reward to equal it." Dinah remembered the lead-up to the mission to destroy the Nine; she'd drastically overtaxed her Powers and ended up being briefly hospitalized after she nearly gave herself an aneurysm.

Sun-Tzu continued. "It is known in the Inner Sphere that Capellan Citizenship is not something one is born with, but is instead earned, through service to one's community and to the Confederation as a whole. I can think of no other way to describe your efforts than to call them a service of incalculable value. As such, I hereby confer unto you, Dinah Alcott, full Citizenship in the Directorate of the Capellan Confederation and the Sheng title of 'Mandrissa', as well as the 230-square-kilometer landhold of Jīnshān Island on the planet Prix as your personal fief..."

...

The delegation from the Draconis Combine had arrived on Earth-Bet; while the various staffers and potentates toiled in the background to smooth out various details of various things, Coordinator Theodore Kurita prepared to step onto the parade-ground at Camp Kerensky and reward the 1st New Hampshire Light Horse for their recent mission on his behalf. The Dragon of Luthien, flanked by his extradimensional kinsman Kenta, and his son Hohiro who he'd appointed Gunji-no-Kanrei, walked out to where the Light Horse had assembled, along with the watching reporters of numerous news-agencies and officers of the Choppers, Dragoons, and Legion. He saw Katya Zhukova's men standing in formation, their green dress-uniforms pristine and their expressions intense.

Katya stood in front of the formation, and when she saw the three Kuritas, she called her men to Attention; when they had reached their places, Katya drew a deep breath and shouted, "Lighthorsemen, Present, ARMS!" Hands came sharply up to touch the brims of peaked caps, and the guidons of the tank-platoon and the two infantry-squads smoothly dipped in salute. Katya executed an about-face and saluted. "Coordinator Kurita, the 1st New Hampshire Light Horse is assembled."

After the salute had been returned and Katya had taken her place in the formation, Theodore began to speak. "The profession of Soldiery-for-Hire is an old one in the Inner Sphere, and one with-which the Draconis Combine has sadly not had the most-positive of histories. Ronin, Mercenaries are often called in the Combine, warriors who hold no allegiance to a Lord or a land. Standing before me are Mercenaries, the 1st New Hampshire Light Horse under the command of Captain Yekaterina Zhukova. You can see that they are young; many, including Captain Zhukova and her core-group from here in Brockton Bay, are still in their early teens, considered children in the eyes of many. But for all that they are youths, the young men and women of the 1st New Hampshire Light Horse have proven themselves to be warriors, to have the spirits of true samurai."

Theodore took a breath. "Many weeks ago, Captain Zhukova's unit, like so many other similar units before them, was on the verge of bankruptcy and dissolution. Through the impetuous folly of youth, their coffers were empty and their vehicle-crews had been Dispossessed. Captain Zhukova was approached then, in her unit's darkest hour to that point, by a man offering a contract. The offered payment was generous, a princely sum and included enough equipment to outfit her entire unit and give her crews new tanks. All of that, in exchange for the killing of a single man, which this tempter described to her but refused to name. Captain Zhukova, justifiably wary, made inquiries of her peers, Mercenary-commanders of greater experience than herself, and it came to light that the man who was to be slain in the offered contract was this man," he gestured to Hohiro, "my son and Heir, Hohiro Kurita. Captain Zhukova could have accepted the contract on my son's life; many in her position, desperate and facing the specter of financial ruin, would not have hesitated even long-enough to ascertain his identity. She could have refused the contract and walked away, for there are worlds of difference between being a sellsword and being an assassin, though that refusal might have doomed her unit to an early end; and a refusal would only see another unit hired to undertake the grisly task. Instead, Captain Yekaterina Zhukova contacted me through my cousin, Colonel Harleen Davidson of the Custom Choppers, and informed me of the offer made to her. It was swiftly discovered that the man who had attempted to hire the Light Horse to kill my son, was a traitor from within the Combine itself, and a representative of a cabal of traitors who called themselves the 'Black Dragon Society'. Under my orders, the Combine's Internal Security Forces were dispatched to identify the conspirators and bring them to face justice. To do so, however, required that the Black Dragons not be aware of their impending doom lest they scatter and attempt to escape, or worse yet turn their fury onto innocents."

Theodore Kurita closed his eyes for a moment as though steadying himself, then opened them again and spoke. "The surest way to lull the conspirators into the false sense of security that we needed would be to allow them to think that their plan was proceeding apace. I was hesitant to ask something so dangerous, of ones so young as Captain Zhukova and her men, but they were resolved; they had already done a great service to me and to the Combine, and they could have at that point walked away with clear consciences, but they were determined to see things through to the very end. So I dispatched them along with a second detachment from the ISF, with orders to first drag-out what intelligence they could from their Black Dragon contact, and second to do their utmost to keep Hohiro from harm."

The Coordinator smiled happily, seeming to swell with pride. "They completed their objectives admirably, even in the face of determined resistance from the Black Dragon Society. Some of the Light Horse were wounded in the final battle of their mission on Nashira, and sadly some of their ISF advisers were killed in action, but the 1st New Hampshire Light Horse demonstrated a fighting-spirit the equal of the most-elite regiments, and proved victorious. Such spirit, such honor, such service to the Dragon, should not go unrewarded. For their undaunted bravery in the face of the enemy, I bestow upon each member of the 1st New Hampshire Light Horse the title of Watcher of the Dragon's Eye. As it is only right that the victors receive their share of the spoils, each member of the 1st New Hampshire Light Horse is awarded stock-shares in both Scarborough Manufacturing and Luthien Armor-Works. In recognition that not every masterless samurai is a ronin, I hereby bestow upon each member of the 1st New Hampshire Light Horse the noble title of Shugyosha, 'Knight-Errant', and a daisho to mark them as nobility. And finally, recognizing that Captain Zhukova and her men have forged themselves into a blade of the finest steel, and wishing to see that blade tempered, honed and polished to reach its best potential; I intend to grant them quarters on Luthien, the best tutors it is within my power to employ in order to round-out their education, to sponsor the Light Horse to the Combine's finest military-academy, the Sun Zhang Mechwarrior Academy, and upon their graduation to provide them with equipment and vehicles suitable to the stature of what I firmly believe will become one of the Inner Sphere's premier Mercenary commands."

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Threadmarks 84: Braaivleis New

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#3,180

While I work out the Tournament Arc, here's a filler-chapter...

...

Taylor looked at Madison as the other teen ranted and raged across the desk from her. "Madison! Calm down and for the love of God put the stravag cleaver down before you accidentally hack a hole in the drywall."

"Damn it, Taylor, I spent weeks tending that garden, and those fucking pigs bulldozed it! The same pigs you keep saying you'll deal with! The same pigs that almost killed Missy's kids' dog, and almost killed two of the kids!"

Taylor slapped a folder down to get Madison's attention. "I wanted to be properly-able to get them all at once, and that requires manpower, Mads. Manpower which we now have, so tell Pepper and the other cooks to get their butchering-kits out and start prepping for a big barbecue." After Madison left, Taylor started calling in reinforcements...

...

Sean Halsey arrived at Camp Kerensky for the planned hog-extermination with the rest of the Lighthorsemen; they were armed with their long-arms of choice, an eclectic mix of Capellan- and Combine Auto-Rifles and copies of Federated Long-Rifles, Mauser & Grey G-150 hunting-rifles in the hands of the Bravos' snipers, SMGs, and the Ironhearts' machine-gunners had brought their MGs. Every Lighthorseman carried a pistol as well, predominantly Nambus and M&G Service-Automatics, though one or two also carried large-caliber revolvers.

Sean himself was carrying his Nambu in a skeleton-rig holster under his left arm and plenty of drums for his Capellan-made Vipersting 110 LMG on his vest and in his pack. As he stepped down from the APC, the young man who was called 'Iron-Bull' by his friends slipped a pair of ESS Crowbar ballistic sunglasses on and turned his baseball cap backward. He waved to one of his teammates, David Klein, and watched as Team Three's designated Breacher/Gunner tied a blue bandana around his neck and pulled his Revision Bullet Ant goggles down over his eyes. "Door-Gunners, ya reckon?" David asked, his own Vipersting 110 (a design that was essentially a 31st-Century copy of a Soviet DP-27) slung across his chest.

"Probably. You carrying that horse-pistol your sister gave you?"

David grinned and nodded, pulling a rolled-up leather gunbelt out of his pack and unwrapping it from around the holstered Colt Walker, then strapping it around his hips crossdraw-style. "Always. It's my lucky pistol, after all. Saved both our asses on Nashira, or did you forget because of the concussion?" The lean teen had used the massive black-powder revolver to save his- and Sean's lives during the chaotic fighting-retreat on Nashira, clubbing a Black Dragon Society soldier who'd tried to use a knife on them down before shooting him in the face.

"Oh, I remember alright. You probably won't have to use it today, though."

...

Taylor addressed the groups, which included the Dragoons, Light Horse, elements of the 1st Star Fangs, and a literal gun-bunny who'd been a partner to Werewolf in the past. "The plan is to start on the east side of the base and work our way west, from one perimeter to the other. We'll have shooters up in choppers and VTOLs, and some on light ground-vehicles like bikes and jeeps, as well as Battle-Armor using slug-loaded combat-shotguns on their suits' AP-Weapon mounts. Stay in contact, stay frosty, and stay safe; no unnecessary risks, quiaff?"

...

"Contact! Big sounder, LZ Peregrine; they're heading south! In pursuit!"

The drive had been going on for several hours, and the latest group of feral swine was on the move, rooted out of their resting-places under the trees by BA troops. Twenty-five pigs broke out into the open and the hunters who'd paced the sounder converged. Calvin Davies from the Light Horse stood in the bed of Dragoons Artillery Star-Commander Wallace McAllister's pickup, braced against the Tennessean Dragoon's metal toolbox, and fired careful bursts with a 9mm SMG that Soapy Sutherland had acquired by dubious means during a brawl on Outreach with the Waco Rangers. Temujin rode his blue mare alongside the swine and dropped hog after hog with Missy's Pitbull revolver, and Missy's sprogs sat around the turret of one of Fox Point's Bandits with the .25-caliber rifles that one of them, Keith, had built, firing the single-shot black-powder breechloaders by volleys, while Michelle stood in the commander's hatch and used a Ruger Mini-14.

Two of the Star Fangs' Ferret helicopters swooped in and began circling the pigs; Sean Halsey was in the door of one of the copters, a harness tethering him to the deck and two rubber-coated steel cables tethering his Viperstrike to the top of the open door. He leaned out of the Ferret gripping the bipod and the stock of his LMG and started shooting.

Bambambam; a sow fell and rolled. Bambambam; a boar skidded on his shoulder as he dropped, heart-shot...

On and on the hunt continued...

...

"Say again? How big?"

"Small-Car-big, Dragoon-Actual; the Gun-Bunny wasn't bullshitting you. Aggressive, too, all three of them."

"Roger that, Yankee-Actual. We're converging on your position now."

"Yankee-Actual, this is Pup-Actual; please stand-by to confirm kills on the target-boars."

Missy's heart raced; 'Pup-Actual' was Magdalena and the SibKids! She wheeled her red mare and spurred the horse toward Barrister's position at a gallop, seeing Temujin following suit to her left and both Werewolf and Tephra racing forward on the right.

"Pups in-position. Sigrun, your section has the left-flank boar; David, yours is the right-flank. My section will take the center. One volley, then independent-fire or bayonets as the situation dictates. Ready?"

"Ready, Pup-Actual."

"Aff, we are ready, Magdalena."

"Take aim... Volley... FIRE!" A crashing echo of gunfire erupted as twenty-five caplock rifles discharged as one.

Alvin Barrister, upon hearing Magdalena request he confirm the kids' kills, had looked around, the veteran soldier's eyes quickly picking out the forms of the SibKids where they were hidden in the brush a hundred yards downwind of the colossal hogs. Their volley hammered out and birthed a baby-fogbank of smoke, and all three pigs were hit. One dropped in its tracks from at least one headshot, and the second made it ten strides toward the children before a second, more-ragged volley brought it down.

The third charged, and the ex-All-American heard Sigrun's voice rise above the din shrieking, "BAYONETS!"

The kids rose, drawing long M1905 bayonets from scabbards on their belts and fixing them onto the muzzles of their rifles, and securing the grips with a quick jerk of pre-looped heavy-duty zip-ties. Alvin snatched for his own rifle and was taking aim when the fight ended as abruptly as it had begun. Sigrun and Keith brought their rifles up and fired as one. One bullet sledged into the charging boar's chest, while the second drove into its head. The great beast's forelegs collapsed under it and it fell, skidding across the leaf-litter on its shoulder.

Sigrun bounded forward and drove her bayonet into its heart, then detached it from her rifle, reloaded quickly, and shot it in the head one last time to make absolutely sure that her prey was dead.

Alvin was so shocked that he almost fell trying to get down from the tree he'd been perched in. "Dragoon-Actual, Yankee-Actual confirms all three Dire-Boars KIA; credit for the kills goes to Pup-Actual, Pup-Two, and the SibKids..."

Last edited: Feb 23, 2020

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Threadmarks 85: Heart-Breaker New

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#3,198

Taylor sat in her office, called away from the ongoing hog-extermination by a PHO message from the office of the Canadian Prime-Minister. A contract had been offered, tentatively-, to the Wolf Dragoons months before, and Danny had discussed terms with the Canadians, but it had been back-burnered in light of other more-pressing issues and Taylor had honestly forgotten about it. The operation was codenamed by the Canadians as 'Bartlett-Foxtrot-Four', after a character from a video game; it was a subtle reference to the intended target of the op.

In the game Ace Combat 5: The Unsung War, the character Captain Jack Bartlett flew an F4 Phantom under the callsign 'Heartbreak-One'.

Missy and Werewolf stepped into the office, the younger Dragoon seething about the stunt her whelps had pulled during the hog-hunt. "Missy, James, I have a mission for you both. It's, I won't lie, a highly-dangerous one. There is a target that the Canadian government wishes eliminated. For reasons of collateral-damage we cannot use artillery or airstrikes, and for reasons of safety we cannot engage the target openly."

"So you need snipers. The target?" Missy asked.

"I need a sniper; that's you, Missy. The target is Heartbreaker. Bostwick, you're the failsafe. I don't like the thought, but better to have a contingency-plan for it. If the worst happens, James, your orders are to prevent the Point-Commander falling into Heartbreaker's hands. Otherwise, you're her spotter and partner. Draw what weapons you feel necessary, and be ready to depart for Toronto in six hours. And keep the details of this operation to yourselves and your Point for now. No leaks." She handed the pair copies of the briefing-packet and dossiers on Heartbreaker, then dismissed them.

The SibKids were in the Coywolf-Point area of the barracks with Temujin and Tephra when Missy and Werewolf arrived. Missy looked the group of young Clanners over and sighed. "Werewolf and I just got done with a high-priority briefing, and we leave in a few hours. The preparations for the mission will likely take every minute of those few hours, so I do not have the luxury of enough time to address my displeasure with you all right now. We will be having a very-long, very-detailed, discussion about your behavior today once Werewolf and I return, however. You are not off the hook by any means. Temujin, Tephra, I leave the Sibko in your hands until I return."

Tephra nodded sharply. "I doubt that the children will be able to forget their behavior; the Star-Colonel herself just radioed us, calling them on the carpet." He looked at Temujin, who nodded back and barked an order in his Mongolian-accented English, calling the kids to Attention and forming them up in a neat column-of-twos, before marching them out of the barracks.

Missy waited until the kids had left, then sank down on her bunk and put her head in her hands. "Damn it all..."

"What's wrong, Missy?"

"Those kids... They look up to me like I'm their mother, and I'm not even four years older than they are. I try to do right by them, try to be the kind of parental-figure they need and help them grow, try to help them realize all the potential I see in them. But every time they do stuff like this, like that stunt with the paintball-guns, or even Lionel rappelling down from the roof to Sheryl's window to try and comfort her, all the reckless, dangerous things that they do... James I feel like..." She trailed off.

"You feel like you're failing them as a mother." When Missy's head snapped up, he continued. "And don't try to play the 'more like an elder sister' card; it's as obvious as a flashbang that as much as the kids would deny it, and as much as you'd deny it, they view you as a surrogate mother and you view them as your kids. Trust me, I've been awake more than one night and heard you singing Duran Duran to Rhiannon after she's had a nightmare."

He'd been awakened by a sound and stepped into the common-area to see Rhiannon laying on the couch with her head in Missy's lap, the ex-Ward combing her fingers through the Mechwarrior-track Sibko-girl's hair and softly singing, "Her name is Rio and she dances on the sand,

just like that river twisting through a dusty land;

and when she shines she surely shows you all she can;

oh, Rio, Rio dance across the Rio Grande..."

Missy smiled a little. "She'd fight tooth-and-nail to deny it; she got teased for her nightmares back on Von Strang's World and it left a helluva chip on her shoulder. She's a sweet girl, though."

"She's not the only one around here with that issue, Actual," Bostwick replied with a smirk.

"Well would you know it, Three; if you'd have stayed upwind of me during your Trial of Position for a few minutes more, I'd have surrendered just to get away from the stench of singed fur."

James chuckled at that. "There isn't a damn bone in your body that will quit on anything Boss, especially those kids." he told her. "Now, how about we go end a pestilence on mankind?"

"Let's. Sooner Begun is Sooner Done, after all." She stood, started shrugging out of the vest she'd been wearing to carry ammo and power-packs for her M61A and its attached Masterkey shotgun, and hung the military-surplus Plate-Carrier in her wall-locker; she made a note to herself that she needed to put the SAPIs back in it at some point. "We at least have good photos of the target-area, so while we get our gear ready, let's start planning. First Issue: Rifles. Getting them in-country will only be an issue if Canadian Customs has something set up for detecting Tinkertech, since we've got those bracelets of Q's, but what rifles we plan to use will dictate how far-away we can reasonably set up our hide; I want you able to take the shot if I can't."

Missy unlocked her Point's section of the attached armory and walked inside with James following, and continued speaking as she looked over her rifles. "As well, the Canadians have to have solid confirmation of Heartbreaker's death so whatever we use has to leave enough to ID... Suggestions?"

...

They walked down the jetway and through Customs together; the passports said that they were father and daughter, the reason for their visit a weekend hiking and camping trip to Kawartha Highlands Provincial Park. The daughter seemed to be hyped up for the trip, and the father, while not as enthusiastic, was at least seemingly not dreading it. The usual questions were answered and they were allowed entry, and the Customs official continued on with his day as neither of the pair fit his master's requirements.

Two shadows appeared on the northern shore of Fairy Lake Island before almost instantly disappearing again. Their appearances and disappearances bounced them from one small island and rocky promontory to another throughout Stoney Lake as they approached what had once been the Viamede resort. Their target had taken the resort and all its occupants hostage approximately three months before and settled in for what appeared to be a long-term stay. Now these two figures made a stealthy approach through the use of one's power, finally settling on a small hillock just to the northwest of the resort proper.

Once they were in position, the two set about making their hide in the darkness. They used no light, but night-vision goggles and the light of the waning half-moon gave enough light to cut the sod out for their hide before digging down to place their equipment. Tube tents were set in place and a thermally reflective tarp was stretched across a support beam between the two tents and staked down on both sides before being covered with the dirt and sod. They worked quietly and diligently, finishing in time to be under cover before the rising of the sun.

"Target," James's grunt woke Missy from her nap and she instinctively pulled the stock of her Savage into her shoulder and peered through the scope.

"Where," she asked as she started to scan the area for their target.

"Lakeside dock," her spotter answered, "range, one-thousand two-hundred twenty meters, winds, null value at three to five knots."

Missy shifted her point of aim to the docks where she could see an older man climbing out of the lake before walking a few steps over and diving back off. James meanwhile kept rattling off numbers in his slightly accented monotone as she made adjustments to her scope and zoomed in. "Target acquired," she commented making a final adjustment before dialing back her scope a touch. "Dock is clear of noncombatants; confirm we have a green light for engagement."

"We are clear to engage," James confirmed to her as the target dove back into the lake.

"Standing by to engage," she said watching for the targets return.

"Send it."

Nikos Vasil was really starting to feel the burn of his workout routine as he started to climb back up the dockside ladder to take another lap. One of his servants had suggested this as a way to both work out the kinks in his muscles, and to drop some of the excess weight that he had been developing. Not surprisingly, it was really paying off. Three steps up to the dock itself and then a hundred yards out and back as fast as he could dive into the water and get out to the buoy. As he started to step off the ladder this time though, he suddenly felt a sharp slap to his back and saw a puff of red mist as something hit the dock ahead of him. It wasn't until his legs gave way under him that Nikos realized he'd been shot, and that the red mist had been his blood and pieces of his heart. Is this how it all ends? he thought for a moment as a figure appeared above him. All he saw before everything went dark was a muscular arm...

Missy dropped the distortion that had allowed James to step onto the end of the dock and confirm the kill. He'd had a pistol ready to finish Heartbreaker if needed, but Missy had chosen her cartridge with an eye toward doing the job in one shot; the 127-grain Barnes VOR-TX Lead-Free cartridge she'd used was primarily used for hunting elk and moose.

It only took another moment for the prior service Marine to place a Claymore mine and a one gallon can of gasoline and rubbing alcohol in the front of their hide while she squeezed space between their current position and their next. "Ready?" she asked him.

"Yes," he answered pocketing the safety and pin from the anti-personnel mine and pulling out a radio detonator. Four steps later they were a quarter mile away and she released the spatial distortion just as he pushed the button on the detonator. Their hide disappeared in a flash of fire and steel while they calmly stepped another quarter mile or more away.

...

"Well, we needed something to put it in. People might've reacted poorly to seeing it out in the open..." Missy said to Taylor via video chat that evening.

"I understand, Missy; believe me, I do. But the Toronto PRT Deputy-Director's secretary who opened the wrong Tim Hortons bag thinking she was grabbing a donut and found Heartbreaker's head instead was rather less-than-pleased..."

After the chat ended, Missy kicked back on the bed in her hotel-room and un-paused the song on her phone that Taylor's call had interrupted...

Some lost souls never get found;

stuck in your head fallin' deeper down-down-down...

Funny how it all works out in the end:

You dance with the Devil and you lose your head;

nothing's ever free, no nothing's ever free is it, is it?

When the Big Bad Wolf comes runnin' around

you better get yourself right outta town;

royal hearts are meant to break,

cause everybody's got a big debt to pay.

Bang-bang-bang, gonna shoot ya down;

wasted youth lies in the ground;

royal hearts are meant to break,

cause everybody's got a big debt to pay...

That Guy. Yes, That Guy.

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Threadmarks Interlude: Pre-Tournament New

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Mar 26, 2020

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#3,218

Victoria Dallon looked at the arena that had been built on the Army's Proving-Ground at Aberdeen, Maryland, the images projected on the HUD of her Battlemech. Glory Girl herself had proposed the idea of a Mechwarrior tournament in the style of the popular Solaris-VII Arena League as a charity event in the aftermath of the Fallen's attack on NSB King's Bay, and the images she was looking at were the culmination of many people running with her idea. Vicky shut down Collateral-Damage Barbie and climbed out of the Phoenix Hawk's cockpit.

...

Sigrun Wolf sighed and leaned back into the command-couch of her mount. True to her word, Missy had sat down with the SibKids the day she and Werewolf had returned from their mission, and the subsequent conversation had been...

"You all took a big risk during the hog-hunt," Missy had said, sitting on her footlocker with the SibKids sitting on the floor around her in a school-circle. "To put a finer point on it, you all took an unacceptable risk, engaging those three boars on-foot like you did. I have heard what the Star-Colonel told you during your meeting with her. Setting aside how your actions reflect on my leadership, I want you all to understand something. Not just hear it and remember it, but actually understand it and internalize it, and know it to your bones. I am as serious as incoming fire about this." The kids leaned forward attentively, and Missy said, "I love each and every one of you. And your antics sometimes scare me. Because there have been so many things that could have gone wrong, so many things that, despite all the best planning in the world, which I'll admit you haven't shown too much of, or all the best intentions, which you have shown, could have lead to one of you, or all of you, getting hurt or worse. Nigel, David, Nadia, Stephen, Ginevra, when you ambushed those bullies, if one of them had had a gun and brought it into-play they could have easily killed you; had the shot at the gate hit David any higher than where it did on his calf, it could have crippled him, or killed him outright. Lionel, you rappelled down from the barracks roof to try and comfort Point-Commander Sheryl after her sister's death; if you'd slipped or lost your grip, you'd have plunged three stories down onto a concrete sidewalk and been crippled or killed yourself. Sabina, you blew off your own hand with Detcord you shouldn't have had, in the process of stopping a robbery. And the other day, when you all decided to go after those boars on-foot, if one of you had fallen, or had a misfire, or if your guns hadn't brought those pigs down, you could have all died. All twenty-five of you could have died, and I know that you would've, because I know you. You would've fought to the last against three car-sized boars rather than leave one of your number behind. There was no guarantee that Star-Commander Alvin, or any of the others, would've been able to bail you out if things went wrong, because you didn't tell anyone before you acted and that left them out-of-place to back you up."

Magdalena hung her head. "We... We did not intend to alarm you; we just..."

"You just...?" Missy asked.

"We just wanted to make you proud."

Missy shook her head and chuckled, her eyes damp with un-shed tears. "Kids, I'm proud of you all just the same, whether you're slaying beasts and winning glory, or just tending a garden and practicing a handicraft. You've all got so much heart, so much potential, and I'm proud to be able to see you show it, and to help you grow and become the best people you can be. But every time you risk your lives in foolish ways, my bold- and noble pups, I feel like I've failed you as a role-model, like I've failed you as a parental-figure, and that maybe I'm not the role-model that you need..."

The SibKids exploded with denials, all vehemently protesting that Missy was a great role-model and that she hadn't failed in the slightest, that it was they who'd failed her, until finally Magdalena had surged upright and wrapped Missy in a tight hug as only an emotional Elemental could, followed by all of the SibKids. Missy had hugged them back. "I'm not going anywhere, and I'll be damned to the depths before I give up on any of you," she'd whispered. "You're my Pups, mine to me, and I'll send anyone who claims otherwise back to their mother, lamer than ever they came into the world..." Missy grinned a feral grin. "Of course, I still need to punish you for that stunt at the hog-hunt..."

Sigrun sighed. The punishment levied on them by Missy, had been that the Mechwarrior-track kids were under a 'No-Battlemechs' restriction for a full month; other than the Simulators, the use of-which they were restricted to no more than fourteen hours each per week, the only 'Mechs they were allowed to operate were the Engineering Section's IndustrialMechs, under strict supervision. The Elemental SibKids were under a similar restriction, allowed only Simulations with a time-limit and the Engineer-variant Mastiff suits that the Dragoons were testing for Kid Win with strict supervision. The entire Sibko was also given a month's Extra-Duty helping the Cooks and cleaning the barracks.

Which brought Sigrun to her present place in the cockpit of a Logger-'Mech, a second one beside her, clearing trees for an expansion of the Dropship-port. Several of the Mastiffs backed up to the stumps; one of the Engineers on-foot ran out cables from the suits' back-mounted winches and made them fast around the stumps, then spoke into his radio. The quad-BA walked forward and tightened the cables, then lunged forward and used their two-ton weight and extra-strength myomers to tear the root-balls up...

...

Victoria 'Glory Girl' Dallon and Dean 'Gallant' Stansfield walked across the parking-lot and up to the door of her favorite club in Harlech, the 'Church of the Dive-Bar Saints', and opened the door. It had been a long week for the Ward and the New-Waver, and as the music rolled out over them Vicky smiled; the song was the club's theme-song...

"It's a place to Heal,

and a place to Hurt;

after a long week of Hell it's like Sunday Church.

You'll hear dirty jokes

and the gospel-truth,

and a jukebox choir singin' in the corner-booth.

We're here every weekend;

bring your burdens, bring your pain,

cause everybody's welcome at the

Church of the Dive-Bar Saints..."

Last edited: Mar 26, 2020

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Threadmarks 86: Tournament: Round One, Match One New

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#3,221

Dinah Alcott sat on the left foot of her Panther in the Mech-bay assigned to her at the arena, rubbing her fingers over the carved wooden Valknut pendant that she'd been given by Captain Haddock as a good-luck charm the day before. She was nervous, but at the same time excited; it would be the first time she'd fought in an actual Battlemech, instead of just in a simulator. Dinah wished that she could be piloting the Jenner-IIC that she'd gotten from Clan Wolf, but she was well-aware of just how unready she was to pilot that Clanner speed-demon in a fight.

Dinah stood, then tucked her pendant under her cooling-vest and adjusted her mask. The youngest competitor in the tournament climbed up the ladder to the gantry and slid into the cockpit of the Panther she'd named 'Nekomata',

removed her mask and replaced it with her neurohelmet, and began the start-up process. She'd just gotten the message that all systems were nominal when a message popped up on her comns-screen; it was time for the first-round matchups. She activated her mic and said, "Marathon, ready."

"Marathon, your first opponent is Valravn; match-start is in ten minutes."

"Marathon confirms. On my way." Dinah sealed the cockpit and walked her 'Mech out toward the field.

Through the external audio-pickups, she could hear Duncan Fisher announcing. "In this corner, we have our first competitor. She's served as a merc; she's a Knight of the Order of Centrella, an ex-Captain in the Zathran Defense-Force, and the Lady of Swanky-Bog on New Abilene, as well as a veteran of the Class-Three Circuit on Solaris. Piloting the fifty-five-ton Griffin 'Koschei the Deathless', give it up for Natalya 'Valravn' Matsuo!"

Dinah paused and heard the crowd roaring. L33t, the other announcer, spoke up then. She'd already given him the go-ahead for a few particular details of her introduction, and now she heard him on the loudspeakers. "And in this corner, we have our youngest competitor! But don't let her age fool you, folks; there's more to her than meets the eye, and she's already got a brag-sheet to match her opponent's. She's a Knight of the Barony of Strang and a Capellan Mandrissa; Baroness Von Strang calls her a friend; she's a protege of Harley Davidson, the 'Queen of Franken-Mechs', and she's gotten pointers in 'Mech-piloting from the 'Queen of Spades' Natasha Kerensky and the Wolf Dragoons! She normally answers to 'Odds-On', but today she's going by a new name! Piloting the thirty-five-ton Panther 'Nekomata', give a big hand to Dinah 'Marathon' Alcott!"

Dinah walked into the arena and saw her opponent across from her. A light touch on Nekomata's controls saw the 'Mech lean forward at the waist in an unmistakable bow. Dinah smiled when she saw Matsuo's 'Mech return the gesture. The pair waited, focusing...

...

When the buzzer signaling the start of the match sounded, Dinah rushed forward and angled to her left; the battlefield wasn't an empty plain, but instead had several hills and gullies criss-crossing it that could serve as cover for the combatants. Dinah tried to remember what she'd heard from Smalls and the other Choppers about Valravn Matsuo as she darted around a low hill and fired the first shot of the match with her ERPPC, a shot that registered to the battle-computers as having stripped armor away from her foe's right shoulder. I remember now; she's modified her 'Mech to turn it from a fire-support platform into a brawler. Battle-fists, the Medium Lasers all moved into the left arm, the LRM and its ammo deleted to make room for three more tons of armor, and-

Dinah jerked her Panther aside as the Griffin's right arm came up, and a beam of coherent light flashed past her 'Mech. And she replaced the Large Laser with a Large Pulse-Laser! The young Mechwarrior laughed and fired again, slashing away more armor, this time over the right hip, just as Koschei the Deathless leapt upward on flaring jump-jets, trying to close the distance. Dinah, instead of dodging aside, matched the Griffin's jump with her own, hurling herself backward, keeping the range open. Valravn and Marathon fired as one when they landed; Dinah's ERPPC missed low, plowing into the dirt behind Natalya's 'Mech, and Natalya's LPL traced across Nekomata's torso as Dinah twisted to shield her ERPPC. Dinah lunged forward, twisting aside and loosing a volley of SRMs to try forcing Natalya back and off-balance, only to catch one of her opponent's MLs in the side and hips as she passed.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl for Dinah. She was past Koschei and whirled, bringing her reticle onto the opposing Battlemech; the Griffin tried to wheel in-place as well and bring up its Pulse-Laser, but its left foot broke traction and the fifty-five-tonner stumbled for just a critical second. Dinah's thumb stabbed down on the firing-stud for her SRMs again, spreading four missiles across her enemy's right side, and then she lifted her sights and fired her ERPPC.

"Winner by Decapitation, Marathon!"

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May 16, 2020

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#3,226

Tephra slid into the cockpit of his Marauder-IIC and started it up; his first match was soon to start and the Dragoon wanted to be ready. He'd be facing off with the customized Helepolis-3H of the veteran Mechwarrior he knew only by the callsign of 'Ziggydoo'...

Once he'd reached the arena, Tephra tuned the announcers out, focusing on his opponent. The match began and he immediately throttled forward into a run, keeping his path as unpredictable as he could; it was good that he did-so, as his foe immediately brought his Battlemech's longest-ranged weapon into play. Tephra saw dirt erupt skyward from the impact of the Helepolis' Sniper-Artillery Cannon, then rounded a hill just in time to see the arty-'Mech moving away from its initial location. A Large Laser flashed out at Tephra just as he swung the reticle onto Ziggydoo's 'Mech, and scored across his torso-armor as he answered the Laser with a pair of shots from his arm-mounted ERPPCs, the battle-computers registering the hits as having stripped armor from the Helepolis' right-torso and right leg.

The battle continued in that vein, Tephra hounding Ziggydoo and taking whatever shots he could, trying to keep the pressure on his foe; it seemed to be working, because while the Helepolis kept making excellent (and frustrating-) use of cover, none of the several salvos from his artillery-piece came near the Marauder-IIC. This wasn't to say that either combatant was unscathed; damage mounted rapidly on both sides as lasers flashed and PPCs cracked...

The Large Laser flashed again, followed by three MLs, the beams of coherent light making Tephra reflexively juke his 'Mech aside; when he straightened-out, the Helepolis had made it into cover behind another hill with a combination of superb piloting and judicious use of its jumpjets. The Sniper fired again, and again, but the rounds yet-again burst well-short of Tephra's position. The Dragoon moved forward cautiously while inputting commands to cut two of his Double-Heatsinks out of the cooling-loop, and when his opponent crested the hill he'd been behind, Tephra snapped a volley at him with all three ERPPCs, then another as his foe dropped back behind the hill. The green light on his HUD that indicated that his Marauder-IIC's Triple-Strength Myomers were active came on, and the eighty-five-ton Clanner Assault-'Mech suddenly darted forward much faster than its bulk would suggest it capable of being...

A series of firecracker pops rang out from the ground and Tephra's Battlemech stumbled, then fell as its left leg locked from the damage of running through what he now realized was a spread of FASCAM mines; he rolled his 'Mech onto its back and saw the canny Helepolis that had baited him into a trap walk back onto the hilltop. The Sniper elevated, aiming high into the sky. The sensors in Tephra's 'Mech registered that he was being painted with a TAG. The artillery-piece hurled four rounds up in a mortar-like ballistic arc right as Tephra fired his arm-mounted ERPPCs and MPLs, and his four ERSLs. Tephra barely registered the sight of both particle-cannon bolts, one of the Pulse-Lasers, and three of the four ER-Smalls connecting with his opponent's torso, as the quartet of Copperhead guided artillery-shells slammed down with punishing force onto his own torso...

"- have to go to the replay! And... I can't believe it! Ladies and Gentlemen, by way of taking-out each other's reactor simultaneously, the match is declared a Draw!"

...

Von Strang's Legion Captain Astrid Haddock heard the sound of something falling and a body hitting the floor as she approached the Ready-Room set-aside for the Tournament-competitors. She'd been coming to check on Dinah and congratulate the girl for her victory over Valravn; now Astrid lunged forward and burst through the door, taking in the scene at a glance. The Tanker, Lilah, was on the ground on her hands and knees; an upended chair, the redness of her face, and the discarded metal canteen-cup lying nearby explained the crash. Dinah had a two-handed grip on the Jade Falcon's ankle as the Tanker tried to rise and gave a mighty pull...

Astrid's sidearm had barely cleared its holster when Dinah Alcott swung like she was trying to hit a home-run and clubbed Lilah Jade Falcon unconscious with the Tanker's own prosthetic leg. "What in the name of the All-Father's Eye is going on?"

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